ONE FLU OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST Just another Corona jab.

Chapter Eins:
    Vienna is full of Kunst. I barely go a day without seeing some. You can practically smell it as you wander the streets or dodge the trams. From the old to the new, there’s something for every Kunst lover here in Austria’s capital. People come from all over the world to lean forward and gaze at the local pieces, and why wouldn’t they? It is, let’s face it, a very Kunsty city.  And of course this is where Klimt and his famous Kunst Show made such an impression at Das Belvedere (local fancy building) as recently as 1908. Or KunstShau as it was called in the vernacular. We would say Art Exhibition I suppose. At this very moment, and in its original setting, the curators have lovingly recreated this collection which put Klimt’s Kunst forever in the public’s imagination. You may have seen his The Kiss respectfully recreated on a beach- or tea-towel. He could hardly have dreamed of such popularity. And most likely didn’t. But he’s dead now and it would be foolish to waste time on such philosophies. Happily for us, his Kunst lives on. Personally, I’m not a big fan. But I think we knew that.

Chapter Zwei:
    Never ever, whatever you do, sit in an Austrian sauna withOUT a towel under your arse. Even if you’re wearing board shorts. Or a wetsuit. Or an iron-lung. Because it’s dirty and unhygienic and just plain falsch. As I was earnestly instructed the other day when I entered the hotel sauna between shows to sweat out some of the previous evening’s nine litres of red wine consumed at our Viennese opening nighter. I was wearing boardies (it’s co-ed) and Mr Austria starts talking at me the minute I sit down. His English is as good as my German, so when he starts pulling on his own towel I think he’s telling me I would be more comfortable with a towel under my (dirty, stinking!) board-shorted bum. I smile and shrug. He seems to become more agitated and pulls and talks a little more deliberately. I smile and shrug more deliberately. This is when he starts to shake his head and mumble things which I sense were not in the least complimentary toward either me or Englishmen - which I think he assumed I was. He very soon gets up and leaves. Phew, think I. What was that all about?  But moments later the door is whipped open and there he is, now with a hotel maid so he has some back-up in the pointing and abusing stakes. She brings her own style with lip-pouting and head-shaking. She is also waving a plastic bottle of disinfectant. I’ve decided not to like him or the maid by now, and I want to annoy them right back, and I know just what to do. I keep smiling and shrugging. They hate this. They’re both waving towels at me and I say one of the few German words I know: warum. Why? They point at the wooden seats and the plastic bottle. I point at my board shorts. They shake their heads and I shrug even higher. Surprisingly, it just didn’t feel right sitting in a sauna with an open door being stared at and abused by two Austrians. The complete opposite of ‘relaxing’ really. Austrians aren’t known for sparking international incidents zeig heil did he just write that I think he did let’s continue but I could sense one brewing if I didn’t leave the sauna there and then. So I did.
    I later related this story to Jackie, our leading lady. She thought I should have done a shit in my hand and flung it on the wall and gestured in a way that said: And what do you think of that? I like Jackie.
    What I haven’t mentioned is that Mr Austria and his wife were using the facilities sans clothing. I should have liked to have grabbed my own maid to wave a white cane and dark sunglasses to indicate that his large hairy arse and her saggy tits were equally detrimental to one’s eye health.
    And if Austrians are such health Nazis he did it again just ignore it then how does one explain the paramedic…in his uniform…in the ambulance…with its lights flashing…smoking? Answer me that, Mr and Mrs NudeTowelLovers?
    What a pair of kunst.
    And I’ve seen some lovely churches.
    
    Hasta Manana ‘til we meet again.