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