Night on the town keeps you young!
April 8th 2009 01:24
April 7, 2009
Night on the town in your thirties
Where do 30-somethings go for a good night out in the city? I have been out of the social loop for a while and thought it was time to get my game back on.
‘New school’style ‘cause I’ve been out of high school for quite a few years and ‘old school’ is, well, old. You dig?
I had a problem before I left the house. What to wear? Apparently, Cons, hoodie’s and anything that glows in the dark is out. I can’t do up the zip on my Levi’s and when I force the issue, I ooze muffin-top. Not pretty. I decide I look okay in ever-slimming black esprit with sparkly silver slip-on’s and Elizabeth Arden lipstick in ‘Catherine (Zeta Jones)’ red.
I meet my friend, Mandy, at that central meeting point all Sydney-siders have met before ‘Town Hall Steps’. It’s early (6.30pm) and we are sober (there having been no need to take illicit swigs of Southern Comfort on the train ride over. We are big girls now.) We decide on a mini-pub crawl before dinner and make our way down Pitt Street to the heritage-listed Edinburgh Castle Hotel.
It’s not a bad pub, although we had to stand, as there were no seats left. One
drink (reasonable-priced) was enough. As we continue down the road a small group of dapper lads in suits and ties amble past us. Mandy sniggers and reckons they are ‘checking me out’. I am surprised and secretly flattered. They are very young and I am not.
We head back over to George Street as Mandy wants to try the ‘Three Wise Monkeys’. It’s been ages since we used to come here to see bands and make out with strangers in the dark. My memory of it is over-crowded, hot and sweaty with sticky floors. As it is still early, things are quite respectable. Downstairs, patrons tuck into steak and chips at small round tables. Space is at a premium if you expect to squeeze in a jug of beer and your schooner glasses.
Upstairs we order two glasses of Cab. Sav. and seat ourselves in front of the bar where cocktails are being shaken and stirred for a nicely dressed set who look like they’ve had a day at the races. The wallpaper is a pretty ‘peacock feather’ design giving the darkened space a rather bohemian feel. I like it.
After two glasses of wine, our stomachs need filling and we walk back over to Pitt Street where a cheap and cheerful Thai restaurant – * Saap Thai - serves generous portions of aromatic fare with utmost speed and efficiency. I have eaten here before and never been disappointed, however this time the garlic and pepper beef was on the tough side. Not enough to keep me from returning as the waiters are friendly, the food tasty and there is a bottle shop two doors down with a terrific selection of beverages and helpful staff.
We sit and digest our meal over glasses of water and I am glad I didn’t pursue the jeans option. We are so full. I suggest we walk up George Street and check out the ‘Marble Bar’ downstairs at the Hilton Hotel. I have not been there since the renovation of the hotel in 2005 and am keen to reacquaint myself with the richly decorated interior. Feeling a little under-dressed, we approach the red rope and to my surprise, the friendly bouncer ushers us straight through. No cover fee.
The Marble Bar is breathtaking. Built in 1893 at a hefty cost of 32, 000 pounds, its decorations are reminiscent of Italian Renaissance traditions. I leaned back against a Corinthian column, gazed into a marble fireplaces and soaked up the ambience of Victorian excess. I stood at the carved mahogany bar and ran my hand along the smoothest marble from Belgian and African quarries. I marveled at the elaborate ceiling and thanked god that smoking is now forbidden indoors. Over the years, the many generations of visitors, both international and local have taken their toll on the building. It has taken a labour of love to restore the Marble Bar to its former glory. It really is beautiful and I felt beautiful in its presence. I sipped my wine and raised a toast to its builder, Sir George Adams. I admired the Julian Ashton paintings and I took photos of the stained pictorial glass featuring nubile beauties with impossibly perky, exposed right breasts.
Come 10pm, woozy on a delicious Barwang red, Mandy and I took to the dance floor. The Radio City Cats rocked the joint with personality and class. They delivered an energetic set of pop, rock, soul, funk and jazz. It was well after midnight when we decided to call it a night. We say goodnight and I head for platform 6 still caught up in the Cinderella fantasy of The Marble Bar.
I tread gingerly past a young girl throwing up on the platform and step onto my pumpkin as a rat scurries past. At least I have the Marble Bar to dream of. A stylish place to be yourself.
Night on the town in your thirties
Where do 30-somethings go for a good night out in the city? I have been out of the social loop for a while and thought it was time to get my game back on.
‘New school’style ‘cause I’ve been out of high school for quite a few years and ‘old school’ is, well, old. You dig?
I had a problem before I left the house. What to wear? Apparently, Cons, hoodie’s and anything that glows in the dark is out. I can’t do up the zip on my Levi’s and when I force the issue, I ooze muffin-top. Not pretty. I decide I look okay in ever-slimming black esprit with sparkly silver slip-on’s and Elizabeth Arden lipstick in ‘Catherine (Zeta Jones)’ red.
I meet my friend, Mandy, at that central meeting point all Sydney-siders have met before ‘Town Hall Steps’. It’s early (6.30pm) and we are sober (there having been no need to take illicit swigs of Southern Comfort on the train ride over. We are big girls now.) We decide on a mini-pub crawl before dinner and make our way down Pitt Street to the heritage-listed Edinburgh Castle Hotel.
It’s not a bad pub, although we had to stand, as there were no seats left. One
drink (reasonable-priced) was enough. As we continue down the road a small group of dapper lads in suits and ties amble past us. Mandy sniggers and reckons they are ‘checking me out’. I am surprised and secretly flattered. They are very young and I am not.
We head back over to George Street as Mandy wants to try the ‘Three Wise Monkeys’. It’s been ages since we used to come here to see bands and make out with strangers in the dark. My memory of it is over-crowded, hot and sweaty with sticky floors. As it is still early, things are quite respectable. Downstairs, patrons tuck into steak and chips at small round tables. Space is at a premium if you expect to squeeze in a jug of beer and your schooner glasses.
Upstairs we order two glasses of Cab. Sav. and seat ourselves in front of the bar where cocktails are being shaken and stirred for a nicely dressed set who look like they’ve had a day at the races. The wallpaper is a pretty ‘peacock feather’ design giving the darkened space a rather bohemian feel. I like it.
After two glasses of wine, our stomachs need filling and we walk back over to Pitt Street where a cheap and cheerful Thai restaurant – * Saap Thai - serves generous portions of aromatic fare with utmost speed and efficiency. I have eaten here before and never been disappointed, however this time the garlic and pepper beef was on the tough side. Not enough to keep me from returning as the waiters are friendly, the food tasty and there is a bottle shop two doors down with a terrific selection of beverages and helpful staff.
We sit and digest our meal over glasses of water and I am glad I didn’t pursue the jeans option. We are so full. I suggest we walk up George Street and check out the ‘Marble Bar’ downstairs at the Hilton Hotel. I have not been there since the renovation of the hotel in 2005 and am keen to reacquaint myself with the richly decorated interior. Feeling a little under-dressed, we approach the red rope and to my surprise, the friendly bouncer ushers us straight through. No cover fee.
The Marble Bar is breathtaking. Built in 1893 at a hefty cost of 32, 000 pounds, its decorations are reminiscent of Italian Renaissance traditions. I leaned back against a Corinthian column, gazed into a marble fireplaces and soaked up the ambience of Victorian excess. I stood at the carved mahogany bar and ran my hand along the smoothest marble from Belgian and African quarries. I marveled at the elaborate ceiling and thanked god that smoking is now forbidden indoors. Over the years, the many generations of visitors, both international and local have taken their toll on the building. It has taken a labour of love to restore the Marble Bar to its former glory. It really is beautiful and I felt beautiful in its presence. I sipped my wine and raised a toast to its builder, Sir George Adams. I admired the Julian Ashton paintings and I took photos of the stained pictorial glass featuring nubile beauties with impossibly perky, exposed right breasts.
Come 10pm, woozy on a delicious Barwang red, Mandy and I took to the dance floor. The Radio City Cats rocked the joint with personality and class. They delivered an energetic set of pop, rock, soul, funk and jazz. It was well after midnight when we decided to call it a night. We say goodnight and I head for platform 6 still caught up in the Cinderella fantasy of The Marble Bar.
I tread gingerly past a young girl throwing up on the platform and step onto my pumpkin as a rat scurries past. At least I have the Marble Bar to dream of. A stylish place to be yourself.
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