The writings, from the start...

A Swiss Party (Part Two)…

A week-long binge in England would have consequences. Fried to the tonsils, youths would without doubt overdo things; policemen would be biffed left, right and centre; ASBOs would be liberally dished out like toilet paper. Biffing policemen, I might add, should be done sparingly, if at all – viz. in emergencies, such as interfering with

Read More »

A Swiss Party (Part One)..

Were you to have a bigoted view of the Swiss, what would you think of? A timid throat-clearing at the Wednesday matinee? A pusillanimous boffin meticulously recording his watchmaker sales in triplicate? An apple-cheeked teetotaller still harrumphing that the 06.12 train to Lausanne ran four seconds behind schedule in 1993? Well, I’ll give you half

Read More »

Where’s the Road Gone?..

I say, this weather’s getting a bit serious. A good rule of thumb, I’ve always thought, is if you can’t physically get to  – or indeed see – your vehicle, it might as well stay where it is. Sound sensible? Yes, well let’s hope the beer truck can get through; surely this qualifies, even in

Read More »

Jazz and Cafes..

In Secrets of Paris, Vernon Coleman writes, ‘London invented coffee houses but abandoned them. Today, only Vienna has cafes which match those of Paris.’ Well said, Vernon – I shall take a brandy immediately, to fortify myself for the day ahead. First stop, Cafe Leopold Hawelka, a dimly lit cafe in central Vienna. It’s perfect

Read More »

Should pigs be in zoos?..

Normally, a man needs an excuse to visit a zoo – perhaps in the form of a child needing a chaperone. Or maybe a simpering girl, treating you to a glimpse of her petticoats and whooping at the cute little penguins. Of course, it might simply be a judgement muddied by drink. What’s my excuse?

Read More »

Horsing About in Vienna..

A Strauss waltz plays unobtrusively in the background. Tourists drift onto the grand, stone-balustraded balconies; horses trot elegantly through the sawdust below, their riders sitting regally astride in brass-buttoned tunics. ‘Stallions, Barn, not horses,’ corrects Crazy Sandra. ‘The ones when they have a shot and it doesn’t work.’ She is pressing her hands together, colouring

Read More »