Covered in sweat, you’re wearing someone else’s pants, you’ve got three drinks lined up god knows where, you wander across the dance floor to have someone grind their ass into your leg and it could be your dad. The Space-Time Continuum has been well and truly ripped open and at the heart of it is this bar in all its delicious wrongness. At the Flinders Hotel anything can happen - and habitually does - until all hours. Part frat party on bath salts, part sexy dive bar and part nigh-on insane, the Flinders still manages to serve up some pretty sharp cocktails (Nuclear Daiquiris, Penicillins on the rocks, Mai Tais, Fish House Punch), pour a mean spirit (this is the bar that brought the Pickleback to Sydney), bash out the mixed drinks, and generally get away with an appreciated looseness. Beers come draft, can and bottle, while wine is schizophrenic, but some gems can float down from busy Duke Bistro upstairs. Hungry? Have a hotdog. Later in the night, waaaay later, a rotating posse of DJs keep things active, and though queues regularly form, you’ll get in, be startled by the flotsam-and-jetsam décor, look at the bright, young, hot things in the joint, and dive in, head-long. It's Fun, with a capital F for Fuck Yeah.