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‘Ich bin einer,’ I say when my turn comes I am one   I’ve been here before, outside this colossal power station in Friedrichshain, just over the Spree in the old East, very near to where the Berlin Wall once stood On previous occasions I queued with friends, the first time for three hours on a balmy Saturday night, which also happened to be the club’s birthday party I got in just as the sun was coming up The second time for forty minutes in midwinter, the temperature a bone-throbbing -11 Today I’m acting like a Berliner and doing it solo on an indifferent Sunday in April   I’m not here to take drugs, or get drunk, I’m not really looking to hook up; in fact, once I get in, if you dance too close to me I’ll probably move I’m here as a 45-year-old woman, to be on my own, surrounded by techno music played on one of the best sound systems in the world, the harder and louder the better   The building towers over us, monolithic concrete and steel, graffiti covering the bottom floors It’s getting on for 3 p m and there’s about a half-hour queue leading up to the entrance Most of them are male: one mixed group of hopeful tourists who get refused; two thickly bearded men who have obviously spent last night hooking up with each other They have the kinetics of recent sex in the way they touch each other and shimmy to the muffled beat, which gets louder as we approach the door In the final few metres nobody speaks We’re within range of the bouncers now and according to the websites that give advice on how to get in, drawing attention to yourself by being too loud will