We stayed in UK’s ‘worst pub’ – and found a cockroach, a toenail and a beer ban

The Old Oak Tree in Southall, London is one of the worst rated pub and hotels in Britain – with many unhappy punters calling the place ‘filthy’ and riddled with ‘stains’ and ‘bed bugs’

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An intrepid Daily Star braved one of the country’s lowest-rated pub hotels – and what he found was truly shocking.

Reviews of The Old Oak Tree, in Southall, are consistently poor, with multiple punters mentioning it being “filthy” and claiming the presence of “bed bugs”. With a Google rating of 2.5 out of five, our man Dan Grennan could not find a functioning venue with a lower rating in the UK, meaning it is arguably one of the worst Britain has to offer.

Not all the reviews are bad, although most of the five-star reviews date back as far as 2018. One more recent review, however, written eight months ago, said: “I’ll be honest, I was a bit wary about the place because of the bad reviews. I have to say when I got there, I was so relieved! It’s a charming traditional British boozer with some rooms above. Plenty of character, and the rooms were more than adequate and clean.”

Dan was so concerned about what he might encounter during his stay that he brought his own hazmat suit, and now gives the lowdown on the grimy Old Oak Tree in west London.

In Dan’s words

Through a grimy window, I saw little sign of life other than the light of a Guinness tap. ‘At least I’ll be able to have a pint’, I thought to myself.

While it’s a name that conjures an image of a trusty old local pub ready to welcome punters in with open arms, even getting into this boozer in London’s Southall was difficult.

The front door, located under a crumbling sign, appeared to have been locked shut for some time, and no one answered when I turned up for my one-night stay.

I headed around the side of the pub, looking for an access point, and found a locked steel door. After knocking on door number two, I got a fright when a man knocked on the window from the inside.

He opened the door with a “hello”. I told him I had booked a room, and he ushered me in.

The interior of the bar was a bizarre mix of new cheap flat-pack furniture and pub stools and chairs so old and damaged they could be from the 1970s. There was also a pile of paint tins and materials for a refurbishment in the corner.

I looked inside the bar and saw the beer taps had no drip tray, not a good omen for my thirst. My fears were confirmed by the manager, who told me they had “no licence” to serve alcohol.

It turns out the license was suspended for three months in March this year over a licensing and immigration raid. There have been calls for an improvement plan to be put in place, and we can only hope it works…

After finding my booking, the manager led me to an area behind the bar. On my way, I walked past the filthiest dog bowl I had ever seen and a kitchen floor strewn with rubbish – sights that left me relieved about the lack of Guinness.

We went through a dimly lit corridor, then an incredibly squeaky door, and onto the stairs, which stank of cigarette smoke. My room was number 3 on the left of the corridor.

A wave of musty air was the first thing to greet me after opening the door. The second was my feet getting stuck to the filthy floor.

As I started to adjust to the filth, I quickly put on my hazmat suit.

The pillow did not have a case and was covered in yellow stains and a smell to match. The thought of resting my weary head on it left me retching.

I made my way to the window for a blast of fresh air. The relief was minimal as the windowsill had a thick layer of dust, and items of rubbish were left out on the roof.

After steeling myself, I headed for the bathroom. The toilet and shower were grimey and stank of stale air, as you would expect in a budget hostel.

There was also a plug-in radiator that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades. I rubbed my finger along the dirtiest part, and about an inch of grime, hair and brown gunk came off with it.

But the worst part came when I got down on my knees to inspect the floor and under the bed. I found a dusty sock – God knows how long it had been there – a toenail clipping and a dead bug.

Disgusted, I gathered my things and got ready to leave. After informing the manager of my plans to write an article about the filth, he said: “We can change the room no problem.”

A man I was told was the “cleaner” then emerged and said: “We understand everything. We are 100% sure there are no bed bugs.”

I showed the cleaner the bug, and he said: “Cockroach, this is cockroach.”

When asked if the cockroach was “better”, he said: “It is cockroach, not bed bugs.”

The manager was shown the cockroach and said: “He is your friend”.

When I asked the manager for a comment for my story, he offered to “change and clean the room”.

After this bizarre reaction, I was delighted knowing I would never return to the Old Oak Tree.