A story in this week's news caught my eye; undercover gardai did some sterling work in a lap-dancing club exposing 'illegal activities'. I strained my imagination to its limits to envisage what these activities might be, and failing to think of anything, there was only one solution: go to the club and see for myself. Obviously serious research of this kind puts me at risk of being called a dirty old man, so I went with my friend Hugo Jellet, who's too young to be called a dirty old man and therefore might just carry me along on his shirt-tails as a young and not dirty co-traveller.

South William Street has gone through something of a metamorphosis in recent years. From a rather quiet and drab street where much of the rag trade had an office or two, it's become sexy. There are sex shops, trendy night clubs, gay bars and now a lap-dancing club - quite a change. Hugo and I were going to the Barclay Club, which is in a building that used to be Peacock Alley and then Velure before it re-incarnated into the Barclay Club. A liveried doorman lets us in and there's a tuxedoed maitre inside who takes our coats and shows us to our table.

Whatever my expectations and fevered imaginings may have been, the reality of the surroundings was quite surprising. Firstly it's clear an enormous amount of money has been spent since this was Velure. Mahogany clads the walls, Connolly hide sofas have expensive scatter cushions, the lighting is subtle and subdued, the carpeting soft. There is not, I notice, a naked lady in sight. The second surprise is the rather old-fashioned formality; the waiters are in smart tuxedos and I recognise a couple of them who worked previously in some very upmarket Dublin establishments. The only thing that distinguishes this room so far from any other dining room is a large cluster of pretty girls standing around the bar counter.

Let's be clear here, people don't come to clubs like this for the food. But in this club, at least, the food isn't a minor and secondary thing - they take it seriously enough. On each table there's a leather-bound booklet which contains the menu, the wine list, the champagne list, the cigar list, the cocktails and the house rules. The dozen or so club rules make interesting reading, but the whole page could be summarised into two words: 'don't touch'. You can look, you can ask the girls to dance for you, but no touching. So briefly tearing our eyes away from the girls, this is what we found on the menu: a page of simple snacks which included a dozen oysters at €20, tiger prawns in tempura batter at €15, a smoked salmon plate at €15, a canapé plate at €20, a cheese platter at €15 and a wild mushroom risotto at €15. Over the page more substantial dishes were listed, roast rack of lamb at €25, a beef sandwich at €25 and a magret of duck breast at €25. The day's special was turbot, also at €25.

At first sight the prices seem higher than normal, but as Hugo pointed out there's a girlie price to pay - you don't get to look at all those pretty girls for nothing. But then again a dozen oysters for €20 isn't expensive, and there's a special on at the moment - a half dozen oysters and a pint of plain for €10. But wait, before you go rushing off for that deal you have to know that there's a cover charge of €25 at the door per person, which is discounted from the cost of your meal if you choose to have one. The wine list is also expensive for the same reason, although there's a sliding scale in operation. At the lower end of the price range the wines are perhaps double what they'd be in a restaurant, but at the upper end they're about the same. A vintage Dom Perignon and a '95 Lynch Bages although pricey, were cheaper on this list than I've seen them elsewhere. In all there's a good range of wines covering most countries and prices ranges, but for people wanting to spend real money you could look at the cognac listings. A shot of 'Richard' Hennessy will cost you €250, and a shot of 1900 Armagnac costs €220.

We'd picked a dozen oysters to share as a starter and they arrived on a beautiful rhomboid plate with a Worcester sauce dip in the middle. I normally enjoy my oysters plain, but this was a really good and spicy dip of the sort that takes your voice away, so this time I used it. I began to notice that the quality of everything on the table was of a very high standard, from the cutlery to the crockery to the table settings. The service was also extremely professional, so much so that it was easy to forget we were in a lap-dancing club and not in an expensive restaurant.

While we were eating our main courses, duck for Hugo and turbot for me, we began to wonder what the 'illegal activities' might be. We were certainly not seeing any sign of any. Hugo asked our waiter if the pole on the far side of the restaurant gets used at all. 'After eleven, or when everyone's finished eating,' came the reply. Oddly enough Hugo and I were the only male-only table among the diners, the other tables were mostly taken up with couples. Hugo finished up his pink slices of duck breast and I finished my well-prepared turbot and we then we turned out attention to the pole.

Shortly after eleven the dancing started - clothed - and by reading our handbook we learned that if you like the way a girl dances, you can ask her to perform at your table for €30 a dance, or you can hire a private suite upstairs for about €400 a half hour and the girls will dance for you there, your own 'private dancer'. Hugo and I ended up talking to Terri from Holland and Nikki from Serbia who were charming and chatty, but if it's nipple count you're looking for, a Mediterranean beach might serve as well.