Drinking in Munich. Septemberfest 2012. By Ben Gould 10:05 a.m. and I touchdown at Memmingen Airport, sleepless and shattered from an ill-advised pub session, face ragged, sites of acne scar battlegrounds red again, my hair a chaotic mess of things. I hop on the Allgäu Airport Express bus, listening to some clichéd music choices - namely Wagner - as we proceed through the Bavarian countryside. It's rather lovely, the only downer a strange fellow sitting ...

I hover above the port lights under the auspices of Kavinsky's 'Nightcall' from Drive (2011) on my Blackberry, in my existential element with Johnnie Walker in hand, thoughts drifting to dreams of midnight in a perfect world. I jet down on time at 9:50 p.m. and hit the bus 20 minutes later, bypassing a group of audibly confused middle-aged Scottish women who I'm sure live a few streets from me back home. I get off at the Viru Centre, a shopping mall beside Tall...

The trip there is in some beaten-up taxi I almost call 'archaic', yet the meter works, until the journey's end when the driver turns it off and claims sabotage. An expensive ride. White, white, white, mostly Dutch, some German, no British accents yet. The Amsterdam Arena is one I see from my childhood: Champions League Wednesday night football, the 1994/5 Ajax team of Frank Rijkaard, Patrick Kluivert, Edgar Davids, Clarence Seedorf et al. that triumphed in Vien...