It's dim and it's a little cramped with separate rooms, all featuring shelves upon shelves of books. We enter and my brother heads straight for an old lazy boy chair, and us girls sit on a well worn, soft, velvety couch. I don't get comfortable because I'm getting the drinks in, so I take their orders and get up, but I'm stopped by one of the staff, who tell us, no no, don't get up, we do table service here. Since the bar is way over the other side and requires weaving through a crowd, I gratefully take a seat and we order our drinks. We look around us at the seventies formica coffee tables, the paintings like those that used to hang on the walls of our nana's house, the dim lamps, the wooden blinds on the windows, and, oddly, the claw foot bath in the middle of the back room. It's a far cry from the "Let's see how much we can drink before we pass out" hens parties bar hopping below us.
When our drinks arrive, we sit back, take in the atmosphere, have a browse at some books, talk about our plans for the future, our dreams, our ideas, and feel like we're a world away from the busy city...
