The real Princess Diaries
We’re travelling along a cobbled street in Vienna’s alluring old town when a pack of plague-ridden squealing rats suddenly races past us in a raging torrent.
I shriek in horror as I feel their tails whipping past my legs, but there’s barely time to think as we follow them at dizzying speed along the ramparts of the city’s cathedral, tearing to the top of the spire where we gaze across the city nearly 450ft below while being buffeted by blasting gusts of wind.
A few minutes later, we’re taken to a grand palatial hall, floating above hundreds of identikit elegant couples gently twirling to Johann Strauss’s waltz, before cowering in an air raid shelter as bombs rain down from Allied planes overhead.
