After last week’s haikus, here’s another old favourite: a 14-year-old review of Sydney drinking establishment, Ryan’s Bar. I changed a few words that - with hindsight - embarrassed me, but have left the rest exactly as it appeared.
Ryan’s Bar, Sydney
It may not be to everyone’s taste, but when it comes to Friday nights, nowhere can offer the niche and scale of Ryan’s Bar. It’s canonical.
Women and gay men know what I’m talking about. Finding men in suits isn’t hard. Just go for a swim at one of Justin Hemmes’ venues.
But what if you’re into something a little more specific?
What if your idea of fun is an enormous outdoor area filled with 1,500 tall, privately educated, Anglican men — all suited, all aged 21-34?
What if you’re after someone with an unlimited capacity for Pure Blonde? Someone who stands around and says ‘to be fair’ and ‘to be honest’ heaps? Someone who describes other 30 year men by the position they played in the Shore 2nd XV?
Girls who like DJs or guys in bands won’t get it — but if this is what you’re after, Ryan’s Bar is perfect. I mean, even the name is spot on: “Ryan.” Pink-faced, lives in Neutral Bay, shit at golf. Ryan.
There are also women at Ryan’s Bar. They dress corporate and are exactly beautiful enough to push in front of you at the bar every time.
Tragically for the rest of us, they all end up with dudes like Ryan.
Some more pub stuff: