Inside beyond the unpromising entrance yellow paint Chinese parasol ottomans and banquettes are arranged across the dark

Inside, beyond the unpromising entrance (yellow paint, Chinese parasol), ottomans and banquettes are arranged across the dark wood floor of the dimly lit bar, and tapestries decorate furniture and walls.There are cosier, small rooms, and celebrities who have enjoyed a drink here include Giorgio Armani and the actor, Billy Zane.First, I had to get past four beefy doormen, clad in thigh-length leather coats, and in the bouncer's feet-apart, arms-folded posture Getting in here was going to take some nerve. "Er, I was in here the other night and left my credit card behind the bar..." cuts no ice. "Me and my friends will be spending thousands of pounds in your bar..." No chance. They have heard them all before - and a lot worse - and they can afford to be picky This is the club that turned away Baby Spice. I was shown the door, humiliated and thirsty in central London.Two Brydges, a members' club tucked away in a little corner of Covent Garden, was the next target.

Armed with my secret weapon - the name of a genuine member - success was surely within sight.The club lurks down a Dickensian alley no wider than Tara Palmer-Tomkinson. Its entrance is the last word in understatement: an anonymous door and a buzzer marked "club". A push of the buzzer, a perfunctory: "I'm meeting Mr X" (a publishing type), and I was invited in. "He's not here yet, would you like to wait? A drink? Some olives?" I was shown to a table and a gin and tonic ("A large one?") appeared Easy as that. It was only when they refused to take my money and insisted on putting it on the unwitting member's tab that I had an urge to fall to my knees and confess.But what a lovely place it is, a veritable country house in central London. Odd-shaped rooms, tables covered in white linen, a candlestick on each, book-lined shelves Yes, I could happily be a member there. But dreary reality intruded as I overheard the couple on the next table discussing a BBC vacancy.

"I don't mind taking the job," said the woman, "but not on those terms."I was anxious lest the charming staff try to contact Mr X on my behalf. Guiltily thrusting a handful of coins into the barman's hand, I made my excuses and skulked away.I had blagged my way into three of London's smartest members' bars and enjoyed a drink in two of them. But was it really worth it? After all, I had also paid the price for that blaggery - I had been turned away from two establishments and, embarrassingly, escorted out of another two. Not so cool.If you're that keen to drink with the glitterati, literati and whatever- elserati, that will be a small price to pay. Otherwise, do it properly, fill in the application form, and spend the next 18 months in the pub..