Walking & Texting

The advancement in communicative technology has created a complete change in human behaviour and allowed us to build barriers to face-to-face and verbal dialogue.  Therefore, our preferences to communication and interaction have rapidly changed.  We are all guilty of relying on the text message, rather than taking the time to actually telephone and talk to someone, which was the notion behind the invention of the telephone in the first instance; mobile or otherwise. 

“Britain’s 48 million mobile users together send 4.7 million texts an hour” (Source: www.dailymail.co.uk).  

I’m very guilty of relying on text messages myself.  I sometimes use the excuse that I am too busy to call and have a conversation, so I would rather send a message that takes a couple of seconds, just as a way of ‘keeping in touch’.  Yet, if we’re on the move, it’s actually a danger to our health.  Lets forget about the obvious dangers of texting and driving and instead concentrate on walking.  I’ve already lost count of the number of people I have had to swerve in the street this week because they were texting on their mobile whilst continuing, like a heat seeking missile, on a direct line collision course with yours truly.  One joker was even texting whilst riding his bike and was inches away from denying me the future opportunity to reproduce.   The problem has become so pronounced in London, it’s led to preventive action by one London Street;

“Britain's first 'Safe Text' street has been created complete with padded lampposts to protect millions of mobile phone users from getting hurt in street accidents while walking and texting.

Around one in ten careless Brits has suffered a "walk 'n text" street injury in the past year through collisions with lampposts, bins and other pedestrians.

The 6.6million accidents have caused injuries ranging from mild knocks and embarrassing cuts and bruises through to broken noses, cheekbones and even a fractured skull.

Collision course: Padding around a lamppost in Brick Lane, London. The move is part of the 'safe text' drive to cut the number of phone users injured in street accidents

Almost two thirds - 62 per cent - of Brits concentrate so hard while texting that they lose their peripheral vision, researchers found.

Given the apparent dangers of "unprotected text", over a quarter of Brits - 27 per cent - are in favour of creating a 'mobile motorway' on Britain's pavements.

Texters could follow a brightly coloured line, which would act like a cycle lane, steering them away from obstacles.

And 44 per cent of those surveyed wanted pads placed on lampposts to protect them while texting. The study found that busy city streets were the worst for "walk 'n text" accidents.

The research showed that Brick Lane in East London was the top spot for texting injuries.  Now Brick Lane has been made the country's first “Safe Text” street, with brightly coloured padding, similar to that used on rugby posts, placed on lampposts to test if it helps protect dozy mobile users.

If the trial is successful, the idea could be rolled out to other London black spots, including Charing Cross Road, Old Bond Street, Oxford Street and Church Street, Stoke Newington.

Across London, it is claimed there were more than 68,000 such accidents last year, with victims' injuries ranging from minor bruises to fractured skulls.”(Source: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-525785/Brick-Lane-Britains-Safe-Text-street-padded-lampposts-prevent-mobile-phone-injuries.html#ixzz1JgSd5RvB)

Apparently, campaign groups believe the blame is with growing levels of street clutter, citing the increase in the number of lampposts, bins and recycling points as the reason for the large scale of accidents.  Tony Armstrong of ‘Living Streets’ described Britain’s streets as becoming increasingly like obstacle courses.  I can’t say that’s been my experience Tony.  I’ve not once thought, ‘Jeez, this walk into work is getting trickier by the day, I’m going to have to perfect my hurdling technique if it continues like this’.  Sorry, but what a load of shite! 

The first thing that strikes me, other than the walker texters’ knee, is why on earth are their campaign groups set up to assist these clowns who insist on texting and walking.  You wouldn’t choose to go out into the street blind folded would you?  No.  So why would you persistently continue to do something such as texting and walking, that causes you and others danger?  These clowns should be made to wear a bicycle helmet and big rubber armbands rather than our taxes being flittered away on stupid council initiatives such as the one described.  Sorry, but the world has gone fucking mad if that’s the solution.  

Secondly, we need lampposts to see when it’s nighttime. Improvements in lighting are in general more likely to have a positive impact on the public’s fear of crime.  More bins ensure that we have less litter on the streets, which should have a positive influence upon the Capitals’ battle against the rat population.  And finally, an increase in recycling points provides greater opportunities to recycle waste and help with regeneration, thus saving the future of the planet.  So, in short, I’m not sure how any of those ‘positive’ introductions have any bearing on idiotic human behaviour, and should be the subject of any ‘campaign’ to reduce or eradicate them.

This means nothing to me, Oh Vienna

One of the highlights of January was a first ever trip to the city of Vienna with the specific purpose of experiencing a Viennese ball.  A delightful weekend my wife and I were graciously invited along to.  If you have not been to Vienna before and you arrive – as we did – in the dark of late evening, during the depths of a frosty cold Winter, the road transfer along the ‘Ost Autobahn (Mautstrasse)’ from the International Airport to the city centre can provide for quite an eerie and spooky experience.  En route, for a stretch of around a mile and a half, you will pass a large Oil refinery.  Massive cylindrical towers stand immovable along the perimeter fencing bordering the refinery compound and motorway.  Their stone exteriors glowing orangey-red at their base, reflecting light from the row of lamps drooping lowly towards them.  I have always found there is something very ghost like about a petrochemical plant in the still and darkness of the night, intensified only by the sharp intakes of breath and visual cloud of exhalation in freezing temperatures. 

            The city of Vienna, on the other hand, is somewhat more picturesque and is recognised as a World UNESCO Heritage site.  A city I would simply describe as classically beautiful.  Our weekend was a fully hosted affair, which meant little free-time to explore on our own, but allowed for a uniquely engaging guided tour of the city centre.  Once again, the wonders of modern day technology allowed me to take some key notations down on my iPhone, rather than trying to store everything mentally.  Although, I have to admit it was quite a tricky exercise in the freezing cold temperatures, which registered as five below freezing on the Saturday morning.  Our guide, however, seemed to think that quite to the contrary, I was completely disinterested in her various fascinating tit bits because I was constantly playing with my phone.  This is, by the way, a peculiarity of modern day public speaking.  Whereby, an audience distracted by gadgets in years gone by may have signalled complete and utter disinterest, an audience playing with a mobile phone or other such gadget during your address today could signal completely the opposite.  Tweeting about key points during an interesting presentation, or tip-tapping notes for usage at a later point, are increasingly common among modern day audiences.  It’s very difficult to judge the difference between ‘bored’ and ‘full on engagement’, so this change in audience behaviour can be quite unsettling for many presenters above the age of thirty.  Anyway, I digress, as I often do.

The tour and accompanying dialogue was unique in so much as it followed the Story of the 1949 film-noir production “The Third Man” starring Orson Welles.  Many of the landmarks and locations used throughout the film are used as inspiration for some of the walking tours of Vienna, and it’s a unique concept I’ve not seen employed in any other city in the world.  The story of the film portrays features common about post-war Vienna, such as the division of Vienna into different allied sectors, as with Berlin, which was divided by the four powers; Soviets, American, British, and French.  Although, as I learnt from our most excellent guide, unlike Berlin, the central area of Vienna, known as the first district, was an international zone where the control alternated on a monthly basis among the four powers.  “The Third Man” depicts the story of an unemployed American novelist, Holly Martins, who – upon the invitation of ex-school friend Harry Lime – arrives in a divided post war Vienna, where a shortage of supplies had led to a thriving black market.  Holly’s friend Harry had offered him a job, yet he discovers that his one time friend has recently died in a rather peculiar traffic accident.  In talking to some of Lime’s associates he begins to note inconsistencies in the stories and becomes determined to discover ‘what really happened to Harry Lime?’  The guide painted a picture of Orson Welles as somewhat of a precursor to the modern day Hollywood A-Listers whose demands, expectations, entourage, and behaviour, are often very much out of kilter with the real world.  He was also known for his alcoholism and his favour of Bourbon.  Welles’ antics on set often enraged fellow actors and his refusal to act certain scenes, particularly those in the sewage systems with rats, would escalate the film production costs as they sought different means of capturing the required shots.  The tour and commentary actually motivated me to watch the film, but it’s a very slow burn and I didn’t have the patience to give it more than twenty minutes in the end.

The Austrian capital was ranked joint first with Vancouver by the EIU (Economist Intelligence Unit) in a 2005 study of over 120 world cities for ‘quality of life’.  The index measures nine key metrics; material wellbeing, or ‘wealth’; health; political stability; family life; community life; climate and geography; job security; political freedom; and, gender equality.  In itself, the 2005 “Quality-of-Life index” is quite a fascinating read www.economist.com/media/pdf/quality_of_life.pdf

Ordering Coffee in Vienna is an art form, and as the Austrians are uber conservative, ten times more than the Germans (I just told my German wife what I was writing, in a bid to seek some general confirmation of Austrian conservatism.  I advised her I would write ‘twenty’ times more, and in typical German fashion, she promptly corrected me, “I would say ten times more”.   Brilliant!), getting it right is essential.  Vienna coffee houses are among some of the oldest in the western world and, as such, are extremely stiff and conservative, particularly if you have chosen one of the more traditional cafés.  For one, the waiters are often dressed in dinner jackets, and transmit a rather authoritative, worldly, sophisticated air, not dissimilar to that of a butler. I advise you to be prepared for some serious gawking from local patrons and waiters alike.  It generally signals that they consider you to be a piece of shit.  That is unless you enter a coffee shop dressed in a tweed suit, complete with pipe, monocle, brown leather suitcase, and a copy of Keats or Shakespeare perched underneath one arm.   But, don’t let that put you off, as you’re not the one that comes from a country spawning Adolf Hitler and Josef Fritzl.  If you are a lover of Coffee, then you are almost certainly going to experience a traditional Viennese coffee house.  After all, you won’t find too many ‘Starbucks’ coffee shops in Vienna, as it’s more than likely considered sacrilegious.  However, one point of note, you won’t find traditional coffee.  The Austrians have dozens of variations on coffee and so, stating to an Austrian waiter that you would simply like a ‘coffee’ is as bad as suggesting the waiter has his twenty year old daughter locked in the basement.  It’s wise to study the coffee menus carefully, before ordering a kleiner brauner, translated as ‘little brown one’, or a grosser brauner, translated as – yes you’ve guessed it – a ‘large brown one’ (This is pretty much as close as you will get to normal unfiltered coffee with milk).  Now, for the British, who largely enjoy their toilet humour, it is quite a difficult task to keep a straight face whilst informing a very stiff pompous looking waiter that you would like a ‘large brown one’.  Visions of an ultra conservative waiter squatting out back as he curls one into a cup, was maybe too much for me, and so I plumped for something else on the menu.  I opted for one of the many coffees most closely akin to an Irish coffee, which you could incidentally order.  The “Fiaker” is a coffee with a shot of Austrian rum and whipped cream.  It’s a real ‘livener’ on a freezing cold Viennese morning.  Incidentally, the Austrians are 13^th in the world in terms of annual per capita consumption of coffee.  Interestingly, and rather surprisingly, this is two places above the Italians (15^th), six above the French (19^th), and thirty-four spots above the UK (47^th).   No fear; the UK is 2^nd only to Turkey in a list of countries by annual per capita consumption of tea.  You can’t beat a good cuppa.

Following the heavy caffeine hit during the day, we were ready to attend the ‘Ball de Pharmacie’, one of literally hundreds of high profile black tie balls during the Viennese Ball Season.  The Balls take place at the Vienna Hofburg, which for over six hundred years was the residence of the Austrian sovereigns until 1918 when the Austrian monarchy ended.  Vienna has long played a leading role as a European centre for music, from the great age of Viennese Classicism through to the early part of the 20^th century.  Viennese balls date back over four hundred years and so it’s a revered cultural event across Europe, not just in Austria.  The ‘Pharmacy Ball’, to give it its English name, is a special meeting of Pharmacists taking place at the Imperial Palace, Hofburg, which has become a very popular ball for dancing enthusiasts.  The grandeur of the Palace strikes you at night, as the splendour of the renaissance style building oozes romanticism and magic.  The feeling was one of royalty, as we climbed out of the black limousine, and joined the line of perfectly tailored gentleman and immaculately dressed ladies filing into the Imperial Palace.  As we entered the Palace into the arrival hall, an expansive marble shaped reception room, Austria’s conservatism was evident once again as there was relative hush as guests filed through the security checks and handed their tickets to the welcoming committee.  The muted silence was almost spoilt as I strongly resisted the need and temptation to force out a loud fart, which would no doubt have ricocheted straight back up off the marble floor and reverberated around the grand reception hall, for all to hear.  Indeed, I think my wife could tell what was going on inside my body by the mix of concentration and mild amusement on my face, prompting her to hiss under her breath, “Not here!”

Despite the very serious nature of the ball, our introduction to the affair was given a little extra spice and a hint of comedy because of the debutantes, who play a very important part in opening the balls.  Debutantes are young ladies, usually between the ages of seventeen and twenty-four, dressed in white ball gowns, who are literally the stars of the show.  Being a debutante at a Viennese Ball is not straightforward.  Candidates must first register and successfully complete an audition where they must demonstrate the ability to dance the Viennese Waltz counterclockwise (the reverse Waltz).  Ladies must then select a suitable dance partner who cannot be the person they registered with. 

“Among other criteria height and equal talent in waltzing are paramount, friendship and feelings are set aside.  The Viennese Waltz and the Debutante Procession walk are rehearsed to perfection. Once rehearsals have ended, the Opera Ball Manageress proceeds to the next stage – the Coronation. A glittering tiara is handed to the each of the young ladies who have anxiously waited for this very moment.

For debutantes, dress code dictates a white ball gown, tiara and a small flower bouquet.  Their partners are in white tie and tails. Debutante tiaras are made by world-renowned Swarovski.” (Source: www.viennaoperaball.com/debutante_procession.html) 

Prior to arriving at the ball, our hosts dutifully advised us that between one and twenty debutantes feinted at each ball during the debutante procession.  A fact not so obvious to the men is that many of the young ladies will not eat for hours prior to the ball, in order that they may squeeze perfectly into their ball gowns.  With the added ingredients of a weighty tiara perched on top of their pretty little heads (how patronising does that sound?!), a few glasses of Champagne, coupled with the heat and lights, it significantly increases the likelihood of a few females passing out.  So, as quite a caring group of people, we thought we would start a book on the number of debutantes we expected to see feint during the debutante procession and first dance, with a twenty Euros stake per person, just to keep the evening interesting.  Our group was positioned high above the main hall in a soundproofed ‘translation booth’, to allow us to view the debutante procession.  Fifteen of us were all crammed into a small booth ten metres square, peering down at the pomp and ceremony unfolding below, Champagne flowing freely, watching all the dignitaries filing into the room and taking their seats.  Incidentally, the debutante tradition actually started back in old Blighty in the early 18^th century.  As girls reached a marriageable age, they were presented to society in order that they may find a husband of similar desire and social standing.  It became quite a Regal affair, as George III created the famous “Queen Charlotte’s ball” circa 1780, showcasing the prettiest girls for the Queen, and more importantly, would be suitors.  Today, there remain a small amount of balls in London, but Queen Elizabeth II abolished the “Queen Charlotte’s ball” in 1958.  Back to business, our anticipation soon subsided, as the young debutantes entered the room, perfectly executing their walk with outstretched arms followed by a bow.  Below us, hundreds of guests stood, as the first waltz began, generating a sea of swirling ball gowns and glimmering tiaras across the dance floor.  When the dance finished, the debutantes had to resume a steady pose, arms aloft either side, in rows of five couples across, and up to twenty-five back, as dignitaries located on the stage, stood and addressed the audience.   This was the moment things started to heat up, as we clamoured around the front of the translation booth comparing our bets.  The debutantes where about to endure roughly half an hour of speeches, unable to break their pose, so if anyone was going to crash to the floor, this was the moment.  Exhausted, hungry, tipsy, and fatigued by the warmth of the room and the whole occasion, this is supposed to be an occasion for the young ladies to behold, something to remember for the rest of their lives, but then it all seemed a little cruel when you thought it through.   It’s as if the occasion was purposely designed to test the strength of endurance of these young ladies, like some sort of perverse Austrian game.  Having lived with two Austrians, Sigfried and Thomas, during my fresher year at University, it’s fair to say they are an “interesting” nation of people.   I was the first to spot her, third couple from the right, five rows back, swaying from left to right, a slow blink of the eyes, and knees slowly twitching, ready to buckle and totally give in to gravity.  Apparently, once the first goes, the girls drop like flies, so we were all Eagle eyed, baying for blood like a pack of wild animals.  “Drop you bitch, we’ve got two-hundred and sixty Euros riding on this!”.  Despite many ‘near events’, including several girls whose legs seemed to give way only to be ‘saved’ by the gentleman either side hoisting them back up again, we didn’t see one casualty.  Rather than being relieved for the girls, we left the booth to join the masses quite disappointed, and had made our mental notes concerning the young men who had prevented such disastrous moments for the young ladies.  They were, at least for the remainder of the evening, marked men.

            The remainder of the evening was a tour of decadence as we explored the various rooms of the Imperial Palace, enjoying the splendour of the building more than the occasion itself, which to the locals was certainly about ‘seeing and being seen’.  In fact, at times, it was so incredibly posh that I thought there was a big vat of liquid Toffee in the corner, where the social elite were allowed to go and dip their noses for a few seconds every hour, just to keep up their pretentiously superior manner. We didn’t stop around until the end and sloped off back to the hotel a little after midnight, happy to be on our way home the next morning.

We walked in the cold air

Freezing breath on a window pane

Lying and waiting

A man in the dark in a picture frame

So mystic and soulful

A voice reaching out in a piercing cry

It stays with you until

The feeling has gone only you and I

It means nothing to me

This means nothing to me

Oh, Vienna

The music is weaving

Haunting notes, pizzicato strings

The rhythm is calling

Alone in the night as the daylight brings

A cool empty silence

The warmth of your hand and a cold grey sky

It fades to the distance

The image has gone and only you and I

It means nothing to me

This means nothing to me

Oh, Vienna

This means nothing to me

This means nothing to me

Oh, Vienna

(Credits: “Vienna”, Ultravox)

The song is about a fleeting love affair, and that’s how I felt about Vienna.  It was beautiful, enticing, it drew me in, I fell in love with the city, for a short but brief moment, but then it faded, it was gone and darkness drew in.  Despite the historic centre of Vienna being rich in architectural delights, including Baroque castles and gardens, grand buildings, monuments, and the late 19^th century Ringstrasse, I found the city rather dull.  It almost seemed superficial, lacking any true substance beyond the surface.  A limited personality and I left Vienna with the words ‘this means nothing to me’, ringing in my ears.  The conclusion may be considered a little harsh on a world UNESCO site, but on the scale of world cities, it didn’t make a lasting impression.