Bank Hotel

Upstairs amid a sea of sveltely contoured velvet and padded leather couches and chairs, eyes flash across the room at new arrivals. The queue is three-deep at the bar; the mood and view recall a music festival crowd milling through a swanky city mansion.

Empty chairs are scarce, downlights frame myriad huddles - and the new courtyard outside the lounge, an expensive nod to the tough new smoking regulations, is so popular there is a queue.

Despite the masses, the new Bank no longer feels like a Newtown pub. Blue satin drapes, muted chocolate hues, mirror-skirted fireplaces and a bar edged by vast slabs of back-lit, honey-hued onyx is more Woollahra than inner west. The only grunge evident at the Bank now is the clientele.