Contrary to the name, the creator of Bimbotown should be hailed as a veritable clubbing genius. Bimbotown is basically a collection of what everybody else wishes they’d put in their own clubs. If you asked a group of ravers at various stages of a 24 hour sesh what they needed in their lives right at that moment, you’d probably find it there.

Kicking off unspeakably early for German standards – 10pm – there was already plenty afoot by the time we arrived. No sooner had we stepped into the room than we were almost run over by a wooden shack – yes, you read that right – a mini-chapel on wheels to be precise, complete with two rows of pews and a pulpit from which a captivating Leipziger led what I’m sure would have been an inspiring sermon, had he not been narrating from an old romantic novel.

The mechanics didn’t stop there. Venturing further in, we discovered half the fun of the place was avoiding various pieces of furniture being driven around the club – tables, arm chairs, beds – essential cotching equipment. Having said that, you wouldn’t want to lean too far back in one of their many suspicious chairs, as you could never quite be sure which of them were on springs, designed to send you (and inevitably, your drink) flying.

Especially enjoyable was an adventure down the back of a sofa which opened up and ate whoever was unwitting enough to put their feet up for a few minutes. Only to reappear ten minutes later on a mechanical bouncing bed – ideal for those who like to get thrown around a bit.

As ever, the East German music vibe was impeccable, taking us through the night with funky tech-house to hard techno in the early hours of the morning. The dance floor was small and always moving - literally stepping aside every so often to let a party bed drive through. It was at this end of the arena that we were able to fully appreciate the superb tree-house cotching platform that had been ingeniously planted there (pun fully intended).

But what goes up must come down, and it was with absolutely no trepidation at all that we took to the rope swing with all the style and grace of a drunken George of the Jungle to shimmy our way back down to earth. This should tell you all you need to know about German health and safety – essentially, that they don’t give a shit. It’s just superb.

Across the hall lay more fun and games – a foozball table for one – where the music was provided by a band belting out some manic ska-punk. The frenzied soundtrack couldn’t have been more apt for what we were about to come face to face with: Three bath tubs, set up on levelled platforms, where our dear editor’s housemates were frolicking naked with each other in the bubbles.

As people gathered round the exhibition-like glass case to watch the bath-time antics, the excitement was reminiscent of going to see the monkey cage at the zoo – particularly when the stars of the show were replaced by some rather more buxom German girls, causing the crowd endless delight by splashing and washing each other.

Needless to say, we spent the majority of the night running around like excited kids. The whole concept of the night was so unlike anything you’d find back in the UK, further reinforcing the fact that German clubbing is just on a whole other level. Berlin may be Europe’s hub for techno, but Leipzig knows how to have fun with it.