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.
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.
posted by Stephen Beckett at 6:54 PM
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