Getting down in Germany

I am pleased to report that in the last three days, I have drunk a full liter of beer at the Hofbrauhaus; bought what is undoubtedly the trampiest shirt I have ever owned at a store called The New Yorker; worn it to extremely good effect in two separate discos, one of them filled with twentysomething whippersnappers grooving to club versions of '60s music, the other with thuggish-looking young Turks (literally) nodding to 50 Cent; and visited one palace (with two more to come tomorrow).

I am tired, I am sunburnt, and I have stories to tell.