No snobs, ‘no w*nking’, and no succession plan. Clyde Hostel’s owner wants out

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“I figure I’ve got one or two years left before the council shuts this place…” muses Todd Pedersen, owner of Clyde Hostel in Charing Cross. Then, with a heavy sigh, he adds “…I hope.”

For decades, Pedersen has been running the cheapest hostel in the city, hosting an ever-spawning band of backpackers, partiers, and vagabonds in Glasgow’s West End. On booking sites, he claims to run “the only REAL hostel” in town, strictly for a non-picky, fun-seeking clientele. In the same booking description, though, Pedersen is cautious to include a touch of expectation management: 

“A comment for the people who book a 14-bed dorm for £10 and then leave a 30% rating. You thought it was messy, no atmosphere, facilities or safety???? Are you freaking serious??? Hey big spender! You booked the cheapest bed in the city… Whoops, i forgot to get the chocolate pillow mints, my bad…” 

This is the man whose hostel empire has provided a pocket of hippie living that some in Glasgow believe to be a godsend, while others see only a nightmare. 

Should you happen to Google the roguish owner, you’ll come across a string of stories from 2014, the era he deems “the height of wokeness”, when Glasgow was hosting the Commonwealth Games. The Telegraph, Scotsman, Daily Mail, and even America’s top gossip gurus, Buzzfeed, reported on a viral dispute with a complaining guest in which he called her a “retard”. The public backlash prompted a change in name from its former, Blue Sky Hostel.

Yet Pedersen’s sweary phraseology dies hard. When The Bell got in touch with him to arrange taking a picture for this piece, he told a staff member to pass on a message. “Just tell him to fuck off, if I wanted to talk to him I’d pick up the phone,” read the text.

Foul-mouthed yes, but one thing the pony-tailed, larger than life Pedersen is not is greedy. Since 2001, Clyde Hostel’s cheapest beds have risen in price just once, from £8 to £10 per night. Even now, he tells me as I stand with him in the alleyway behind the hostel, he occasionally lowers them back if only “to piss the guy across the road off”, referring to the nearby competing hostel, Roam Glasgow.

Today, I’m a guest. In my pocket: £9.89 in change — enough for a night’s stay. But my gonzo sleepover isn’t just for a city break. I want to know who Clyde Hostel’s notorious owner is, and why, despite what he says, Pedersen can’t seem to quit the business he’s come to resent.  

But this isn’t my first Clyde rodeo.

Carrying the show

The truth is, I visited Clyde Hostel months before I finally stayed the night. I stopped by as a freelance journalist back in August, positive Glasgow’s cheapest rooms would have some of its best stories. This was when I first met Pedersen.

He stormed in the front door with his shaggy beard and an overcrowded keyring that jingled with each step. Having barely introduced himself, the Canadian hostelier told me with confidence, “I’m getting out of here, man. I’m getting too old to carry the show anymore.”