Matt Whistler goes on a punk adventure

Hotel Pelirocco is Brighton’s sauciest boutique hotel; inspired by the best of pop’s subculture, maverick musicians and some of the most inspiring individuals. It’s not just the themed rooms that leave you thinking that a cinema pick ‘n’ mix looks bland. HP brings out the old Captino Ecclectico, standing in a 6ft white alcove as a static statue doesn’t work when a friend calls your mobile number and you suddenly move to shock the guest. It’s far better to just borrow a compass and navigate the never ending steps from north wing to south wing. The internal hotel adventure takes you past corridors of artwork and recurring shades of punk, from ’70s footballers to random dudes and subversive traditionalism. It’s a hotel, but a hotel that’s a gallery; not just convenient curios to fill the gaps, it’s the extra 10 per cent. Well I would say this wouldn’t I, having just spent a night in the Pretty Vacant room dedicated to the Sex Pistols with some Jamie Reid originals, during a break from hanging a few robot pics on the ground floor. But it’s all true, it’s a right old bubble gum machine of greatness, and there is something new to spot on the walls on every visit.

I am very tempted to whizz around the corridors on my push scooter, but my departure may sound something like this: clunk, clank clink, whaoooh, bosh, bang, crang, dang, whollop, whoops! Instead I found myself getting punked-up in the hotel room by ripping sugar sachets with my teeth. It’s Crystal Maze without Richard O’Brian. The corridors could leave a hitchhiker who came in off the street by accident feeling very shaken and stirred in a truly wibbly-wobbly randomosity sense. Get yourself down there, my robots are for sale and will greet you in the south wing.

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