Inside, High Holborn House is pure London chaos, in the best possible way. You might walk in and find a fintech startup coding away next to a vintage watch dealer who’s arguing with a courier about insurance. It’s like the building itself shrugged and said, “I don’t know, I just host everyone.” And honestly, that’s why I love it.
The entrance is that weird in-between zone: not posh enough to make you feel judged, but clean enough that you don’t worry about lurking rats. There’s a revolving door that makes that satisfying swish-clunk sound, like a giant yawn. Every time I push through, I feel like I’m entering a slightly more interesting dimension, where your only job is to find the right floor without getting lost.
The lift: a tiny adventure box
Speaking of floors—let’s talk about the lift. It’s small. Like, apologetically small. If you and a stranger get in together, you’ll both do the awkward dance of staring at the numbers, pretending the silence isn’t deafening. Once, a guy got in with a massive flat-packed IKEA box. He didn’t even say “sorry.” He just sighed, as if the building had personally offended his soul. I felt for him. That lift is basically a coffin of brief awkwardness, but it gets the job done.
High Holborn House London - Kinney Green
You know a building has character when the stairwell smells like a mix of floor wax and someone’s leftover sandwich from 2019. High Holborn House delivers that vintage musk, but it’s oddly comforting—like a familiar, slightly stale hug. I once took the stairs to avoid the lift, and found a poster advertising a “Salsa & Copywriting” workshop from 2017. It’s still there. I think it’s part of the decor now.
