There are almost no truly budget hotels in the West End, so hoteliers get away with merely functional facilities. Here, everything is little: the stairway, the rooms, the charm. And correspondingly, the rates. There’s usually barely enough storage space, a TV mounted on an armature, a basic writing desk, teeny clean bathrooms, and firm beds, albeit ones covered with dowdy bedspreads. Forget the lack of a lift and all the ways it’s average and slipping year by year. Its footing on Monmouth Street, steps from a rainbow of pubs, boutiques, and food clustering around Covent Garden, is without comparison. Dump your bags and go play, because the price is fair.