The primary floor is your prototype strip club: Big Hair arena rock booms out across a huge uterine space, all raking pink bright lights and red velvet banquettes revolved around two platforms, each with an agile bleach blonde in a G-string swinging from a silver shaft. In the interim, different young ladies in meager one-piece outfits swagger to and fro with plates of beverages. We notice the customers is fairly more youthful and cooler than we'd envisioned. Plainly, we're by all accounts not the only media individuals to go to as a camp joke.
The bar menu offers whisky, vodka, or tequila at €190 a container, around £120. Nothing by the glass. Luckily, this evening's gathering is supported by Johnnie Walker Red Label, so we request whiskies on the house and down them quickly. I request a
