It came to my surprise that a club apparently known for its international DJs and acclaimed V.I.P service [they will collect you at your door and bring you to the club in a Hummer] , nestled near our hostel amongst the run down warehouses and gypsy shops.

So following a bottle of the Czech Republics finest Vodski myself and some mates ventured down to Mecca – the diamond in the rough, apparently.

Talent: Prague boys and girls must all shop in the same place. It seemed there was some sort of unspoken competition that each of the sexes had to squeeze themselve into the tightest pair of jeans possible. This was then accompanied by an even tighter t-shirt. There were erect nipples everywhere. Honestly, a person could lose an eye.

Toilets: As far as I remember (I was quite drunk at the time), the toilets in Mecca were unisex. If this was not the case I was the drunken guy pissing in the sink in the ladies… I apologise.

Sounds: Considering my hazy memory of this night I can remember nearly every song the DJ played. This only happens when the music is exceptionally good or exceptionally bad, unfortunately for Mecca the latter applies. I don't know whether it was the eight minute version of Princess Superstars Exceeder or the Hed Kandi megamix but finishing a set with an electro house remix of Red Hot Chilli Peppers By the Way is truly unforgivable.

Goodies: Drugs seemed quite rare in the club with most of them I assume being snorted in the VIP- (which was placed smack bang in the middle of the club so all the Czech gangsters and whores could parade their expensive bottles of vodka to the minions on the floor.) Alcohol was cheap (ish) for Prague with a vodka and coke ranging at about the €7 mark.

Some other delights were the podium dancers/prostitutes that gave it socks either side of the DJ, a welcome distraction from the smelly female backpackers who thought a smear of makeup and a spray of Sure made them passable - sadly it usually did.

Icebreaker: Hey do you like David Guetta?

Jawbreaker: No

From Dave B