Hort's Townhouse

A trip to Hort's Townhouse in Bristol was somewhat of a homecoming for me. Quick personal recap for context: in 2018, I finally got sick of London and all its London ways, so my boyfriend and I upped sticks to Bristol. For the next three years, we lived in the rather splendid district of Clifton, before life swept me off again, in a solo format, towards the South Coast. I’ve popped back once or twice, but hadn’t spent any meaningful time there since moving on. Until now.  

Mini Smith (aged two) and I were booked into Hort’s Townhouse, a 19-room hotel owned by Young's, for the weekend. Don’t be put off by the fact it’s part of pub group. They know what they’re doing. Young's runs hundreds of these pubs with rooms, which are wholly individual and very good quality, all over London and the south of England. The Fold, the smart in-house newspaper installed in each room, features a handy map to inspire future trips.  

The format seems to be refurbishing traditional old inns and buildings that leak history from every crevice, and Hort’s Townhouse is no exception. Originally built as a residence in the late 1700s, with a basement from the 15th century, it went on to become an auctioneers and later a restaurant. By the 1920s, it was one of Bristol’s most fashionable places to dine.  

Young's has done an impressive job, restoring the Grade II-listed building beautifully, with parquet floors and rich hues everywhere you look. Set on a small cobbled street, it’s tucked between Stokes Croft, a trendy area with bars, bistros and independent shops, the city centre and Cabot Circus, the modern shopping centre that can hardly be declared noteworthy unless, like me, you get excited by a branch of John Lewis.  

Basically, you couldn’t be better located, especially as Bristol is such a walkable city. And just as well, because public transport, I soon discovered, hasn’t improved since I left. Memories of waiting 45 minutes for a bus that never comes to get somewhere less than 45 minutes away on foot came flooding back.  

Travelling solo with a toddler isn’t as hard as people imagine, apart from two crucial stages: getting from car to lobby, and getting from lobby to room, in as few trips as possible. So, I was exceptionally relieved that Hort’s Townhouse guests can use the carpark next door for free and that the lovely chap who checked us in didn’t remotely flinch at the piles of paraphernalia with which I fell through the door. It was too early to check-in properly, so we went out to lunch and upon returning he simply said, ‘Everything’s up in your room waiting for you.’ The dream. Later, he even chased us down the street with the iPad I’d left on the floor. 

After a few hours of terrific bistro food and gallons of wine at Caper and Cure in Stokes Croft (its sister wine bar Carmen Street Wine around the corner is equally excellent), we meandered back to Room 17, which was a treat. Huge, with a huge bed, a huge shower and, quite simply, huge amounts of comfort. It has a mustard and teal palette, heavy velvet curtains, chic lighting and a luxuriously solid bathroom piled with fluffy white towels. Homely while being a million times better than your actual home.  

The minibar also deserves a mention. Too often an after-thought with a useless fridge, or simply non-existent, they invariably leave me unimpressed. This one was well-stocked, with cold (cold!) drinks and proper wine glasses (hallelujah!). I usually operate a strict no-using-the-minibar policy, as it’s the quickest way to lose all your money, but it seems my steely resolve will crumble when faced with such a good set-up. By which I mean nice wine glasses and a cold fridge containing rosé. I’m only human. 

The following morning, fuelled by a very good veggie full English, we headed out (I’m not actually vegetarian, but I already eat far too many sausages by way of my child). You really don’t have to stray far for good food and drink options near the hotel. Chez Marcel, a cute Breton creperie, is literally next door; and Full Court Press, one of the city’s best coffee shops, is a few doors along in the other direction.  

A little further, you’ve got Farro, the superlative bakery that, five years on from when I was last a regular, has (well-deserved) queues of 20-plus come Saturday morning. So, we ended up in Greytone, a chic and minimalist Japanese coffee shop.   

Next on the agenda was the aquarium, which was top tier (becoming an aquarium expert has been an unexpected skill of parenthood); followed by a walk around the harbour and across to Spike Island for an alfresco lunch at Wapping Wharf, the food and lifestyle quarter built out of shipping containers. It was gloriously sunny, and although everywhere is better in the sun, Bristol was looking particularly good. 

The afternoon took us to the Bristol Museum and Art Gallery, which is a mini Natural History Museum, also free to enter, before Mini Smith and I collapsed back into the aforementioned huge comforts of our hotel.  

Sunday morning rolled around. We indulged in another big breakfast and reluctantly packed up. Experiencing my old city through new eyes as a guest at Hort’s Townhouse was really wonderful. I might have even had a snoop on Rightmove while I was there…