Although it has been a long time since I checked on the global liveability stats, the number one city seemingly remains at the top of its game. In 2024, according to The Economist, it attained perfect scores in education, utilities, healthcare, and stability. This almost made it the Torvill and Dean of cities but one of the judges – probably East German or Russian – only gave it a 5.8 in “culture”.

Given how much Vienna is entwined with the notions of heritage and its unrivalled musical legacy, this must have irked someone at the Rathaus. Which pleases me because if every category, every year is the equivalent of a nine-dart finish, then we might just get a little bit smug. Then again, given Vienna’s Premier League reputation for unfriendliness and whinging, it would appear we already have an in-built mechanism to fend off any slide into complacency. Although I have seen nothing to suggest in the last twenty-seven years of residence that this is likely to change anytime soon.

I mention the twenty-seven years not out of any desire to remind you that Vienna’s ranking as a life quality superpower started to appear shortly after I arrived, but that in 2024 I descended into two-country parity. In other words, I have now lived half my life in Britain and half my life in Austria.

When I tell people this, assuming they don’t just ignore me fearing an infringement of the friendly threshold, I am often asked if I feel Austrian? It is a question I have been asked many times over the years but even now I am not sure. Impatient? No. A propensity to moan about everything? Not really. The use of two fingers (the wrong way round) to indicate “two”. Not yet.

But equally, I couldn’t tell you if I still feel British, whatever this means. Yes, I still try to reduce everything to a joke. Yes, I will maintain till the day I die that Austria, and the rest of Europe except Ireland cannot make decent crisps (potato chips American readers). And yes, I can still, without effort, form a queue, stand in a queue and not look puzzled when confronted by a queue (unlike the average Wiener who will look up and down and ask the person at the front if they are queueing when it is fucking obvious there is a queue).

These are all universally accepted parts of being British. Yet I would struggle to identify much else which could be codified as a set of inherently British values as distinct from Austrian. The British, of course, will disagree. But that is part of the problem. The illusion of a set of values of what it means to be British. And living the last twenty-seven years on the outside (some might say the dark side) has allowed me to sharpen my instincts to this mirage.  

Part of the problem, then, lies in the fact that I would challenge anyone to truly define either Austrianess or Britishness aside from the superficial. It is a point I have made before but I have seen enough of Austria and tried to understand its local versions of German to know that there are some good people everywhere with seemingly good intentions. Equally for the UK. But I would not necessarily define them as strictly Austrian or British because of this. I would just exclude them from my list of people who are in simple terms – through values, opinions or behaviours – just gits.

So define “git” Herr Barratt. Well, sometimes it is obvious. Those bastards who use their smartphones for video calls on the u-Bahn, bus or tram, maxing out the volume as they shout into the screen at a shaky image who shouts back. Or those other bastards (often the same bastard) who use two parking spaces for their car. Or worse a hybrid of the two bastards, the ones who cannot put down their phone whilst driving, although this also inexplicably incudes many of the drivers on my usual bus route 16A who were seemingly born with Bluetooth headphones implanted in their ears. Although, I certainly have a good idea where I would insert them given the chance.

I could go on. And on. And then a little bit more on. Like the conventional time it takes to form an Austrian coalition government, stand at your typical supermarket check-out in Vienna, or wait for an answer from the MA35 (immigration, Brexit questions and existential angst management). But all I will say is that like pornography, supporters of the Freedom Party, or almost all skiers, you know it when you see it.  Although given that the Freedom Party are currently polling about 30% and I have never met any Austrian who confesses to voting for them, it might suggest my git radar needs an upgrade.

Anyhow, soon it is time to let the pig out and hit the Silvesterpfad (New Year’s Eve Trail) where the true meaning of “overwhelm” will become apparent. Now in its 33^rd year, the official website optimistically proclaims:

“Vienna New Year’s Eve Trail, one of the largest New Year’s Eve celebrations in Europe, is the perfect place to look back on the past year, toast to the future and to welcome the new year in a boisterous manner together.”

That word boisterous is doing a lot of the heavy lifting, trust me on this. But not to worry because you can also dance to “pop and rock” as well as “blues, funk and soul” and something called “groove”. Which if that wasn’t enough there is also “disco sounds, Caribbean and Latin American rhythms” and, oh thank goodness, yes, “DJ Beats”.

Of course, the 33^rd edition, it says, will still respect “cherished traditions”. By this I presume the ones where someone spills warm Sekt on your new and expensive winter coat, a well- dressed pickpocket steals your wallet, or my favourite, when a lighted firework is placed just by your shoes ready to explode. But no, it apparently means people will again “turn and swing in rousing three-four time at the waltz courses.” Turn and swing? True family entertainment and a lesson to us all about the dangers of using machine translation.

And with that, I wish you all health, happiness and highlights in 2025.

© RJ Barratt, December 2024. Half-British. Half-Austrian. Half-arsed.