Drink, drink, drink and don't mention the poll

While the rest of German is preoccupied by the sober business of electing a new government, Munich had something more serious to think about - the annual Oktoberfest which started on Saturday. More than 6 1/2 million people came to Munich last year with the single purpose of drinking themselves to a standstill at the world's biggest beer festival and the organisers expect more this year.

The Wies'n, the vast open space where the festival is held, is a mass of tents. The biggest ones, belonging to breweries such as Lowenbrau and Paulaner, are the size of football fields, seating up to 10,000 drinkers at long, wooden tables.

Over the three weekends, visitors to the Oktoberfest will consume 620,000 chickens, almost 100 oxen and more than five million litres of beer.

Some say they come to Munich to watch the formidable waitresses, clad in frilly Dirndl (the Bavarian national dress), hefting 10-litre glasses of beer at a time. Others maintain they are eager to sample local specialities, such as white sausage with sweet mustard or pork knuckle with sauerkraut.

But the truth is that almost everyone at the Oktoberfest is there for nothing other than the beer - and lots of it. The smallest measure available is one litre, at a cost of about £4, and few thirsty tourists are prepared to travel all that way for "just the one".

The problem is that, after two or three, even the sturdiest of the drinkers who pile into the Lowenbrau tent start to feel a little light-headed. By 2 p.m. the 10 largest tents are a heaving mass of drunkenness. By 3 p.m. the singing will have started - a limited, tuneless repertoire interrupted by roars of "Who the f. . . is Alice?"

By 4 p.m. many drinkers will have removed some, if not all their clothes in preparation for a delicious display of wobbly, male flesh atop the tables. By 5 p.m. the journey to the lavatory will seem like an impossible trek for some, as the ground beneath the tables becomes a little more soggy.

The next few hours will pass in a blur, punctuated by a snack, the occasional, inarticulate dispute and loud declarations of profound affection and undying loyalty. But by 10 o'clock some revellers will choose the path of adventure and, after lengthy planning and negotiations, will make their way out of their tent and into the vast funfair that accompanies the festival.

On the way, they will pass drinkers of every nationality - even some Germans - and may look into some of the numerous, smaller tents which add to the variety of the Oktoberfest. Some will be full of old ladies sipping beer as they complain about crime and foreigners. Others will be home to special interest groups, including a large contingent from Germany's gay leather and motorcycle scene.

The attractions of the funfair are so many and so alluring as to make a sober head dizzy but most visitors are drawn to a moving platform where they are invited to avoid being lassooed by a local giant. Some, usually teenage girls, escape from the rope with ease but most are caught by the arm or leg within seconds and hurled unceremoniously to the ground.

Not to worry, there is no shortage of further diversion. Above all, there is the big wheel which rises impressively above the Wies'n, offering a matchless view of the scene below. As they clamber, two at a time, into the swaying seats and swing the security bar shut, some nervous souls ask themselves how safe their journey will be.

Eyeing the grubby engine that drives the wheel and checking for signs of rust on their seat, few consider the true peril of rotating at speed after such a long day. With each roll, the retching grows louder, so that by the time the wheel disgorges its passengers dozens of previously florid faces have turned alabaster white.

Shaking as they stagger, committed Oktoberfest visitors will move slowly back to their tent for a last, recuperative beer before the bars close. After that, they will have to make do with wine until the dawn rises over Munich and, with furry tongues and black, sticky lips, they whisper the name of their hotel into the ear of a weary taxi-driver.