After my first visit to the Oktoberfest, I’ve come to the conclusion that the world outside Germany breaks down neatly into two categories: those who have been, and those who haven’t. Those who haven’t might still think that Germans are all organisation, regularity and curtness. Those who have know that Germany is indeed organised and regular – but also exceptionally friendly. In other words, they are already kind of in on the secret of why I like living here.

So what is it about the Oktoberfest that is so great? Well, I’m not one for worrying about my reputation, so I’ll happily tell you straight down the line that the drinking is superb. The beer is strong, delicious and comes served in litre glasses termed Maßkrüge: with that as a starting point, what’s not to like?

Then again, the beer is simply the icing on the Oktoberfest-cake; another essential ingredient is the tents, which when full contain several thousand yet manage to convince every one of those thousands that they are part of a small, special fraternity. This is achieved in no small part by the musicians, another important ingredient, who punctually, once every quarter of an hour play the catchy drinking song “Ein Prosit der Gemütlichkeit”, loosely translated as “A toast to conviviality”.

At the sound of this fragment, people spontaneously stand – few at first, but after an hour or so it catches on. You’re soon bored of toasting the people on your own table over and over again, however, so you look around for other early standers, make eye contact and feel instantly able to go and talk to them. Next thing you know, you’ve made the acquaintance of the entire table and, when the next “Prosit” comes, you’re no longer content just to stand and are instead clambering on the benches (which, flying in the face of possibly every health-and-safety rule you could conceive of in these drunken circumstances, is permitted as long as no-one climbs on the actual table).

“Prost, du Sack!” you yell out to your new mates. Foreigners at the Oktoberfest for the first time probably won’t know this one, or will have only learnt it whilst sufficiently drunk to forget it again; which is perhaps no bad thing since it kind of means “Cheers, you chump!” and might counteract the sudden impression of friendliness that pervades. There’s no need to worry, though, it’s just an example of a comically ironic term of endearment, thus proving that Germans are both friendly and funny in one fell swoop.

By this stage, though, you’ve more important things on your mind than culturally engrained linguistic irony. Like a beer-influenced, raging appetite for flesh – in both the alimentary and carnal sense. And since the Oktoberfest leaves no desire un-catered to, you can take your pick from half a roast chicken, a pork knuckle with dumplings or a comedy-sized pretzel.

As for the other temptations of the flesh, one of the blonde girls dancing around in those rather flattering dirndls – traditional dress, tight at the waist, helpful at the bosom – will be more than happy to “prosit” with you, if you see what I mean.

And while we’re back on the topic of food and drink (barely), I should revise my Oktoberfest-cake analogy: beer isn’t the icing on it, I’ve just realised, but rather more like the egg. It gels everything together – the sudden friendliness, the funny costumes, the quaint music, the excessively fatty food: just like flour and baking powder, these ingredients are on their own at best annoying, at worst downright disgusting; but mix them together and bake them in a tent, and you’re onto a winner.

And on the subject of tents and cakes, another way of explaining the Oktoberfest atmosphere to someone who’s never been is to ask them to imagine a wedding: after all, when else does excessive drinking and feasting take place in broad daylight in a tent with women wearing alluring frocks? When else do you get this mixture of people who don’t know each other from Adam, but who are instant friends? When else do you get that slight sexual charge in the air, the kind that comes from the rubbing of bridesmaids’ manifold synthetic fibre petticoats?

Incidentally, the whole thing was started nearly 200 years ago to celebrate the marriage of a Prince of Bavaria. So it really is a big wedding celebration. And just like a huge wedding party, the Oktoberfest is probably unbearable sober, but brilliant with beer.

It’s moments like this that, above all, you’ve just got to love Germany. In other countries, you only get proper wedding parties with marquees and bridesmaids once in a blue moon – in Germany, you can count on there being one every year.