No Masks at This Ball
We’re always gunning for brilliant door staff whether concierge or bellboys or, in the case of The Bank, bouncers. This used to be, after all, a place of locked up assets so it’s good to be guarded. Security clearances passed, we’re headed onwards and upwards to enjoy an evening in the capital of South Down. We’re having a ball, quite the masquerade. Once a flashing neon Georgian drive-by (check out that Palladian window!) on the old Belfast to Dublin highway, it would take more than a motorway bypass to clench the soul from this institution of hospitality.
