It Means Nothing to Me...

So today I'm in... Vienna. Home of the beautiful blue Danube, Empress Sisi of Sir Andrew Lloyd-Webber fame and the world's oldest zoo, which was originally used as a hunting ground for the Emperor and his toffee-nosed pals. Nothing like bagging a freezing, half-starved tiger to drape across the black and white marble tiles of one's second bathroom, duckie.

This is the third time I've been here now, the second time in the same hall. It's strange how the memory works- I remember the arguments we had last year with the locals about where we could park our buses, and that the German-language stage-version of Grease was playing across the street. Yet, stumbling off the tourbus this morning, I couldn't recall how to get into the venue and walked almost all the way around the building with freezing fingers and bleary eyes. That said, I did exactly the same thing last year.

We did an outdoor show for TV here last summer, and I took a free day after the break-down to look around, utilising a streetbike 'borrowed' from the local promoters. History stalks you at every turn. Men in powdered wigs attempt to coax you into constantly-looping mini orchestra recitals. Uncle Adolf made his famous Anschluss speech from a balcony just around the corner from our stage, and during the war years Vienna lost it's capital status to Berlin. After the war it was split into four zones for a spell, and became a hotbed for espionage between the Western and Eastern blocs. The opulence of the old empire is overwhelming, the architecture so decadent and pristine that the buildings begin to look fake, and you could fool yourself you'd stumbled onto HBO's backlot. Yes, that's Julie Delpy, sleeping on a mock-up of the Heldenplatz. Don't look at her.

This time around I won't see any of the architecture the city is famous for, save for Schonbrunn Palace, which we'll pass on the 14-hour drive home tonight. We have our own aluminium version of it now, which we will soon be erecting in a European city near you. Which is it's own nightmare (see my December thread for confirmation).

Going back to the tricks the mind plays, it seems I'm in trouble with my girlfriend. I don't remember our first date, at least not in the right order. I do recall, however, that I came back to England for little reason other than to go on it. I've mistaken the location of our first kiss (I move fast, people). I thought I even remembered which table it was on in a particular bar, and now it seems I was miles away. At least around the corner, anyway. As I try desperately to claw my way back into favour without blowing my cool, I've rationalized that I do remember our first date - the excitement, the possiblities, the stolen moments in crowded bars, or singing along together at a free gig - I just don't remember the facts. And who needs facts when you've got nice pictures?