Well all the excitement of my arrival in Vienna yesterday morning has gone

Well, all the excitement of my arrival in Vienna yesterday morning has gone. Here in the hotel bar on the second afternoon I feel no excitement. Quite a miserable night. It was my fault, of course: I started drinking at 12 midday, unable to control my excitement, so by 5pm I was already fucked (metaphorically only). I forced myself to struggle on to 8 to try to find something to do but in vain. I was shocked to find Pour Platin—where I lost my Vienna virginity—gone. I mean it is not just closed still, and dark; or not just taken over by a different business; I mean the entire lot has been knocked down. A huge gap in the Gurtel where it used to be, and 50 yards back in the distance, the backs of the houses in the next street. It is like in Star Wars when they come out of hyperspace to find Alderaan gone, just an asteroid storm of rubble where it used to be. There is just bits of rubble where Pour Platin used to be. This is very upsetting to me. Pour Platin gave me my one great night in Vienna, back in 2005. It is still the only time I have ever made love in Vienna. Practically the entire left side of the Gurtel is a wasteland. The Erotic Peep Show on the corner of Menzelstraße was appalling, none of the kabins worked properly, the buttons unusable. I walked all the way back down and the only other place was the Laufhaus 599 which had no one worth seeing. So that was my night in Vienna. I think I am going to have to force myself to seek further afield, away from the Gurtel, to the places I crossed off of my list before leaving home. We will see if this trip can be rescued.

I could have had sexual adventure in Brussels, Berlin or Vienna but I did nothing

I could have had sexual adventure in Brussels, Berlin or Vienna, but I did nothing. There was nothing I wanted. If I’d met a T—, an A—– or a D—- it might have been different. I still think there must be an Esmeralda out there with my name on her but I may never find her. The great days of Yulia, Riccarda, Iga, Diana, Emily, Martina, Maria seem long gone. That whole world does not excite me like it used to, it does not excite me at all. I still keep going because I don’t know what else to do. Being at Gatwick waiting for my flight to Vienna at least WAS a little bit exciting and erotic, so that was a good sign. Contrast that with my total misery on the Eurostar to Brussels in September. I think going for one night only is better, then I can always tell myself I can be home tomorrow. What on earth would I have done for a second night in Vienna? I went to all the places I really wanted to go. I woke up the next morning feeling completely miserable. A couple of hours back down in the Dorint bar cheered me up a bit before the bus back to the airport.