Prater heat

“You know, I never feel comfortable on these sort of things. Victims? Don't be melodramatic. Look down there. Tell me. Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? If I offered you twenty thousand pounds for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money, or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare? Free of income tax, old man. Free of income tax - the only way you can save money nowadays.”

The alarm goes off at 5 and I’m out of the flat and on the tube in no time. I get to Heathrow by 6, noticing that today’s BA flight to Vienna leaves from T3, not T5 as I had assumed.

At Vienna, Gaspar meets me outside, and we head to Messe while we wait for checkin at the Airbnb. In a parallel universe our Kinghorn flat purchase is falling through due to an undisclosed enforcement notice for replacement uPVC windows.

We eat a light Lebanese lunch, in the welcome shade of an umbrella at La Cèdre, before heading off in search of Post-Its for tomorrow. The heat is too much for me, around 35C. Even the flat’s AC is struggling to cope.

We meet Ivan, the Client, for dinner at a pub over the road. I briefly toy with a Viennese special of blood pudding and bacon before settling for a seasonal Chantrelle scrambled egg special. On the way home, we just catch the local supermarket, where I acquire a mango and cardamom Radler.

The blind in my room is broken. The heat continues to successfully challenge the aircon. It’ll be fine.