These ventures never work in a town like Glasgow, the target market is too small. The population of footballers and their wives tend to gravitate to the leafy suburbs of Thorntonhall and Bothwell and there they stay. Actors and musicians from Glasgow bugger off south as soon as the PRS cheques or film roles start coming in. Ordinary folks signing up for membership of so called exclusive clubs then find themselves rubbing shoulders not with the footballing, star of film and screen Beau Monde that they had envisaged but rather the hoi polloi they themselves comprise. Imagine your disappointment having stumped up your subs to find that far from being the exclusive perfumed garden of your dreams, the bar is stacked four deep with freeloading businessmen with no intention of signing anything and the only other geezer that’s actually signed up is a slobbering oik in an ill fitting Slater’s suit circa 1986 with whom you would not want to share an elevator let alone the long watches of the martini drenched night. You can easily see these places thriving (as the Groucho has, in London) in any city where there’s a pool of affluent young people, networking heavy-petting style and bumping Bluetooth devices off each other but most of Glasgow society is closer to effluent than affluent. Any business venture that depends for its clientele almost exclusively on the small player pool of the Scottish Professional Football League’s not gonna last, even one that charges an astonishing £40 for a surf’n’ turf (extra for chips) and sells what they claim to be “Scotland’s Most Expensive Cocktail” (how quaint!)

I’ll report back after tonights party.