Vienna....

Wistful, eerily hauntingly beautiful...this song became one of the 
Eighties' classic soundtracks. Dripping in synthesized atmosphere, smoky and dangerous,  the tune instantly thrusts you into the dark mysterious streets on a cold Viennese night, laced with mournful suspense.

Yes, Falco of course enjoyed a brief Habsburg hit following his worldwide smash of Amadeus....oh no, look, it was Ultravox, not Falco. He means nothing to me, his image has gone.

My scene is set after a trip to the local Apotheke. Having to wait for some 15 minutes for my prescription  I decided to "pop" next door to a popular local baker to grab a fresh crusty Vienna for my lunch...

It was of course raining, as it so often does in Auckland's autumn, warm humid rain, leaving you steaming like a moody Ultravox video. Very atmospheric.

I entered the bakery and stood in line with the other customers, when a voice behind me announced that "there was a queue, or hadn't I noticed?"
I stood aghast, staring at the small throng of shoppers, looking for the line. Several seconds passed before I broke the cool empty silence: 

Sorry, but I couldn't see any sign of an actual queue, I apologised.

Well I am in it, and you've just pushed in, came the piercing cry by way of reply.

She was clearly mad, stood as she was at least 2 metres from the others, which failed to meet any of the distinguishing queue characteristics I know of. However I traipsed behind her and waited patiently for my Vienna. The queue led back to the shop entrance, with myself perched at the periphery. Stuck in that limbo zone, half in the shop and half out, my neck exposed to the dripping rain falling from the door lintel.

Drip, drip went the rain, slowly, with annoying regularity down my neck.

After the fifth large droplet, I tapped her on the shoulder and asked that she move inside the shop, and close the gap. She smiled coldly and we waltzed inside together, like a bizarre Pantomime horse awaiting our cue.

A few minutes later I reached the counter and asked for my loaf, but was told they had just sold it to the previous lady......Oh Schnitzel!

I had to make do with a crusty bloomer.

The wiener has gone, this means nothing to me, O the bloomer

Mr Ure would not been impressed.

D

Manners maketh man

As someone once said....I'm an Englishman in New York, Sting stung us with a song.... that still resonates with me.

This Englishman in New Zealand happened to go grocery shopping this week. Up I strolled, grabbing a small trolley and entering this vast cathedral devoted to commerce. As I perused the commodities, choosing with care and dexterity, I fell victim to that global phenomenon, the supermarket sweep. 
The accepted rules are known by all.

As you purposefully gravitate your trolley through the aisles, encountering other wheeled cages, swing left or right to avoid fellow shoppers, you nod in understanding and acknowledgement of mutual respect. Repeat encounters provide mirthful smiles and smirks amongst the smoked salmon. Grins and a giggle amid the ginger nuts, titters and tacit understanding by the tonics....

At the till, imbued with a sense of warmth and positivity we exchange hairdresser-like pleasantries with the checkout operator. Good Day? Weekend plans? The weather? Never straying from these safe topics of enforced proximity. And then we conclude, wheeling our trolleys to our cars, and leaving the collective camaraderie of the aisles behind us.

Unpacked and soon ensconced in our protective capsules we set off, adopting the road users' universal code. Waving and smiling gives way to tuts and a drumming of digits on the steering wheels.

Manners may maketh the man, so this Englishman in New Zealand tries not to get too stung by the bad traffic, following such sterling efforts amongst the Pinot Gris and catfood.

42

...minutes was the duration of the shortest recorded war in history, between the British Empire and the Sultanate of Zanzibar on August 27th 1896. Gunship diplomacy at it's best,  do as we say or we bomb your palace to smithereens. And smithereens worked, for after 42 minutes of naval bombardment in the currents of the Indian Ocean,  the Sultan surrendered and fled.

42 is also famously the answer to everything, according to Douglas Adams in the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, in which our planet is listed as ""mostly harmless".

Also mostly harmless was the 42nd installment of the Now Thats What I Call Music series, which included the then current musical travesties as the Vengaboys, Steps and Billie Piper.

In a similar vein, 42 is the amount of dollars I spent this month on my renal drugs. Currently at $5 an item plus a little extra for good luck, the government rather generously asks me to contribute towards the cost for my plethora of pills.

Not bad really as the overall cost to the taxpayer is over $3000 per month.


Thats enough to buy quite a few sultanas.

Well Hello to you too...

Yes, greetings it is I, invading your blogosphere this week. 

Andrew is alas busy on Facebook with his performing cat, so it has fallen to  yours truly  to entertain and beguile you with his exploits recently. Bear with.

So previously in Andrew's World he used to be a good diabetic, with no sugar intake, poor thing  I mean no sugar. How awful is that?
Of course now he enjoys the odd treat or three, as we all do.

Healthwise it seems he needs a flu vaccine, as he was refused by a pompous old nurse at his recent work vaccination day, due to a minor allergy. It appears the nurses are now calling the shots. 

Nothing. Nothing at all? Rude.

So this week he has been to the blood collection centre for the monthly jab, as per doctors' orders.
.
Jab: now that is a good word. Jab, jab. jab...

The nurse went about her business with the needles and labels, and then checked his details on the form.,...form that is another good word....form, jab, jab.. jabberwocky now that IS a good word.

Name? Duly given, Mrs Nurse.

Date of  Birth? Duly given, Mrs Nurse.

The rest of it?

Rest of what pray tell?

The rest of the year of the birthdate.

Seriously? You need to ask that? It could only be 1966, surely?
2066 has not even happened yet, and 1866 would make him 147. 

You seriously expect an answer? Yes it seemed.
She received both the answer and an odd stare;

Then like a robot she then went through her tasks. 
You could tell there was a lot of bad blood between them at that point.

She then left the room with no further explanation. 
Now I call that being absent without a gauze.

Stil nothing? Oh well...

Andrew will be back next time, so until then it's on with the show.....