AH, Vienna.

Now there’s a great idea for a song title. Though, like the noted Mancunian poet, John Cooper Clarke, I’d probably only end up getting ripped off by the unscrupulous music biz if I bothered to flesh it out.

JCC likes to tell of how he once came up with the perfect song, only to see some unsavoury hack steal the title, tweak it just a tiny bit, present the thing as all his own work and then sit back with his feet up as the fruits of a massive a world-wide hit rolled right in. Clarke’s forgotten epic? “Wherever I Lay My Hat, That’s My Hat”.

But I digress, which I’m afraid is something of an occupational hazard as the roving hack reaches the final days of a month on the road and his brain begins to turn to mush.

The thing is, it’s all very well for your Switzerlands and your Austrias who can go home early doors – and don’t have far to go, at that – but your travelling European Championship correspondent has to keep on trucking, or rather tram-ing, right to the bitter end.

So where was I? Ah yes, Vienna, though I think I could be forgiven for being a little unsure. The Austrian capital, as we all know, is one of the great cultural showpieces of the world, the celebrated city on the majestic Danube which graciously plays host to a veritable cornucopia of fine arts, beautiful parks and stunning architecture.

So how come my hotel room commands a view comprising of an eight-lane motorway, a multi-story car park, a dilapidated railway station and, the coup de grace, a vast and noisy building site? Forget the luck of the draw – this one must have been organised by Sepp Blatter.

Still, credit where it’s due, our hotel – which is fine and welcoming in every other respect – deserves some kind of award for making the best of a bad lot. Or, alternatively, indulging in what the bould Sepp would doubtless call “simulation.” According to the official bumpf, you see, our lodgings are located in Vienna’s “traditional embassy belt” which, from where I’m standing – on a small balcony apparently overlooking the Naas Road at rush hour – is a bit like suggesting that the Red Cow roundabout is situated “conveniently close to leafy Dublin 4”.

But then again, who needs Freud, Strauss, Klimt, Sacher and, er, Arnold Schwarzenegger when you’ve got Edip Secovic as a near neighbour? Yes, that would be Edip Secovic, the Austrian boxer, who now runs his own pub, Champs, just a few doors down the road. In fact, the great man personally served me when I called in for a packet of smokes the other night though, needless to say, I was only alerted to his fame by the numerous pictures of him in action in the ring which adorn his establishment.

However, a quick perusal of the web, coupled with the help of a Google translation, reveals the full extent of his legendary accomplishments: “Edip was Austrian champion in 1983 means-weight, 1988 WAA world champion in the semi-weight funds and 1989 champion in the semi-resources weight.”

So now you know.

Of course, devotees of the sweet science will need no reminding that Edip was also embroiled in some controversy in his career. Again, I’m indebted to Google for shedding light on the murky background to a dramatic night here in the Austrian capital. I quote: “Secovic got the opportunity in his hometown of Vienna against Salvatore di Salvatore to the Inter-Continental title in Super Media weight boxing. It worked well for Secovic, after seven rounds on all three judges in front point was.

“The eighth round Secovic caught his opponent with a heavy body hook. Di Salvatore went down and was in the traps of a Schwinger taken on the shoulder, as the Swiss the dead man marked. The ring judge waved him off, as jubelnde fans stormed into the ring to celebrate the victory. But the ring judge claimed later that he had a point deduction Secovic, and Di Salvatore a break want to give, but was due to the mob forced to disqualification. Then was officially announced winner of this fight, defending champion Salvatore Di Salvatore.”

Caught in the traps of a schwinger, eh? I think we all know how painful that can be. Still, you can’t keep a good man down. At 50, our hero has recently returned to the ring, knocking out Steve Klockow – yes, that Steve Klockow — so whatever about the embassy, our strange little neighbourhood certainly has the belt.

Further afield, on our way out to the Ernst Happel stadium for Thursday’s Spain-Russia semi-final, we did actually catch a glimpse of one of the iconic sights of Vienna – the Riesengrad ferris wheel of ‘Third Man’ fame. For the duration of the tournament, it is almost entirely covered in a massive, six-armed image of Petr Cech which must have seemed like a good idea at the time, but which would hardly inspire confidence after his howler against Turkey. That was the night the wheel came off for Cech but Cech still hasn’t come off the wheel.

We’d have to think twice about going on it anyway, on account of the fact that Vienna has been hit by some ferocious thunderstorms over the past couple of days. We were still in Basle, at the Germany-Turkey thriller, when the heavens exploded here on Wednesday night, cutting live pictures to the rest of Europe and forcing the evacuation of the city’s Fan Zone. Then we arrived just in time on Thursday for a repeat performance, although this time with less chaotic results.

Still, it was impressive to arrive back at our hotel and stand dripping on the balcony to watch great spidery strands of bolt lightning split the night sky. Then, the ferocious, ear-splitting boom of the thunder – at least that’s how I imagined it must have sounded above the tumult of the traffic, the trains, the trams and the roadworks.

Oh, Vienna. Nah, that would never work as a song title.