The Great Escape

Faced with the continuing repercussions from the worst PBR yet, the latest set of fatuous MP's expenses claims, the endless freezing fog and the horrendous spectre of the X-Factor (whatever that is) final, CF has done the only sensible thing possible and fled the country.

Here in Vienna, the air is crisp and still, patches in the sky are deep blue and there's a rumour of snow.

And the Austrians seem to labouring under some kind of massive misapprehension regarding Christmas. Or at least, "Xmas" the Brit' way.

There are no vivid electric blue flashing lights, just softly twinkling white ones.

Ther are no shiny inflatable cartoon reindeer, no hilarious Santas abseiling from rooves, and no gigantic trains made of light bulbs.

People are wrapped up well, strolling through the Christmas Market, buying small handmade gifts. Not brawling in their shellsuits outside Toys 'r' Us over the last 'Tickle me Elmo'.

There's a smell of coffee, but it's real coffee, not some global chain's Caramel 'n' Cranberry 'Xmaschino'.

CF's rage is beginning to subside, aided by the enormous mug of local beer that sits before him. Yes, it is early for drinking beer, but everyone else is.

There might even be a bit of 'goodwill to all men' creeping in.

Well, until tomorrow morning's flight home.

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