Who should I see in Vienna, but!!

I have to say, Vienna is a very strange town.  It is very large and busy city with no less than six hop on hop off routes.  They all meet at the Opera House.

So off I went from the Hauptbahnhof (literally, the toprailwayhouse).  Vienna is a city of palaces and beautiful architecture.  Its trees are magificent.  The horse chestnuts are out in bloom again, and the whole city looks a treat.  There is only one thing slightly amiss.  From the top deck of a sighseeing bus, the horse chestnut trees block the views of the magnificent architecture which rather defeats the point.  But I did get to the Belvedere Museum (Oh bother! As I write this I realise I haven't bought the catalogue of Klimt), but I have managed to send a few postcards, which will probably arrive in December and will double up as Christmas cards.  Then I went back to the Opera, because these honest Austrians expect you to pay there.

Anyway we trundled along, having all the potential sites described to us.  I decided to get off at the Hbf.  The Hbf never arrived.  Every other scene opened up its scenic beauty, like the sewer used in the Third Man.  Round we went, and we were told that this sewer was used again in the Third Man,  I assumed that I had dropped off with so much excitement as we passed the toprailwayhouse, so I paid particular attention, and there, after all the problems, we arrived.  At Harry Lime's bloody sewers!  I called the guide (quite a lot of things under my breath) but on top of my breath, I asked when we would reach the Hauptbahnhof and found that I was on the number five tour which didn't go anywhere near it.  "You want the number two tour" she said.  As I heaved a sigh of relief, she added that the last one had departed about twenty minutes earlier.

So, after I had had a sunny period amongst the scattered showers, I took several Metro lines to get back to the hotel.  As I entered the lobby, I noticed a man with a familiar face, pinkish skin and a white beard.  He appeared to be arty, and wore the most tasteful clothes, even though cavalry twills are slightly out of fashion.  The musicians came in, late as usual (that's a musical joke) and the organist sat next to me on the banquette.  They were doing Mozart's Ave Verum and a couple of other things.  I hummed a small part, and said "is it that one?" "We'll have you in the back row", said the organist, "what are you doing tomorrow evening?"  
@Going to Prague, I replied.  (I was already miffed that I would miss Placido Flamingo by a day!)

Somehow, the talk got round to how difficult it was to autograph very dark paper, and I happened to mention that I had gone to a performance of "Five Mad Kings"by Peter Maxwell Davies and had a poster on brown paper signed by the composer.  By this time, the organist had a little group of the conductor, the leader, a couple of soloists, and myself, with the pink and white man still on the door.  "The organist suggested that Peter Maxwell-Davies had gone to Cheltenham Grammar School where I was educated.

"No he didn't", I interjected.  "He was music master at Cirencester Grammar, but we used to combine choirs with them, and he used to conduct, so I first met him in his very early days."

The organist shouted across the lobby.  "Derek, John knew P M-D in his youth"

Derek.  The penny dropped.  The well scrubbed man was Sir Derek Jacobi.

This trip gets weirder and weirder.  Shame the Flamingo wasn't there, though.