Friends in Hi places lie low when Brian’s on warpath

Groucho Marx once said he would never want to join a club that would have him as a member.

Anyone who has ventured up the rickety stairs of the Hi-B will understand what he meant.

Unlike today’s fancy clubs and sleek pubs, the tiny bar on Oliver Plunkett St in Cork is surreal — not so much a place as an experience — and it is rejection rather than acceptance that is the mark of distinction most prized by Hi-B goers.