I'm anticipating great things. It's a precarious position. On one side is a full belly, tickled senses, giddy smiles, a little blissful inebriation and a wonderful story to tell. On the other is "meh" and an empty wallet.So far, my introduction to the Press Club is faultless. The brass plate out front of the classic entrance of the gracious Herald and Weekly Times building (1920s) invokes memories of entering all those stuffy Melbourne institutions - the Atheneum, the Savage Club, and of course the Melbourne Club. Every city has them - those disgracefully mysogonistic gents clubs - the expensive ones without the lap dances - the ones full of pompous business men, hobnobbing and cigarillos, superb cheap winelists and winter roasts in Summer. I used to wine-rep, and strangely I now almost miss my clandestine entries at such venues to natter to the cellarmaster and flog him my wares.
Fortunately, the similarities to this Melbourne club and THE Melbourne Club don't go far past the entry. Inside it's sleek. Dark, but contemporary, and not a Chesterfield in sight. And thankfully, women abound. In fact, the place is full of them - it's the early sitting, all the blokes must still be warming up at Melbourne lane-way bars.
Read more »With love from Sarah @the_hedonista
