More of That Miraculous PR Lady In Vienna «

More of That Miraculous PR Lady In Vienna

Monday 11th February 2013

As I was saying – I was in Vienna Wednesday to Saturday for a coffee-house tour culminating in the Coffee-House Owners’ Ball on Friday night.

So marv. But the main thing was the PR lady conducting our group around. We weren’t paying. We were there to show Vienna to the world. I must just mention the city though. Do you know it? In the late 19th century the Habsburgs rang up and said, ‘Supply five thousand yards of Imperial building.’ So pompous frontage everywhere with swirly bits and wings somehow not lightening the whole. But others had different ideas. Oh dear, dear Secession, with its gold filigree dome. Art Nouveau.

Come back later for more. We must get back to that PR lady and her glory. Entering a tram, she hurled all her money to the floor. In the Art Museum she dozed agreeably through the lecture about the salt cellar by Cellini only stirring to ask the Viennese North Oxford curator lecturer lady how much it was worth. By the evening she still hadn’t heard back from the new Puerto Rican boyfriend as to date of their next liaison. Even doing the deed, he answers his phone, so why vital text not sent? Dinner was given over to Should she make a scene, put foot down or ignore? Expertise in Puerto Rican male mentality, over-emphasis on mothers, spoiled nature resulting and commitment phobia, exceptionally forthcoming from other members of the group, also involved with men of this type. Next morning in the breakfast room, dramatic development: ‘I sacked the boyfriend at 1 a.m. …. but re-instated at 4.’ Skyped for two hours. He said, ‘Maybe you could come out…’ ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ve booked the flight.’ She’d done it while they were talking. ‘He said, “I carry you around in my heart all the time. I don’t need to text you”.’ PR Lady’s heart quite melted. Previous boyfriends she hadn’t liked. This one she does. But no good going on like this, with endless struggle to meet up, not having five years lurching about, then breaking up anyway….might as well break up now if it’s going to be five years of Will he? Won’t he? At my age…

On a previous Vienna visit PR lady had had trouble with a policeman while suffering from food poisoning. She’d crossed the road while the light was red. Identity papers were demanded. ‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll poo right here in the street,’ she’d said. This finished off even an Austrian politzei.

So, on Friday night we took the Viennese Coffee-House-Owners’ Ball. Oh the coiffures and procession of former Habsburg ladies! PR Lady had a red off-the-shoulder ball gown (and coiffure, courtesy of Vienna Tourist Board) surmounted by a convenient crumb-catching flounce. But there was trouble with the Australians at the Ball. Travel agents as it turned out, also guests of the Vienna Tourist Board. ‘The Australians were asking for room numbers,’ PR Lady bellowed in the breakfast room the next morning. ‘I know I wasn’t bad. It wasn’t anything I said. Just think of the boyfriend! …. My God , I hope I didn’t text him in the middle of the night.’ Chronically she scrolled her Blackberry. ‘No…Oh Lord! Just think of it… with the Australians asking for room numbers..’ But it was all right. She hadn’t texted.

Then we left Vienna. In the people-carrier for the airport, I said, ‘You’re always talking about your boyfriends. I’m always talking about the Gay Mother and Granny, who died in 1977. Does this suggest arrested development?’