Da dum, tsch, da da da dum, tsch tsch…

Even before we'd got to the outskirts of Vienna we were both singing that bloody Ultravox song. Or rather, we were both singing the chorus and then desperately trying to remember how the rest of it went. I doubt even Midge can remember.

Anyway, here we are in Austria's capital. Because of Claire's almost unnatural interest in all things equestrian, we of course made straight for the Spanish Riding School. Once there we were told that the famous white horses were on holiday (presumably not somewhere where they'd get a tan) but that we could see a show involving the Lipizzaner "B-team" pulling carriages. The arena in which they perform is grander than some stately homes I've been to – chandeliers, marble columns, balustrades – and the "prancing area" (that might not be the proper name) is carpeted in immaculately combed sawdust. The carriage driving was surprisingly impressive. In between demonstrations they brought in some mares with their foals to just sort of run around for a bit which was cute. I was surprised to see that while the mares were all white, the foals were all dark. I was worried that they may have to do a Jerry Springer-style DNA test but Claire assures me they do start out dark and then turn white. I'll remember that if ever we have kids. The best bit for me though was when they let loose some young, untrained colts into the ring – and they all started fighting. It was like a dog fight for the posh. There was one in particular that was rearing up and giving the others a good kicking but I couldn't see where you put the bets on…

Talking of fights, we had a terrific run in with some old chap on the underground. He boarded the train talking on his phone (take note London Underground) and walked into my knee which was slightly sticking out into the aisle. I apologised, in German, but this man (late 50s, balding) was obviously very delicate and so started berating me, in German, about blocking the aisles and being in the way. I said sorry again but this time in English which seemed to rile him more. He was shouting that it was a safety issue and that I shouldn't be blocking the aisles, this time in really good English. I pointed out, also in really good English, that he'd been on the phone and not really looking where he was going and that maybe he was at fault. This didn't diffuse the situation. Claire then joined in by telling him that he'd made his point and to move on. The man then accused Claire of hitting him!
"No she didn't," I said.
"Yes she did. I felt a hit. If she was a man I would hook her eye out!"
At this, I told him to go away but he refused, saying he had a right to stand there and would be going nowhere. So he stood there – ironically, blocking the aisle. Fortunately/unfortunately the next stop was ours so we had to leave him and make do with waving at him as he disappeared into the tunnel, still fuming.

We were heading for Stephansdom, a massive cathedral in the city centre with a beautiful multi-coloured roof, but the area was very busy as people were preparing for the state funeral, the next day, of Otto von Habsburg the last heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. So we went and had a chilled out evening by the Danube at one of a flotilla of bars on the river. It's like stepping into a little Caribbean theme park – where they sell cocktails by the pint. Mine had a combination of two types of rum, vodka, 70% proof brandy and a tiny dash of fruit juice to top it off. The combination of strong alcohol and a floating bar on a choppy river makes one rather unsteady.

Earlier on, Claire had spotted a leaflet advertising a concert featuring Jamiroquai and "some other guy" at the City Hall on Saturday. When I saw that "some other guy" was Paul Anka I got very excited and explained to Claire that this man was a music legend, used to hang out with Sinatra and had written My Way. We went to City Hall and tried to get tickets for this music extravaganza only to be told it was FREE! We couldn't believe our luck. We got drinks, we found a seat, we sat there excitedly waiting for the curtain to go back. Then we noticed the giant outdoor video screen. On this they showed a 2010 Jamiroquai concert from Basel and Paul Anka Live In Montreal, 2005. It turns out that this was part of a Film Festival. We made the best of it though, singing along (some people were even dancing in the aisles) and we particularly enjoyed Paul Anka's swing version of Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit. It was a bit surreal.

On our last day in Vienna, I dragged Claire around the enormous cemetery to the south east. This cemetery is so big it has its own bus route around it. The endless graves and mausoleums are fascinating in their differing styles, sizes, extravagance and taste. The cemetery's "highlight" though has to be the area where all the famous composers are, ahem, decomposing. We saw the graves of Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms, Schubert and a couple of Strausses. In keeping with the "large" theme we also visited Schönbrunn Schloss, a gargantuan palace with grounds so big that they have their own zoo in one corner. The scale of the thing is difficult to convey: they have flowerbeds the size of football pitches; there's a fountain, the Neptune Fountain, which is the size of a four-bedroomed detached house; the "summer house" down the end of "the garden" is bigger than a standard issue stately home; they have greenhouses like aircraft hangers. It was all a very grand finale to a very grand city. "Aaaaah, Viennaaaaaa!!"