You gotta be a member, or know one.
But it’s not a stuffy, get-invited-to-apply thing. Shop downstairs. Make friends. Pay a fee. Then here it is: a handsome place with an island bar, tweed-backed stools and a 90-inch screen. Friends of members: totally welcome.
Think pork and frozen martinis.
Behind that island bar: highly allocated whiskeys and frozen glasses waiting to bring you Duke’s martinis, made with frozen gin and a twist. The pork loin’s wrapped in... pork belly. Don’t think about it too much.
You could almost wear the furniture.
The sofas and club chairs are upholstered in dapper Dormeuil suiting fabrics. Lots of pinstripes happening. Consider your outfit accordingly, so you don’t look like a floating head.
There’s a whiskey corner.
There were four bars in the country pouring stuff from the Scotch Malt Whisky Society. Now it’s five.
You can get even more privacy.
Soon, the old executive offices surrounding the bar will become a champagne room. And a velvet room. And a leather room. So you’ll need either a couple flutes, tuxedo slippers or a dominatrix.