Smithfield Hotel: 22 Beds, One Big Red Flag

Once upon a pandemic, the government—bless their optimistic hearts—decided that handing out billions in Bounce Back Loans on the basis of nothing more than good intentions and a mildly convincing email address was a fine idea. And lo! A thousand pop-up “businesses” were born, many with names as imaginative as “ABC 2020 Ltd” or—wait for it—BSS20 Ltd. A subtle nod to its birth year, as if the director was unsure when the company was formed and needed a reminder.

Now, what makes BSS20 Ltd so curious isn’t just its generic online-trading-meets-healthcare-meets-who-knows-what company description. No, it’s the sheer speed with which it burst into existence and then faded into the shadows—just in time to (potentially, allegedly, coincidentally) hoover up a government-backed loan before dissolving itself like sugar in weak tea.

The company was incorporated in December 2020, long after the BBLS eligibility cut-off. Its declared business? As vague as an Ed Davey MP press release. Its turnover? A mystery. Its accounts? Bare-bones, with one especially tantalising entry—a long-term creditor of £4,594. Not quite enough for a Ferrari, but plenty for a hot tub and a trip to Dubai.

And then… gone. Dissolved. Like it was never there. A fiscal ghost. Another casualty of what HM Treasury would politely call a “compliance challenge”, and what the rest of us might call a blatant abuse of the taxpayer’s purse. Still, mustn’t grumble, it’s only our money.

Now here comes the real twist in the planning portal plot.

Who should suddenly reappear in 2025, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of dissolved companies and overdue accounts, but the same enterprising gentleman—now filing planning paperwork for The Smithfield Hotel in Oswestry. Yes, that Smithfield. Once a hotel, now proposed to become a 22-bed HMO, complete with communal bins and a generous helping of “low-cost temporary accommodation”, presumably for those displaced by the next pandemic, financial crash, or planning decision. Or just off a dinghy in Dover.

It would be funny, if it weren’t real.

Of course, we wouldn’t dream of jumping to conclusions. Just because someone oversaw a company that checks every fraud risk box flagged by HM Treasury—the late incorporation, the swift dissolution, the vanishing act—doesn’t necessarily mean they shouldn’t be trusted with reshaping a town centre property into what will likely resemble a badly-supervised youth hostel.

The sole director of BSS20 Ltd—the man behind this tale of fiscal intrigue, dissolved companies, and daring planning ambitions—is none other than:

Mr Bhupinderjit Singh Sidhu.

The man who dissolved a company—and now wants to convert a hotel.

Yes, *that* Mr Sidhu. Currently applying to turn The Smithfield Hotel into Oswestry’s newest 22-bedroom HMO.

Because apparently, what this town really needed after COVID wasn’t community, investment, or vision—it was more bunk beds.

And lest our esteemed councillors forget, let this serve as your polite reminder:

Moral fibre is no longer optional. Courage is no longer negotiable. And silence is not neutrality—it’s complicity.

You ran for office. You asked for responsibility.

So wear it—or be worn down by the scrutiny you now face.

If councillors choose to do nothing, then they should prepare themselves—because the next demonstrations won’t be polite. They won’t be quiet. And they won’t be forgettable.

Compared to what’s coming, the poll tax protests will look positively benign.

Let’s be clear: if this mess grows any worse, it won’t just be the developer under scrutiny—it will be you councillors.

Because silence, in the face of community betrayal, is not just weakness—it’s culpability.

And if you thought the era of backroom dealing ended with the last government—think again. You haven’t seen anything yet.

These days, we don’t even let them in by rubber dinghy.

The era of leaky boats is over—we now import them via Gatwick, tuck them into Oswestry’s best rooms, and slap a gag order on the taxpayer.

We fly them in, house them in the finest hotels, and slap a super injunction on anyone who dares to ask questions.

Not content with secrecy, our enlightened overlords have upgraded to silence backed by court order.

Transparency? That’s for parish newsletters and broken park benches.

When it comes to real decisions—about who gets housed, who gets paid, and who gets forgotten—your opinion doesn’t matter.

And your councillors and Members of Parliament?

They’ve taken a vow of silence so solemn it would make the mafia blush.

Still, in the interests of transparency (a concept that seems alien to certain quarters of Shropshire’s developer class), a full report has been submitted to Councillor James Owen, Shropshire’s Cabinet Member for Housing and Leisure.
So far, he has offered no comment.
Perhaps he’s busy.
Perhaps he’s hiding under his desk.
Or perhaps—just perhaps—he’s waiting for a planning officer to tell him what to think.

Or perhaps he just can’t be bothered.

And where is our esteemed Member of Parliament Helen Morgan in all this furore. Surely there’s a photo opportunity in there somewhere. But no, Missing In Action MIA. Her silence is deafening.