A Premier Inn where I can see the damn bar from the window, something I'm not so blessed with at the Georges Street one, which is why I've still not visited it.
A very limited number of taps, an English barman who 'corrected' me to Smith-wicks, and I also suspect I might have been asked if I was a hotel guest if I wasn't wearing an expensive pile of Louis Copeland's finest (after an interview); but it's done now and I don't have to go back. And they did specifically get a public licence, so...
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