"The whole entry process is creepy. A winding cattle pen funnels you in pairs towards the door, where the bouncers loom, radiating all the approachability of an IED. One is short, brown-haired, nondescript. The next is 7ft tall, bald, with a sloping forehead, wearing a stevedore cap and jackboots, like a cartoon of evil. And the last guy you can't even see until you step, blinking, into the spotlight. His name, appropriately, is Sven, and he sits on a chair behind the first two, dark and hulking, long hair flowing, bullets of metal stuck into him at various points. He's difficult to look at for more than a second because of the tattoo of barbed wire crawling over his face."

- This description of entering Berlin hotspot Berghain has me longing for days when giant trannies reigned at every club door. Also? The peak hours are from four to ten, a.m. Lastly? The club is a former power station. Let's go to Berlin?