A night on the tiles in Berlin is as thrilling and Bohemian as it is cruel and unforgiving.
So after stumbling out of a nightclub at the crack of dawn, squinting in the early morning sunlight, wondering what happened to my shirt and whose number is scrawled across my bare beer sodden chest in permanent marker, I knew no amount of Alka-Seltzer was going to dissolve the inevitable hangover from hell.