At Vienna Airport...

As soon as I engage with the mechanisms of travel, I start to get angry. And I'm not always right. Well, to be fair, I didn't get angry, just mildly and inwardly annoyed and it turned out that he was right and I was wrong. And by 'he' I mean a taxi driver who hailed from Ankara in Turkey. The thing is, I just couldn't remember as there was so much going on and it had been a few days since I last engaged with Austrian trains. To be fair, I've had other things on my mind; I'd been in Linz and from Linz I'd arrived at Wein Hbf, the central station, and for some reason, when I hailed a cab with a view to travelling to the airport, I thought I'd have to go back to the main station to pick up the so-called CAT train. Turns out that the CAT train goes from Wein Mitte. In fact, I remember, on the inward journey from the airport, that I couldn't figure out how to get to the central station from where I would pick up a train to Linz. I had to ask for information. So, on my arrival at the central station from Linz on Tuesday evening, I took a cab to my hotel, the Intercontinental. Fast forward a few days – five to be precise – and there I was sitting in the aforementioned Turkish gentleman's cab insisting that he takes me to the central station when, in reality, he was right, I needed to go to Wein Mitte. But could I be told? No. "Take me to the central station," I insisted until I realised he might be telling the truth. He was telling the truth so we went to Mitte, although he was angling for me to go all the way to the airport by cab, which would have cost me 45 Euros. Perhaps that was why I was reticent to take his word for anything – I thought he was after my money (he was, of course). But why should I take a cab to the airport when I had already purchased a return CAT ticket (roughly 12 Euros each way). So he dropped me at Wein Mitte and I walked straight on to a CAT train. Within minutes it left the station and soon I was at the airport. And that's when it got worse. 

Cafe Franzel at Vienna Airport

I tell you what I can't stand: I hate it when we're given all the work to do but the price doesn't come down. It happens in supermarkets with the self-service check-outs. Why do I have to do the job of the check out assistant? And if they expect me to, why can't I get money off? The answer is simple: capitalist greed, pure and simple. I reach the bit where I'm supposed to check in, one of those ribboned off slalom affairs, so I figured I'd save time and just duck below the barriers and make a b-line for the bag drop. Except it wasn't that simple, I needed to use the auto-check-in terminal first. I was determined not to play ball and decided instead to be lazy and let the assistant teach me how to use the auto check-in terminal, got to keep him employed, I was thinking. He did a great job and soon I was humping my bag on to the conveyor that, hopefully, would take it to the plane I'd be travelling on and I'd pick it up at the baggage reclaim in the UK.

The gate changed to G36

It all ran smoothly and so did security. I was through in minutes and then wandering around, as always, through the Society of the Spectacle ignoring the goods on offer. I bought nothing, but I was extremely angry to find that Jamie Oliver had capitalised on the catering facilities. Jamie's this and Jamie's that, I got out fast and then found myself walking alongside the automated walkway in search of somewhere decent to eat and drink. There was hardly anything.

Cafe Franzl raised its ugly head. There were hardly any seats available (and not enough seats in my opinion) and there was a queue. All I wanted was a green tea, but I couldn't be bothered to queue for it, so I walked on by and now I sit opposite said café without a drink.

Earlier, I had taken a long walk of 4.41 miles. I mooched about, went through a park, went down to the river, crossed the bridge, crossed back, found a restaurant for lunch, had some pasta and a Pellegrino and then headed back to the Intercontinental to pick up my luggage and head for the airport. That was when I met the taxi driver who insisted I needed to go to Wein Mitte. As you know, he was right. And now I wait. It's 1523hrs, my flight takes off at 1715hrs so that's almost two hours and there's not much to do here. I'm going to check out Cafe Frankl in a second to see what they have to offer, but I don't fancy much. But then they changed my Gate to G36, a hike and a half, but I got there and the first thing I saw was a bar/café and a man behind the counter shouted: "Big one?" holding up an empty beer glass. "No, I'll have a green tea," I said, grabbing a bottle of Evian. "Fancy an apple cake, Austrian, very good for you?" I couldn't be bothered to argue that the cake was probably not good for me, but I thought I'd have it anyway and I sat, but not for long, I had a plane to catch.

At last somewhere decent to chill out...for all of five minutes

I finished up and paid and then wandered towards gate G36, which was a fair hike. I didn't use the automated walkway because I figured I needed the exercise after all the sitting down I've been doing. When I reached the gate there were loads of chattering young girls and I guessed it was a school trip. I boarded the plane, took my seat (17F, a window seat) and then off we went. Not only did the girls scream as the plane took over, there was also a crying baby that didn't stop for the entire flight. There were mild bits of turbulence, but nothing to get upset about, but I couldn't really settle as a result. I enjoyed the free chocolate (which I remember from the flight out) and I'd brought on board my own bottle of Evian, that was all I had. The skies weren't clear, but there were patches where it was possible to see the ground below and soon we were making our descent into London Heathrow. Once below the cloud all was clear: the Millennium Dome, Canary Wharf, the Gherkin, the Cheese Grater, the London Eye, Waterloo railway station, the Thames winding its way through the city and then the light industrial buildings in the hinterlands around the airport. The landing was fairly smooth, there was a long wait (or a longish wait) for baggage reclaim but soon I was through customs and on my way towards the Elizabeth Line, no more extortionate trips on the Heathrow Express, I thought. Hayes and Harlington, Southall and eventually Paddington where I jumped off and took the tube, the Bakerloo line and then the Victoria Line, to Victoria where I found the 2021hrs East Grinstead train. I was home before 2100hrs. 

Shabbily-dressed people at Victoria station, London

What struck me when I reached the UK was how shabby it all looked; not only were the underground trains creaking and shaking about as they ferreted their way through the tunnels, they were dirty and unkempt... and so were the people. Everybody, including me, looked shabby in old jeans and trainers, dark grey or black anoraks, the complete opposite of Vienna where the women dressed smartly, the men were well turned out and, of course, the architecture and, needless to say, the culture, was way above the level found in the grim UK.

Back at London Heathrow...

When I reached home, the house was cold and so was England. I'd been used to the 28 degrees of Austria, I'd been lying on top of the duvet all week, getting bitten by mosquitoes, but now I found myself underneath it. 

And now it's Sunday morning and the house has been rearranged, lights have been moved around and the dining table too. I'm not sure, it's all a bit gloomy-looking at night, but I need to be a little subtle about it. God! We need the fireplace sorted out as a matter of urgency. Yes, I'm back to the realities of life and it always takes some getting used to.

In Linz...

I won't say it hasn't been fraught because it has and in so many ways it's just me allowing the little annoying things in life to hit me hard. Normally, it starts with the taxi ride to the airport, but not today. He was fine, he said nothing and just drove me to Heathrow Terminal Two at the crack of dawn, 0600hrs to be precise, although I'd been up earlier. I probably hit the sack around 2300hrs or thereabouts on Saturday night, wishing I didn't have to get up early and fly to Vienna, but I did. I must have woken up around 0330hrs and decided to just lie there trying not to fret about anything. It's easy to start fretting about things and then there's no hope in hell of nodding off again. However, I must have started to nod off because, just as I did my alarm went off. It was 0500hrs.

Time to head for gate A25 and the 0905 flight to Vienna...

The first problem was there were no dishes so I had to skip breakfast. Most of them had leftover food in them and were residing in the fridge. I just couldn't be bothered. Then there was no bread so I scavenged around until I found a bag of brioche burger buns, toasted one of them but could only eat one side as the other bit was burnt. That annoyed me, so I had another one, with marmalade but not toasted. That and a cup of tea was breakfast. I did my final checks and then I was off, the taxi arrived and I was gone. Not that I particularly wanted to go. I wasn't looking forward to the flight and I'd found out that I could take a train all the way to Vienna and that it takes 16 hours, sometimes a little less. I liked the idea of a stress-free journey.

On the plane...

I started to get annoyed when I entered the terminal building. Where should I go to check in? It was zone B and when I got there I found self-service machines. Now, I hate self-service machines. I used to hate them in the supermarkets (and still do) and I hate them even more at airports. These days it seems that we're all expected to do half of the job for the supermarkets and airlines, but I note that the prices remain the same or possibly higher. I hate supermarkets with a vengeance mainly because we all know, like with all capitalist scum, they're not there for the customer, they're there for themselves. I always have this desire for vengeance but I haven't worked out how to exact it without getting myself in trouble (yet!). I fully support shoplifters, by the way, and I'm so glad that our inept Government has made so many cutbacks that our police forces are unable to deal with petty crimes like nicking stuff from shops. 

Standing a little angrily at the the check-in terminals a man asked me for a reference number. I thought my passport would be good enough and told him so. "No, you need a reference number." "Well, I haven't got one," I said aggressively and he said nothing. "What about a human being?" I asked and he pointed to a check-in terminal. I skulked over there and had my bag checked in and then went through security, which would have been fine had my bag not been sent along the track to be double-checked by a human. Normally, this is because the system detects something of interest in the case, but mine was just full of USBs and a couple of notebooks. It happens to me regularly now and it means I have to wait just a little bit longer than normal before I can chill at the café beyond the Society of the Spectacle. I waited and waited. There was a guy from Brisbane en route to Stockholm and he clearly missed the memo about liquids; he had loads of them, probably mainly belonging to his wife as he didn't look particularly cleansed (nor did his wife). The security guy spent ages checking every bottle. When my turn arrived it was fairly simple. Basically there was nothing wrong and soon I was on my way.

Time to catch the train into central Vienna...

Because I was generally in a bad mood, probably because I'd allowed a situation to develop where I would have to fly off early on a Sunday morning – forfeiting a ride with Andy – I didn't really enjoy the breakfast. I ordered granola and yoghurt with a pot of English breakfast tea and sat there inwardly scowling to myself about virtually everything. I appear to be surrounded by absolute wankers. Whichever way I turn, there they are and their sole purpose in life is to annoy me. The gate was announced at 0825 and shortly after that time I paid up and headed for gate A25. And then the next hassle. I stood queuing and when I reached the passport check lady she told me I was in the wrong queue, so I had to go back, I wasn't allowed to pass Go or collect £200, I was suddenly at the back of the queue. 

View from room 41, Dom Hotel, Linz on Sunday 17th Sept

Soon I was through and sitting in the plane. I thanked God for small mercies, namely a window seat (19F). Outside it wasn't that clear. A blanket of grey cloud shrouded England but there wasn't much of it. Soon after take-off we broke through and the flight, bar a few bumpy bits, was fine. I took the train from the airport to the centre of the city and then jumped on a train to Linz. There were a lot of people and I could already feel my hackles rising as the seats, most of them, were booked and my ticket didn't seem to have a reservation. I stood up waiting for somebody to claim where I hoped to be sitting, but they didn't so I could eat my lunch in peace, although throughout it I kept thinking some bastard was going to turn up and turf me out.

A word (or two) on the weather: it was fantastic. No cloud cover in Austria just blue skies and sunshine. It was hot and at one point on the train journey I saw people paddle boarding on a huge lake. Summer clearly hadn't left the building in Austria and, to be fair, it hadn't left the UK entirely.

Room 41, Dom Hotel, Linz

I was sleepy and kept drifting off, almost missing my stop. The train journey to Linz from Vienna took around three hours, but I wasn't counting so I couldn't be 100% sure. My taxi driver took me to the wrong hotel, although it must be a common mistake as both had the word 'Dom' in their name. I had to walk all of five minutes with that irritating sound of plastic casters on cobbled streets. It wasn't easy and at some points I pulled and yanked at my suitcase as if it was an unruly a dog on a lead, unwilling to do anything I asked. I arrived at the right hotel and checked in and then realised that none of my shirts were pressed, but there wasn't an iron in the hotel room. Fortunately there was one in reception so I spent around 20 minutes on the floor ironing three shirts and then placing them in the wardrobe on hangers, at least I'm ready for my first meeting tomorrow morning.

I went out for a wander around town. It was warm and there were lots of women with smooth legs wearing summer dresses. I stopped at a bakery and coffee shop, Bäckerei Danecker, and ordered an English breakfast tea. And for a short while I felt better. I managed to sit and read a bit more of Climbers by M John Harrison. I've very close to the end now and I don't really want to finish it, although I have another M John Harrison book, the Centauri Device, so all is well on that front. The tea was served in a clear plastic cup without a handle, it wasn't glass but it looked like glass and was hot (the tea, not the 'glass'). Towards the end of my stay, the woman behind the counter gave me a jam-filled bun for nothing. I was chuffed! Somebody DOES love me, I thought, not realising at first that it was filled with jam, not that the filling meant she didn't love me. It was pleasant and it almost prevented me from having dinner, but after getting fed up with walking around I found a café and took a seat outside under an awning. It was warm and summery and I ordered beef stroganoff and an alcohol-free wheat beer. Perfect. I continued reading and then decided to retrace my steps back to the hotel.

I ordered beef stroganoff and beer

There wasn't much open. It was Sunday and it was like being in the UK when Sundays were sacred and nothing was open. Today, of course, everything is open in England. When I reached the hotel, the lift was on the ground floor waiting for me so I jumped in and pressed the button and soon I was in my room. It's a large room but it has one of those bathrooms where the walls are frosted glass. Now that's annoying because when I'm in a hotel I like to sleep with a light on. Normally I put the bathroom light on and then shut the door so there's just a little bit of light illuminating the room, like a little jagged piece strutting out from the source. But if I put the bathroom light on here it will blast out light all over the place I won't be able to sleep so I'll have to sleep in darkness and leave the curtains drawn back and thereby rely upon the natural light of the city. I'm in Linz, I've been here a few times and I like it a lot. In fact, on my earlier wander I actually arrived at a bike shop I remember from a previous visit, but being as it's Sunday it was closed.

I'm drinking a refreshing Gasteiner sparkling mineral water, which is much needed and afterwards I'm considering using my trim wheel, which I've brought along on the trip. I might not, though. Actually I will, why not, keep it going. I've been doing it daily for at least 10 days, probably longer, but so far I haven't seen any results. But I'm carrying on with it.

Alcohol-free wheat beer...lovely!

The bed doesn't look very inviting, especially that duvet laying diagonally across it, but I won't be hitting the sack just yet. One of the wardrobe's sliding doors sounds like a yelping puppy whenever I open it. Everything is so sterile and sad but I'm hoping that I'll feel better in the morning. Time, I think, to flick through the television channels and either watch something in a foreign language I don't understand (that's fun – not!) or check out BBC World, another sterile lump of politically correct, fence-sitting rubbish, not that I'm the sort of person who's going to watch GB News or Talk TV, they're even worse!

It's just gone 2100hrs and I've yet to switch on the television. I think the trim wheel will be first, although I'll call home and have a chat. They're watching Gaslight but I'll speak to them later.

After a brief call home I hit the sack around 2300hrs. I switched off all the lights and just lay there deep in many thoughts, one of which was thinking of my hotel room as an apartment. It was big enough. I decided that I would put shelves on the far wall for books and that was basically it. There were other thoughts, many, many thoughts, but I can't remember them now. I eventually drifted off to sleep and awoke around 0400hrs. Then I must have drifted off because the alarm rang out at 0600hrs and I kept pressing 'snooze' until it was 0630hrs, then got up and showered. It's not a bad hotel room, quite spacious and bright, but the most annoying thing about it is the door key. I've always been full of praise for hotels that don't have key cards, but not in this instance. There are three keys on the ring and they all look similar so the first hassle is always finding the right key, then it's all about getting the key in the lock and ultimately it means putting on my glasses, trying one key, then the next, does it go in upside down or the right way up, what is the right way up? Just opening the door is a faff, believe me.

Breakfast downstairs on the ground floor is fine. I ordered muesli with yoghurt, sultanas and nuts, a green tea and a couple of small slices of bread with apricot marmalade, not forgetting a banana. I sat there texting and then headed back to the room.

A busy week lies ahead of me and I'm looking forward to getting home. Shame it's Heathrow and not Gatwick, but you can't win 'em all.