I'M just back from Berlin:

the city most often mentioned alongside Glasgow when the cream of European clubbing is being discussed.

I'd love to say that I spent my weekend trawling Berghain's famously sticky dancefloors, or down by the Spree worshipping at the techno temple that is Tresor.

I wish I could say that I got hammered and slam danced with crust punks in Kreuzberg.

But the truth is, well … I kind of took it easy this time.

My last run-in with this incredible place resulted in an almost week-long hangover: sneaking into Berlinale opening parties, discovering Balkan beats and taking full advantage of the relaxed street drinking laws (it still feels naughty even though it's allowed) meant that I was in no state to absorb the overwhelming history that is palpable throughout the city.

This time, I slugged back cocktails from a periodic table drinks menu in Friedrichshain and sank dunkel after dunkel in Prenzlauer Berg's gentrified hipster havens.

But just as the locals were really getting started at around 3am, my bevvy body clock kicked in and sent me yawning back to my hotel.

However, it did mean that in daylight, I wasn't moments from being sick on the history-defining spots that seem to be around every corner.

Nicht so gut for my hipster credentials, but neither was being seen at Viper's Monday night Heat.

We all know what goes on at the former Clatty Pat's: midweek student escapades are rife, with spinners such as Ross McMillan laying down party beats for a strictly undergraduate crowd.

The floor is sweaty, surrounded by mirrors and thronging with borderline-lascivious dancing: elsewhere, VIP booths cater for tanked-up rugby boys and girls just out of private school.

If you're on a mission on a Monday night, it's basically the best of a limited range.

If you're a student, it's an essential part of the week.