Progress Report 16.1

Annyongh hasseyo, sucker.

How are things there? Okay? Good.

Well here we are, finally - the last email of my 20's. The next report you receive will be from a thirty-something. Urgh. It seems somehow appropriate that I should be entering the Decade of Defeated Dreams here, in South Korea, this Belgium of The Orient.

As you might have guessed, I'm not making the transition into my fourth decade without some amount of adolescent self-indulgence. I shall not go quietly into that beige night. I'm going kicking and screaming and pouting and stamping. I don't WANT to turn thirty!

And yet I know that at the end of the day, it's a meaningless anniversary and a simple change of digit that in the final analysis means nothing to no-one. But that doesn't help. Like most knowledge, it's useless when ignoring it permits greater pleasure. I know full well that nacho cheese makes my stomach rise up against me but that didn't stop me eating a whole tub of it on Sunday. And now, if you might indulge me, I am going to sulk about the inevitable passing of time, for and despite of all the good it shall do me.

Thirty seems an appropriate age to give up prior-cherished dreams, don't you think? For instance, I think it's now plain as day that my plans to be a rock superstar have gone irretrievably awry. I had originally planned to be dead by 27, like so many before me (Hendrix, Joplin, that fella out of the Fat Boys), but I had to revise my mission statement when I'd failed to become internationally famous by 24. Some might put it down to a slight miscalculation in my carefully-formulated mixture of charisma, talent and photogenicity, but I blame it squarely on bad luck. Right person, wrong time, wrong place, wrong alternative-reality-based-in-entirely-in-my-own-repulsively-narcissistic-fantasies. Well it's the music and drugs industries' loss, I suppose, but please doff hats as I lay those particular hopes to rest. Ashes to ashes, funk to funky, etc. I accept that playing the guitar has brought me countless hours of joy, but when I first picked it up, I can assure you that it wasn't purely for the pleasure of displaced ipsation and impressing five-year-olds. That's where it's got me so far. Pout, sulk, pout.

I've also managed to reach thirty without possessing anything vaguely resembling a career (or 29 years and 364 days, though it seems unlikely at this stage that the next twelve hours shall produce a turnaround). My CV reads like a lucky dip of dead-endedness. Call centres, cucumber farms, bar jobs and plastics factories - they all feature in my Professional History for draining durations, almost as if I'd been specificly trying to get 'coping with boundless misery' into the Skils and Abilities section. I can only dream of what it must be like to be asked your occupation and to be able to reply something other than 'I unfulfil potential for a living'. Sulk, pout, sulk.

And as the long road of the thirty-something years pan outward ahead of me, I can take along with me the knowledge that whatever happens to my physicality on that journey, none of it is going to improve. Thinnning, greying hair; sagginess; spread; tired eyes; defeated features - I can hardly frigging wait. And the mouldering maturity of the exterior is going to be in stark contrast to a mentality that still wants to behave like a teenager. This is unfortunate, as repeated excesses of drinking and 'larging it' in your thirties cease to be raffish and rock'n'roll and take on an element of the tragic, don't you think? (Well, not in your case, obviously, but it shall in mine.) What am I going to do for a good time? Do jigsaws? Wear jumpers? Walk up hills? Urrgghh. These things wouldn't even be fun drunk. Sulk, sulk, pout, pout.

And this is the attitude I'm taking into my thrity-first year. Not exactly helpful, is it? Well what do you want me to do it about it - grow up?!

Well at least in between the bouts of self-indulgence, I've been doing some celebrating. The occasion has been marked with a month of special events that commenced with a house party weekend before last, continued with a night out in Anyang last Saturday and shall progress further tomorrow night in Beomgye. And after all the congratulation and commemoration, who knows what this new decade shall bring? Certainly not me, or I probably wouldn't bother.

Okay, I'm going to be along now, as I doubt that if you've got this far, you're less than likely to indulge me much further. Rather than push my luck, I'm going to wrap it up with a message of congratulation to both Jonathan 'Off the Bench, On the Up' Peters and Sam 'I'm Walking Here' Hoar, who've both recently filled respective situations vacant. Well done.

In the next report, I promise to include something about Korea in the form of the 'Top 5 (or possibly 3) Things That Koreans Do That Are Pretty Cool'.

Annyonghi kasseyo,

S

Progress Report 15.1

Annyongh hasseyo, twunts.

How's it going? Sorry it's been so long but I've been busy with work and drinking and personal matters. I've also been devoting a considerable amount of time to planning how best to commemorate my 30th birthday, which, in case you don't know, is next Wednesday. As far as I'm concerned, it's an occasion that scarce warrants celebration, as I feeling nothing remotely close to jubilation as I watch the last dregs of my youth drain from the broken cup of my life and my head drops ahead of the slow uphill grind of approaching middle age. In spite of such expansive and indulgent melancholy though, I still expect a great deal of attention. Make sure you deliver, or instead of spending my future Sunday afternoons doing DIY and washing the car, I shall undertake a letter-writing campaign that could make things very uncomfortable for you indeed...

Though until such B&Q-and-woollen-jumper pusilanimosity has become my bread and butter, there's still the thorny issue of South Korea to put to bed. Now, where were we up to with that? Ah yes, I'd been back to the UK and was hoping that once I'd dipped my head in that particular pool of friendly homeliness, the scales of novelty would fall from my eyes and I'd be able to offer you a more neutral and studied view on this cryptic crossword clue of a country. Well unfortunately, it's not been that simple. My UK experience was more like a post-three-day-bender's-night's-sleep - a somnambulant, sweaty stagger through vaguely famaliar scenes - and so when I got back here, it was actually like I'd never been away. I didn't leave for long enough to figure out what I missed, but returned with the same lack of patience for the things that I hadn't. And it is with this aphorism in mind that I present for your consideration a brief rundown of the Top Five Things That Koreans Do That Annoy Me.

Before we start, I would like to state clearly that there is no malice intended in this. Even our closest loved ones do many, many things that get right on our tits, and it is with this thought brandished high aloft that I approach this exercise. It is not racial antipathy but a pressure-release bout of frustration-easing, whispered conspiratorially and guiltily to a trusted friend (ie you). So before we start, please give me a second to look over both shoulders and over to the other side of the room and then summon you a little closer so that no Koreans hear us... Ok, ready? You know what Koreans do what really annoys me? Well:

1) They clear the canals and passages of their head and throat free of mucus in public.

Honestly, they make noises with such force that it would cause you or me to lose an organ. Wherever they please, they'll hawk and snort and bark and fleg and leave whatever comes up on the pavement. Get in a crowd first thing in the morning and it can be like farmer's convention. It's remarkably uncouth. It's almost like whoever wrote the rules of social etiquette just plum forgot about sputum. You can be minding your own business in convivial and civilised surroundings and suddenly you'll be stunned into maiden-aunt outrage as a passing ajoshi clears a fist of phlegm from his chest at yelling volume. And no-one bats an eyelid! You want to slap the nearest stranger on the arm and share your astonishment, but no-one even seems to notice it. They're usually too busy sucking back an oyster of mucus from their sinuses themselves.

I know that this repulsive habit isn't the preserve of the Koreans, but it's the first time I've been exposed to it for any length of time. When it doesn't make you want to hoy up, it can be almost amusing. No matter how civilised the country thinks it's getting, it only takes one messy snort-and-hock issued publicly to rocketblast it back to rurality. Until they realise this, the Koreans are going to be stuck with one foot distinctly in the past. Fortunately, it seems to be mainly the preserve of the mature. Young people seem to have cottoned on where their progenitors haven't and realised that expectoration should be saved for your bathroom or the restaurant kitchen, and not, to take one example evident from where I am sitting, for the wall of the PC bang. I would make one exception to this rule, mind. That would be for the case of my next-door neighbour, who clears his sinuses at half six every morning with such a jarring bugle that I don't need to set an alarm clock. The only solution I can offer in his case would be a violent and bloody death.

2) They respect the old.

This needn't be annoying in and of itself, but the problem is that old people in Korea are so resolutely unrespectable. Aside from the criticisms laid out in the first point, the elderly Korean behaves in such a vulgar fashion that a sailor on shore leave wouldn't know where to put his face. They walk into restaurants and sit themselves where they like, yell out their order to the harried ajumma, receive their food without a scintilla of gratitude, and after noisily shovelling it back, let out a rocky belch and shuffle on their way, offhandedly tossing a couple of notes on the counter as they leave. And that's the women. The men do similar, but more drunkenly and lairily. And both genders won't think twice about shoving you aside, shouting in your face and dismissing your entire being with a moany grunt and an insouciant flick of the hand.

Whilst there's undoubted pleasure to be had from behaving so disgracefully, until I'm allowed to do it myself, I shan't be able to condone it. And of course, I never shall be allowed, as aged Koreans have the prerogative to act out in such a fashion precisely because they are aged and Korean and so according to Confucian philosophy, can do precisely whatever they like and have to be respected for it too. I could live to be be one hundred and fifty and I still wouldn't have the same licence to offend, as I'm pale of face and blue of eye. Confucius didn't make mention of where English teachers fit into the system of respect, so the elderly tend to warily leave us alone. Good job for them. Though to be fair, most of the seniors currently enjoying their spell at the top will have spent their formative years as playthings of the Japanese (who did like to play rough), so their rage at the humanity that now has it so easy can be understood if not forgiven.

3) They let salespeople get away with murder.

This is a particularly annoying point. For some reason, if someone has something to sell, Koreans are happy to tolerate any method they use to raise awareness of their enterprise, no matter what a noise nuisance it constitutes. It seems there's none so garrulous as a Korean hawker with a microphone and a cheap speaker. They have a particular love of attaching such devices to the top of vans so that they can irritate everyone over a wide area over the course of a morning. Or they'll pull up outside your apartment during the afternoon when you're trying to sleep (I start work at half six, remember) and broadcast the same monotonous, tinny patter for a number of hours, causing you to bleed out of your eyeballs with ire. Last week, someone was peddling pressed seaweed outside my school at such an apocalyptic volume that I had to move my junior class to another room. And no-one seems to mind!

No-one seems to mind when your subway journey is clatteringly interrupted by the shouts of the penknife peddlar stamping into the carriage, and no-one seems to mind when a whole street is taken over by the opening of another new shop and the occasion marked with noisy Korean dance music and a couple of scantily-clad dancing girls shouting into a microphone and disporting themselves like a couple of dyspraxic prostitutes. (This is always the MO for a shop opening, by the way. I don't know why.) And no-one seems to mind when every aisle in the supermarket is occupied by a least two noisy women imploring you to try their product, and actively interfering with your choice of noodle. It's all very, very uncouth indeed.

Worst of all are the infomercials. The one channel I can actually watch on Korean telly is called Series TV, which shows old American dramas from the 80's and 90's (the A-Team is the unironic highlight of my week), but in order to watch a full episode of any one serial, it's necessary to put up with a fifteen minute advert. These are severely exercising affairs. They're all shouty fat men, tintinabulating graphics and swooshing astons as they mobilise every weapon in their low-budget arsenal in their mission to convince you that the utter tat that they're flogging offers anything other than highly dubious benefits. And no-one seems to mind! (Also, did nobody notice at the time that America's entire drama output for the whole of the 70's, 80's and 90's was Very Camp Indeed?)

4) No matter what the quackery, call it 'traditional' and they'll lap it up.

Question: You're had a bit of a cold and you're having trouble shaking off the last of it, perhaps because you've been working too hard or you haven't been getting enough sleep. What would you do? Would you:

a) Have a quiet weekend, relaxing and looking after yourself and return to work on Monday refreshed and revitalized?

b) Join a queue of seventy or so other under-the-weathers in a farmer's field and wait for him to cut the antlers off a stag, so that you can all drink a small cup of the increasingly gelatinous blood that weeps out of the resulting wound?

If you said (b), then the chances are you're Korean. The details above where related to me by one of my students - a student whom I considered to be one of the more intelligent and independently-minded of my charges - and it serves to illustrate my point that so proud are my host nation of their history and heritage that they will abandon all common sense if they think something is 'traditional'. All the more so in the field of medicine.

Last week, for reasons that escape me now, I went along to an oriental medicine clinic. I was under the impression that I was to be given some accupuncture, but instead, an oriental medicine doctor thoroughly questioned me on all aspects of my existence (consistency of poo, travelling habits, bedwetting history), and after a lengthy period of cogitation, told me my body type. It was 'normal'. There's no foods I need to avoid, and no changes to my lifestyle necessary. Well, thanks. And my health insurance covered this consultation!

When you visit a chemist here, they more or less ask you whether you want a Chinese cure or something that will actually work. The various charlatan cures of the oriental medicine industry are utterly bereft of scientific merit but no-one seems to dare say so, lest they're accused of being unpatriotic. It really is very silly indeed.

And last one:

5) They go 'tsshhht' when they're thinking about what to say.

Let me make that a little clearer: hold the sides of your tongue against the side of your teeth with your jaw slightly open. Tense your cheeks. Suck in air sharply over the sides of your tongue. That noise is the noise that Koreans make when they're thinking about what to say next. Why? I don't know, but they all do it. When they're composing an English sentence in their head, they'll get a thoughtful look, and open their mouth to speak, and just when you think they're about to say something, you get a 'tssshht!' instead.

Actually, this one's only annoying at half six in the morning. At other times, it's actually quite endearing. I don't suppose it really belongs on this list, and I was going to have 'So many of them are Christian' instead, but if I got started on that one, we'd be here for the rest of the week.

So there you have it. The Top 5. Don't tell any Koreans what I've said - this is just between me and you, right? Oh, gosh, I feel awful saying all that, but they just get on my nerves sometimes, you know? Anyway, thanks for listening.

Just time for a quick update: Last Monday, on the 15th week anniversary of my arrival, I hung up my fourth toilet roll. This certainly augurs well for my annual plan, doesn't it? I'm actually coming in UNDER budget. Or at least I was. Uortunately, due to unforeseen meddling and runaway paper consumption by a pesky jewish houseguest, we are now looking at being OVER. How? Well, first of all, the said houseguest somehow contrived to finish roll four on Saturday, and then - THEN - acted completely outside of her jurisdiction by taking roll five from the pack a FULL FOUR WEEKS AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. Needless to say that her position is currently under review. (By the way, I promise I'll introduce her properly very soon, and I promise I shall stop referring to her as 'the jew'.)

Okay, I'm off now. I'll do my darndest to keep things regular after the brief interruption to normal service that this month has brought. Don't forget my birthday, by the way. It's next Wednesday. The 27th. I'll be 30. How are things with you, by the way? Let me know and I'll pass the information on in the next report.

Annyonghi kasseyo for now,

S

PS Isn't it getting dark early these days!

Progress Report 14.1

Annyongh hasseyo,

How are things? It seems like it's been ages, dun't it?

I have to start out with a correction and concommitant apology. See the greeting up the top there? If you look carefully, you'll see it's changed from what it normally is. This is because for the last fourteen weeks I've been saying it wrong. It's not 'AMyongh' at all, but 'ANN'. I offer you my sincerest regrets and humbly ask your forgiveness, especially if you've been using these reports to compile a Korean/English dictionary. I shall take much greater care in future, and I offer my thanks to Ms M S Rossman for putting me right.

Another apology: Sorry this report is two days late. I've been busy. Got a problem wi' that?

Anyway, I've been back in the R of K for a week now since my Great British Adventure Weekend. I have to say that at first, I wasn't all that glad to be back here, but with hindsight, this was possibly because I was suffering from a double bout of jetlag and the effects of the exhaustion and stress that a 56-hour commute would cause even the hardiest of travellers. The journey back was a museum-piece of hellishness. Having slept nary a wink since Sunday morning, I boarded the Thai jet for Seoul (via Bangkok and Taipei) at lunchtime on Monday in less than excitable spirits. The onboard team clearly noticed my strung-out demeanour and set about exacerbating it with the aggressive use of air-conditioning and lacklustre onboard entertainment. Also contributing to my misery was the Guantanamo-brand 'Stress Position' (TM) seating; the effects of chronic dehydration; a curious bout of priapism and, entirely unrelated, a Thai man who kept trying to sleep with his head in my lap. As a result, the broken figure that washed up at Incheon Airport on Tuesday evening was hardly likely to be glad to be anywhere except The World's Most Comfortable Bed.

As it turned out, I eventually, eventually ended up upon The World's Most Underwhelming Mattress and slept for a piddly four hours before I had to teach. During this time, my stomach decided to start digesting itself (causing the rest of me the amount of discomfort appropriate to such an enterprise) and my bowels started speaking in tongues. Consequently, my classes on Wednesday morning were as much an ordeal for my students as they were for me. That no-one died vouchsafes the existence of a benevolent God.

Things weren't so bad on the way there, but that's not to say they weren't agonizing. That leg of the journey had the advantage though of delivering me into the welcoming arms of pasty faces, grey skies and the Johnston lettering on the Underground. I was the only person smiling when the tube stopped for twenty minutes outside of Acton Town - I'd missed such singularly British inefficiency. And I'd also missed Indian food, Yorkshire tea, Belgian lager, German pilsner, Irish stout and all the other things that make Britian great, and so it was with a zeal that scarce befitted a man who'd not slept for thirty six hours that I assaulted the kitchen upon my return. I ravished three bowls of Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes in quick succession and caught a steaming mug of tea unawares on the sofa. Then I threw myself upon three months of mail, tearing open envelopes like a bull with the urge upon it, before finally exhausting myself with the Sky remote. After half an hour's increasingly languid flicking, I took to bed, whereupon I slept for fully five minutes.

After a shower, some shopping and a much needed haircut later, I took myself into London town, for drinks. If you were there, you know who you are. It was great to see you, especially (and in no particular order) Jonny, Garvo, Emma, Pan, Natalie, Tori, Xanthe, Laura, Rob, Jim, Clyde, Stella, Guinness, Budvar, and them two lasses who were sitting on the next table. It was a pleasure to break dried squid with you. And I would also like to thank the two pricks in the members' club (that Xanthe took me to after the pub) who gave me the oppportunity to indulge in some good old-fashioned, London-style verbals. I'm not sure whence our disagreement stemmed, but I seem to recall the word 'man-bag' being bandied in my direction. As I made abundantly clear at the time, it's a friggin' satchel. Anyway, the drunken excitement and subsequent lack of sleep made the train journey to Durham the following day pleasurably painful, and my exhaustedly hungover state also excused the Very Bad Thing* I did at King's Cross Station. From Durham station, I was deposited by a fighty taxi driver at the Travelodge for family reunions, first meetings, and BBC News 24.

I have an inexplicable affection for the BBC's rolling news service and it can keep me in a soporific, sated state for hours upon end. There's many a junkie could learn from me that pleasure offered by heroin is nothing compared to being on the sofa and on the nod with Kate Silverton and Jane Hill for the afternoon. Just as well, as this was the only thing that the Travelodge were offering by way of comfort. This is one thing where the Koreans have us Brits beaten hands down. When I stay at a hotel in Korea, I can expect to find, laid on and at no extra cost even in the most budget of hotels, the following: a TV with full cable access; a DVD player; a PC with broadband internet access; air conditioning; a fridge stocked with complimentary spring water, fruit juice and vitamin drinks; a water filter with instant hot and cold water; tea and coffee-making facilities; a hair dryer; a comb; a hairbrush; shower gel; shampoo; conditioner; soap; toothpaste and a toothbrush; condoms; a table and chairs or a sofa; matches; an ashtray and a box of tissues. This is what I got at the Travelodge: a TV, a bar of soap, two teabags and a serving of instant coffee. What is more, the Travelodge cost three times what your Korean hotel will cost you. And when I emailed the manager of the Durham Travelodge to pass on this information, do you know she suggested that I was talking through my hat? I even took photos of my hotel stay in Seoul last Friday as evidence, but since then she has broken off correspondence. I think it was the shot of me in the bath that did it. I'm not sure when hotels decided to break away from the hospitality trade, but there's at least one hotelier in Durham who doesn't know the first thing about it...

Friday night in Durham brought beer and curry and a vague smattering of sleep, then after a Subway for breakfast (Veggie Delie on Parmesan & Oregano, all the salads, South West and Chilli sauces), I went to a wedding in which my sister Katie got married to my new brother-in-law, Glynn 'G-Unit' Cooper. From what I remember, the whole day was a thoroughly pulchritudinous and charming affair, but by this point, my jetlag-ravaged grip on sanity was loosening and free-flowing champagne and beer did little to help haul me back upon the precipice. I can't really recall any one moment from the whole day, but when I woke up on the Sunday I wasn't in a police cell, so I imagine I behaved if not well, then at least within the confines of the law. Anyone who I saw on this day - it was wonderful to see you. Particularly you. And anyone I offended outside of the standard family drunken offence protocols, I apologise unreservedly. It's just not like me at all, really it isn't.

So, back in London on Sunday was a very poorly boy. Tired, yes, but all f*cked up in my physical constitution. This body just can't take such a beating anymore. My philosophy has always been to treat my being like you'd treat a hire car - keep it looking nice but thrash it senseless whenever you can - but as my thirtieth birthday looms (27th Sept - don't forget), it may be time to reevaluate this approach. Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Maybe I could put it to a popular vote and let you people decide.

Anyway, I really should be getting along. There's just time for me to thank Jonathan 'On The Bench' Peters for his contribution to my ongoing campaign. He gave me Drop City by TC Boyle, and even though he'd got a permanent marker stain on the cover, I was very happy indeed to receive it. Gratitude is also due to Paul 'Big and Bad' Beckett, for his donation of the following: The Great Stink, by Clare Clark (which, despite being by a woman, is very good); A Game with Sharpened Knives, by Neil Belton; and The Ballad of Lee Cotton, by Christopher Wilson. Cheers, fella.

Another report will be along at the usual time next week, with a few more conclusive notes about the experience of being there and the experience of being back, but right now, I'm afraid that I'm not really feeling philosophical enough. Also included will be the Top Five Things That Koreans Do That Are Really Annoying. That should be good, eh?

Anyroads, bye for now and I shall look forward to next time.

Annyonghi kasseyo,

S





* BK Spicy Beanburger, Large Fries, Large Pepsi. It felt so bad, yet it tasted so average.