[As the 2008 "EuroKickFest" (finally) prepares to get cracking, our spy in Wien is feeling a wee bit peckish. Mind on the job, please. Ed.]

Mmmm, a matter of days into my exercise, and I am actually thinking of turning my guise of culinary taster/tester into the real thing. But for now, let me put my apfelstrudel aside, light up my pipe, and tell you all about the Fanzone that has been set up here in Wien, not far from my favourite roast chestnut outpost.

It is situated and runs around part of the famous Ringstrasse, transport chocolate for the visitor, and brain-child of the long-departed and impressively long-sighted Emperor Franz Joseph I. Set up so that the letters F A Z E stand out from afar, the Fanzone contains 10 giant viewing screens, 18 security cameras, and 86 food and drink stalls offering a vast array of delicacies for the discerning palate of the ever hungry soccer fan. Alongside the ubiquitous hotdogs on offer there are burritos, squid, endless salad, and of course Swedish meatballs (nobody tell Brolin).

Unfortunately I have yet to find any sausage rolls, and daren't even raise my hopes about vats of Lancashire hotpot. "Beer?", you ask. Well, it costs 4.50 Euro per plastic glass, and they're expecting to sell 3 million of them only - needless to say, figure slashed due to the failures of Britain and Ireland. Thankfully, admission is free, and, thankfully again because of the alcohol on sale, security is tight - with a strict ban on brollies and flag-poles (flag bearing Poles?), they're for the cars only.

Official opening of the Fanzone is today (Saturday), with a concert courtesy of the Vienna Boys Choir and the Vienna Symphony Orchestra - both taking a break out from their post-Christmas vacations. The most intriguing aspect of the 'opening' is the rumour that it will have the most beautiful and breathtaking backdrop ever seen! The mind boggles indeed. I just hope it isn't all lost on the gorging soccer fans, and (obviously) that it doesn't involve any giant-sized, inflatable former stars of euros past. I'm haunted by the thought of a monstrous, ever-widening Tomas Brolin, searching frantically for the Swedish meatballs counter.

Time for a coffee methinks.