Behind the microphone, Gaz Brookfield and the part of the floor called the stage, the leaded windows are running with condensation. The crowd is singing and dancing, eating up the last fifteen minutes of 2013. The small Bank Tavern, hidden away on John Street, is full on New Year's Eve. Not rammed, but full enough everyone seems familiar as you jostle to the bar. The wood panelled walls are hung with blow-ups of banknotes and portraits of the Queen, on windowsills LED candles flicker amongst stacks of books. The old illuminated by the faux old.