After several pointers in its direction, the Male and I have been trying to get to a place called the Croft Institute for ages.

"It's really cool!" people kept telling us. "It's all kitted out like a science lab and upstairs, there's grass on the bar!"

Whatever. But, y'know, I'm collecting funky little bars in Melbourne, so we wanted to get there eventually. Every time we were out on the town, lounging at the Lounge, or at La-La Land, or even yuppying it up over at the Metropolitan, one of us would say: "Hey, we should go to the Croft."

We'd especially say it when we had company, which was fairly frequently, considering the number of visitors we've entertained since we came down here. It was such an utterance that led to the four of us - Jojo and Bugalugs in the party, when those two were down to visit - staggering down a dark alley in Chinatown. They thought we were trying to get them mugged. We knew that this was actually the way to this infamous Institute. Although even we were starting to think that we'd picked the wrong dark alleyway when we reached the end, and all was still dark.

It was the right alleyway. The place was closed. Foiled again.

But the Male is not one to accept failure, so he tried again on Friday night, while entertaining a couple of the old collegial crowd, down from the 'Berra to witness another old collegian getting engaged. (There was much speculation during the evening about what her fiance's surname was. We'd all met him before, some of us many times, but no one could remember what his surname was. I suggested reading his mail.) I'd piked on the gathering earlier, but was told the result.

The place was, at least, open this time. However, as they made ready to gleefully enter, the Male was pulled up short by an aggressively casual lout loitering in the doorway.

"No ties, no suits." He had his cap on backwards, and his attitude was so laid-back it could have been used as a battering ram.

The Male blinked. He'd gone straight from work to drinks to dinner to there, so he was corporately attired. Unacceptably so, apparently. "Well, how about if I take the tie off? And the jacket?"

Young Gangster of the Year shrugged, pointedly not caring. "No suits no ties, man."

The Male performed his partial strip. Even, daringly, undid the top button of his shirt. Since YGY couldn't object any further without looking like he actually cared about something, they were allowed to continue.

Apparently, after all that, the place was really quite funky and had a relaxed vibe. But honestly, was it worth it?

This arouses my anarchist instincts. I cannot currently think of any way to fuck their system, but rest assured, something will occur to me, and then they will pay for their trendy fascism.