Chris Kerr
The Fox & Goose Hotel
The moment you step through the doors of The Fox & Goose Hotel, you feel it. A welcome that settles deep, simple and clear. The relentless noise of Hanger Lane fades behind. Here, the air is calm, measured - a place that knows itself well. There’s no rush, no pretence. Just a quiet strength that holds the room together. At the heart of it all stands Chris, steady and sure, the pulse that keeps this place alive.
Chris sits in the corner of the restaurant. Just far enough from the guests to watch without being watched. The whole floor stretched out before him like a stage. He could step in if the team needed him. That’s the point.
“We’re surrounded by a concrete jungle,” he said, hands wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. “But once you come in here, you forget all of that.” And it was true. The smell of coffee hung thick. Music hummed low and steady. The team moved without hurry, each knowing the rhythm, easing into the day.
“We don’t all love the alarm at 4 a.m.,” he laughed. “But after years of breakfast shifts with Fuller’s, it’s second nature.” Usually, he was here by half past five. Before the team, before the guests. Setting the tone. Preparing the space. Music just right. Coffee machines warming. Fires lit if the morning was cold. Cushions laid out in the garden if it was warm. Every small detail matters.
By the time the first guests arrived for breakfast, the team was already moving, steady and sure, guided by his quiet watchfulness. Chris dropped in and out of the kitchen, running the pass when it got busy, keeping the front and back of house in step. Later, at ten, they took what he called a “social breakfast.” A moment to sit together - not just as workers, but as people.
Chris’s path had led him through some of London’s iconic places. The White Hart Hotel in Hampton Wick. The Chamberlain Hotel in the heart of the city. London’s Pride at Heathrow Terminal 2. Wherever he went, there was a quiet confidence - you were in good hands.
That morning, he sat down with a full English. A plate big enough to fill the frame. He smiled at the camera, knowing well the photo was for show. Normally, he’d have something lighter. A quick bite to keep him sharp.
Chris doesn’t just run the Fox & Goose. He has built something rare. “Hanger Lane might not have the village feel,” he said, “but here, we have community. Most regulars stick around, bring friends, become the heart.”
He spoke softly about the invisible work beneath the surface. “The things you don’t notice - that’s what makes it good,” he said. “It’s all down to the team. I don’t praise enough. But that’s because my bar’s already set high.”
The team moves as one. Years have shaped their rhythm, the ease between them worn smooth by time. Chris watched it all, steady. “Chasing quick wins,” he said, “risks undoing years of work. Every choice I make is for the long game - something that lasts beyond me.”.
We crossed to the hotel wing behind the restaurant. The quiet hum of cleaning filled the halls. Chris stops to talk with the team. Warm words. Quiet smiles. “I don’t need to inspect,” he says as we climbed the bright stairs. “Trust is out in the open.” And you believed him. Here, everything was earned, not forced.
“What we’ve built goes beyond service,” he said. “We get to give people something special. To go beyond what they expect. Guests come for many reasons - a break, business, a night away. But they leave with more. Memories. Moments. Friendships. There’s a reason they come back. It’s more than the place. It’s the warmth, the connection. When someone asks for the manager these days, it’s to say how special it was.”
After hours in the Fox & Goose, you see it clear. This isn’t just a bed for the night. It’s a place that holds you - quietly, steadily - doing right by those who come through its doors.
