Two middle-aged businessmen were sitting in beige armchairs next to a decorative cluster of what looked like giant toothpicks and a row of football-shaped lights, drinking lager and discussing the economic downturn. “I didn’t think Simon was for the chop,” one said, staring into his glass.

“I always thought he had a good future.”

His companion sucked air through his teeth and whispered conspiratorially.

“He should have taken voluntary. His heart wasn’t in it. But it’s difficult when someone doesn’t take voluntary.” They ordered more drinks from the bar and contemplated the fate of another colleague: “I don’t think she’s pulling her weight ... she could be next.”

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BACKGROUND

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With UK unemployment rising above two million (more than 7 per cent), the Novotel Wolverhampton — a business hotel through and through (though also popular with weekend leisure guests starved of decent places to stay) — felt like the ideal place to take the temperature of the economy.

Around me businessmen and women tapped away at laptops or, like the pair in the adjacent seats, speculated feverishly on the dire state of the world at large.

On the face of it, all was gloom and doom, but I couldn’t help liking the Novotel Wolverhampton.

The reason was simple: it tries. The hotel is in a dull spot, not far from Woverhampton station and the A4150 roundabout, and close to derelict lots and one-way systems.

From the outside it looks a bit like a low-security prison, but inside it is bright and smart, with an effort clearly having been made to create a jolly atmosphere. The blonde receptionist was cheery. The bar-lounge beyond reception, where the business folk dwelt, had a funky retro look.

My room was smart and clean, with a red leather chair by a desk and a flatscreen television that swivelled so that it could be seen from the bed or the desk.

The bathroom, like the room in general, was spotless.

Downstairs, I was served a basket of fresh brown bread and a generous portion of Thai chicken curry at a restaurant decorated in mauves and purples, with light fittings shaped like large dice.

A Spanish waitress recommended a red wine, and there were booths in which you could watch television if you wanted (the Novotel is good on televisions).

Later, back in the bar, football was showing on yet another screen and many of the middle managers had retired to bed, expense accounts perhaps not being so generous these days. I ordered another glass of red from a friendly barman who said “Oops, I’ve gone over the line” when he poured the drink, and told me that the hotel had been refurbished last year.

Whoever was responsible has done a good job — there’s nobody likely for the chop in Novotel’s design department if the chain’s Wolverhampton offering is anything to go by.

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