The sleeping arrangements don’t match the claim that this place sleeps 8. There are four single beds in one room, a broken sofa bed in the living room whose mattress we had to put on the floor, and an uncomfortable double in a room so cramped you almost have to open the door before you can get out of bed. Neither bedroom has a mirror, so all eight people would have to share the tiny bathroom for the toilet, bathing and the mirror. For a place described as “recently refurbished”, it feels old, neglected and tired. There are cracks and peeling paint around the new windows, a musty wardrobe, and exposed bathroom pipes that brought to mind impoverished 1960s accommodation. I know some people still live like that and I’m deeply sorry for them, but I don’t want the reminder on my rare holidays. It might matter less if it were cheap, but it isn’t. It’s the mostly ghastly place I’ve stayed this century, closer to a slum than holiday accommodation. The toilet door lock doesn’t work, the badly fitted seat lid digs into your back, and rust stains on the radiator are right there when you sit on the loo. There’s no towel rail or bathroom shelf, and the bath silicone has been clumsily layered over mould. The light pull is just a VERY grubby bit of string with no handle. The extractor fan doesn’t work, and the shower head holder is broken. Getting hot water takes patience. The kitchen sink and bathroom basin only give tepid water unless you waste a huge amount waiting, though hot water does eventually come through. The place doesn’t claim to be disability-friendly, but getting around is hard even if you’re not disabled. There’s an enormous step at the front door with no warning of its depth, so it’s easy to jolt yourself going down. The stairs to the flat are steep, with an unnerving camera watching you climb. Inside, the spaces are tight. The wrinkled carpet in the narrow corridor is a trip hazard, and duct tape holds it down at the kitchen threshold. The door handles squeak loudly enough to wake you at night. The living room window won’t shut, and the curtains are oddly different lengths. The fridge is very small, and there’s no freezer, unless it’s extraordinarily well hidden, despite the paperwork saying there is one. The kitchen drawer had a broken wooden spatula and bent fork, which surely could just be thrown away. The oven hadn’t been cleaned, and acrid smoke came out when we opened it. Most of the pans were badly scratched or had burnt-on residue, and there weren’t enough dishes. No oven glove or tea towel was supplied, and there was only a little washing-up liquid. The kitchen units were dirty and sticky. Bits left over from fitting the cupboards were still in drawers and cupboards, though one drawer was already broken, so I don’t know how recently they were fitted. We didn’t try the washing machine, but there is one. There’s no dishwasher. There was no attempt at being environmentally friendly. The kitchen had just one bin and one liner, so there was no way to separate compost, recycling and landfill. The recycling sign on the wall was out of date, with collection dates from up to two months earlier. So recycling is possible at the property, just not facilitated. The smart TV was nice, though we had to reboot it. Netflix wasn’t signed in, and there were no instructions for logging in. Parking was nowhere near as “readily available” as the welcome file said. We had to park partly on the pavement because there wasn’t even enough street parking. Finally, why is it called “Fox House” in the documentation? There are no signs on the property with that name, and I think the neighbours and the family living downstairs would laugh if there were. It seems like self-aggrandisement, disguising the fact that it’s probably a converted council house in an insalubrious part of town.