Progress Report 20.1

Annyongh hasseyo, chumpychops.

How's things? It's been a while, hasn't it? I can't really say that a great deal has happened in the time since the last report, but I have been to the DMZ and to a theme park and to the toilet around 140 times (of which about 22 were 'sit-down visits'). I've also bought myself a shiny new laptop, and I'm using it to write this right here right now. This means that one item on my 'Things to Do in Korea' list can be ticked off, a measly five months and three weeks into the enterprise. How's that for firey, liquid-lightening dynamism?

And you'll also no doubt notice that the timing of this achievement falls one week short of my six month anniversary. Next Wednesday, I shall have been in the Republic of Korea for six whole British imperial months. That's half a year, or 26 weeks, or 182 days or 13 fortnights or about the time it takes to get a sandwich in the Korean version of Subway. And with this vaguely meaningless milestone looming, it seems appropriate to offer some manner of reflection on the journey thus far. So let's...

It's been remarked upon by several recipients of these reports that though I'm thorough and perspicacious in some respects, they feel that they aren't getting a proper feeling of the bigger picture. In particular, they want to know whether or not I'm actually enjoying it out here. I think that when they proffer this tendril, they're expecting a straightforward answer in response. Well, excuse me, but last time I checked, I didn't have a two breasts and a uterus - if they think they can just roll out a welcome mat for my 'inner feelings' and expect them to come in for an Earl Grey and a leaf through 'Chat', then they've got the wrong end of the tampon. Such matters aren't available to feminine level communication. I can't pull a response out from the deeper depths and have it sit at the kitchen table as a one-word answer. Males don't do that shit. And if we try, whatever we manhandle into the daylight just comes out as "s'alright". If you're happy with that, then so be it: Am I enjoying it here? Yeah, s'alright. However, if you want something that weighs a few carats, then you have to be a bit more patient. I'll come back to it, okay?

Now, this morning I went to the gym. Nothing unusual there - I'm trying to get big so that I can punch people in the head and they notice. The management of the gym aid me and other members in our quest to expend energy pleasurably by providing (at no extra cost) a startlingly loud K-Pop accompaniment. This isn't your standard K-Pop, mind you, but a souped-up, high energy K-Pop sub-genre. The principle difference between it and normal K-Pop is around 150 beats per minute. Basically, you take K-Pop (which is reconstituted, mechanically-recovered Kentucky McMusic at the best of times), double the tempo, take out any melody, add some happy-hardcore-style dissonance, and then get a semi-anglophonic moron to shout along to it. It's so devoid of artistic value that even the most feral of teenage gluesniffers would dismiss it as a bloody racket. I think the well-meant intention of the gym's upper echelons is that some lively, homegrown choons will make the clientele of off-the-boil housewives lift their knees higher on the treadmills, but the realised effect - on me, at least - is one of weary despair. The stonecold awfulness of the music is further exacerbated by their only being around six tracks available, which are played in strict rotation, all day, every day. When you're as ninja-disciplined in your exercise regime as I am, the cumulitive mental effect of repeated exposure to such musical pollution is harrowing. For instance, I'm now starting to suspect that the Fast Food Rockers weren't entirely without merit.

This morning, though, I was at the gym and I found myself in the midst of a K-Pop apocalypse.

In addition the chaos of the standard playlist being belted out at volume, the aerobics class at the far end of the room also got in on the action with their own mix. There were two sources of hideous anti-music bellowing out simultaneously, generating such a cacophonious mesh that squealing feedback would have come as a soothing relief. I stopped pedalling my exercise bike (which was on the toughest 'uphill' setting, by the way) and gazed around in wonder. Hell was pouring in through my ears and sticking shards into my brain but I was evidently the only one who noticed. No-one else seemed to mind the sound-riot that had broken out. No-one seemed to mind! The other workers-out all went placidly amidst the noise and aural violence and carried on their exercise without so much as a tut or a pair of rolled eyes. This suggests to me that they have either the inner calm of the Dalai Lama or the receptivity of a dog chew.

If this had been taking place in a British gym, then I don't think I need to tell you that the manager would have found himself dealing with a workplace danger not covered on the GCSE sports science syllabus. But here, he can saunter amongst the apparatus as his gym reverberates with violent discord without the slightest fear of protest from his paying customers. He sees nothing wrong with the musical warfare playing out and neither do they. There is just one pale whitey in the middle of the room who looks like he's having a moment. What's his problem, eh? Silly whitey. Ooh, the cross-trainer looks like it could do with a wipe down...

The preceding example serves to explain why, if the Noise Abatement Society were ever considering preaching their message in Korea, they could yell it through a bullhorn into the face of every man, woman and child and still they wouldn't win a single convert. (Not least because of their shameless hypocrisy!) The fact is that Koreans, as a people, don't hear noise. And more than this, Koreans, as a people, don't feel irritation.

Want more proof? Okay: on Sunday morning, the Jewess and I were sleeping peacefully, when we were metaphorically kicked awake by a mooing from the corridor. I live, if you remember, on the thirteenth floor of an apartment block, and coming from tile-lined hallway was a sound not unlike a cow lowing in an echo chamber (such are the tiles' acoustic effect). As the noise gained in volume, it became clear that it was not a head of cattle but a human. He was repeating two syllables, deep and low. It sounded like 'oil cloth', but long and drawn-out, like 'ooooiiilll clootttthhh'. This incantation was accompanied by the slow slapping clop of his stagger as he dragged himself from one end of the building to the other and back again. I looked at the clock - it was nine thirty AM. On a Sunday frigging morning. I was speechless.

You might expect that my primary concern would be establishing this man's reason for mooing. He might have been warning of a very slowly spreading fire, or maybe selling diazepam door-to-door. However, I already knew his mission - he was taking in dry cleaning. I knew this because he'd pulled the same stunt the Saturday prior, but that time an hour earlier. Consequently, I'd made enquiries with my students and they'd told me his game.

'How does he dare?' I'd asked them.

'Dare what?' they'd replied.

'Wake an entire apartment block up at 8.30am on a Saturday?' I explained.

'People don't mind,' they responded. 'It's a handy service.'

'But it's 8.30! On a SATURDAY!' I added by way of a clarification. I got shrugs in return.

I went on to tell them how, should he ever go on holiday to London and decide to give his patter a twirl in a British tower block, he might possibly get one floor up before the Korean embassy would need to start making arrangements for DHL to ship whatever was left of his body back home. My students couldn't understand why this might be. 'He has to make a living,' they'd protested. No amount of reasoned, home-is-his-castle rationalisation could get them to budge an inch from their charitable, tolerant attitude.

And this is, in the final analysis, what the Korean missing irritability gene amounts to: Saint-like tolerance, unshakeable patience and a cast iron unflusterability when met with the deeds of their fellow man.

And goodness me, do they need it, for there's a f*ckload of people crammed onto this peninsular...

Korea is the in the top twenty of the world's most densely populated nations, and Seoul itself is the seventh biggest city in the world. When the surrounding metropolitan areas are factored in, it shoots up to second place, and with a population estimated at 22,770,000, nearly half the population of the country is squeezed into one small corner of it. This necessarily means that a lot of people are going to be living very close together. Indeed, it makes London look like a barren prairie. When you're in such close proximity to your countrymen, if you're not accepting of their antics, then you're not going to last very long. Koreans are tolerant and patient because they've got no choice.

This is why they let salesmen yell in their faces as they browse in the supermarket, and let department stores set up stalls that congest the exits and escalators. This is why they can make so much noise when they're eating, and why they can bawl at each other in the pub without getting taken outside. The ethos is 'agitate and let agitate'. It is an approach that stems weak status of the individual in the Korean system of thought. Individualism is something we take for granted in the West, but here, its rise is seen by some as encroaching and dangerous neo-colonialism. Since the nation found itself newly self-determining (after a fashion) in 1945, the message from the top has been for everyone to pull together and get the economy shipshape. At first, this was achieved through more traditional and robustly authoritarian means, but as things got more comfortable financially, the leaders loosened their grips on the reins and let capitalism work its magic. The people began to discover and embrace new-fangled post-industrial concepts such as personal freedom and leisure time (though for some, this is still measured in minutes). They found that they had an economy and infra-structure that could compete with any in the world. Their hard work was starting to pay off. Those growing old found that they were living in a very different country to the Third World rural backwater they got back from the Japanese at the end of World War II. Korea's transformation has been utterly dramatic. This, however, is a matter for another report.

For now, I shall return to the earlier question: Am I enjoying it out here?

In a word, mm-hmm. After nearly six months, I'm starting to go beyond the day-to-day and deeper into the Korean psyche (if that doesn't make me sound like a twat). It's a journey that keeps on surprising, and a journey that keeps me learning - about people, about me, about shit. And what's not to love about a journey like that? I hope that this expanded scope shall be reflected in the tone of future reports.

Don't worry though - I'm not about to come down with a case of I'm-Korean-itis. It's a common problem amongst some of the weaker minded Westerners here - they're not quite happy with the personality that they've formed thus far in their lives (and neither, no doubt, was the country they came from), so they decide to get all more-Korean-than-thou instead. They learn 'emselves the language and follow all the customs and won't touch Western food. It's pathetic and it's a shame but I suppose they're learning too, and deserve some patience and respect too. Or, on the other hand, maybe they're complete f*cking losers who might just get a whole report dedicated to their defamation some time in the future if anyone of them should ever look down their sorry noses at me again. Who knows? Only time shall tell.

Anyway, that just about does her for now. Stay well and keep it real, yeah? Oh, did I mention that it's getting absolutely friggin' freezing here? Well it is. Alright?

Annyonghi kasseyo for now,

S

PS Just to bring you up to date, following on from Michelle's soaking of a whole roll of toilet paper, she has attempted to make amends by bringing two rolls with her on subsequent visits. Whilst I appreciated the gesture, the rolls were not complete, meaning that her attempt at contrite generosity has turned into my administrative nightmare, as I have no idea how many individual leaves remain on each roll. I'm now completely unclear about how much toilet paper I have and whether or not it will last until next month, never mind to the end of the year. However, as soon as I have a free weekend, I'm going to arrange a full audit and I should hopefully be able to offer you a clearer picture of how we stand thereafter. Thanks for your patience on this matter.

Progress Report 19.2

Annyongh,

I submit the following as an addendum to Report 18.1. It consists one item:

ITEM: Photograph of a sex chair.



From the above, you will note the following (l-r):

• hassock for added comfort during lingual stimulation of the pudendum;
• ankle- or footrests (the latter function permitting greater power of reverse-thrust expulsion);
• the sessibulum masculinum or 'he' seat;
• the sessibulum femininum or 'she' seat;
• control panel to engage and accelerate/decelerate the gyration of the sessibulum masculinum;
• dorsal support (with expanded lower dorsal support, ensuring that the female organ is offered up at the ideal angle of interaction);
• footrest for alternative thrust purchase;
• armrests (pictured above in the retracted or 'oh lordy!' position).

Note the beige vinyl covering (for HoseDownability TM), the power cord leading from the chair's fully-sealed and warm-fluid-resistant pedestal unit, and the tangible miasma of grossness exuded by the apparatus as a whole.

I will be happy to field any questions.

Annyonghi kasseyo,

S

Progress Report 19.1

Anyongh hasseyo, dingus.

How are things? Hm-mm. Hm-mm. I see. Well, it's the time of year for it, isn't it? Oh, I know, I know. You don't need to tell me - I've never known itching like it. And the smell! But anyway, if you've got something for it, it should clear right up.

First off, I would like to apologise to anyone who found the previous report too salty. I would like to assure you that future levels of salinity will be very closely monitored and curbed as necessary. And I'd also like to apologise for failing to mention the recent events of international significance that have been playing out in my backyard, and I should like to address this oversight right now.

When naughty North Korea had a crack at testing a nuke on the 9th October, there was concern from various parties that my spontaneous incineration was but a few days away. Whilst I appreciated the attention, I have to say that it was not a fear that I shared. Hopelessly and infectiously optimistic as I may be, I couldn't really perceive a threat from the commies across the border, and neither could the majority of my adoptive countrymen.

I do admit that I felt a whisper of apprehension when I first heard the news. CNN were first to sound the alarmism with reports and suggestions and possibly-maybes of devices of unclear size and substance perhaps being tested somewhere in the DPRK. Russia definitely, definitely felt something, they said, whilst Japan weren't sure and China thought it was maybe just a big lorry driving past. Despite the lack of concrete facts, CNN stayed with the story all morning and confirmed that if what they were reporting was true, then North Korea was very naughty indeed. 'Eeh, they'll not like that,' I said to myself, and as I was talking to myself, I knew that I was referring to the South Korean government's reaction to the possible detonation up north. The various knowledgeable figures available to CNN at very short notice concurred.

The tension built up throughout the day, with more speculation and more condemnation and more stock footage of Kim Jong-il waving at passing military parades. Most - if not all - nations were tentatively highly displeased with what they were hearing. People passing through the reception at my school were lingering longer to watch the TV. It seemed like something of apocalyptic significance was gathering pace. Then the powers-that-be in North Korea issued a press release entitled 'Guess What *We* Did Before Breakfast', and all restraint-awaiting-the-facts evaporated. The condemnation came as thick and fast as the wildly inappropriate metaphor that I just typed and deleted. The US were pissed - DAMN pissed; the UK agreed it just wasn't cricket; Japan called it a major dishonour; Australia decried 'fair go!'; Iran stated its opposition but still blamed America, and Canada no doubt said something bland and non-commital. In South Korea, the President addressed a press conference in a manner that was a stark contrast to his usual life-of-the-party, happy-go-lucky approach to public relations, condemning the North's actions to a hail of flashbulbs and grave faces as he called upon the world to just look at what they've gone and done this time. It was clear that the Democratic People's Republic of Korea was in very serious trouble indeed.

By the evening, it seemed that even though there was still no confirmation that a nuclear explosion had occurred, the world didn't like the idea that it might have one bit. But as national leaders around the globe looked up 'very angry' in the thesaurus, reaction from the man-on-the-street in Seoul was more muted. There was some news footage of 50 or so demonstrators burning Kim Jong-il in effigy, but other than that, South Korea was taking the news of the possible test very much in its stride. There was little panic, scant anger and barely a scintilla of concern. This was a stark contrast to the Western world, whom, on awaking and hearing the news eight hours later, seemed to be digging in for WWIII (or at least this was the impression that I got over the interweb). I, however, wasn't buying it. Until the Seoulites started to panic, I wasn't going to let it crease my brow for a millisecond.

You can tell when South Korea has gotten wary through the phenomenon of the 'ramen spike'. As a nation, it has every right to keep itself on edge - the 'Dear Leader' in the north has promised to "rain fire on Seoul" at the slightest hint of an attack against his country, and if there were a military reaction to Kim Jong-il's various misdeeds and poor choices, his 1 million-strong army would make the capital of the South the focus of its embittered attention as a matter of long-awaited priority. But despite this ever-present threat, and despite the tough-talking of the leading nations of the world, the South Koreans were not in the least bit flustered, for no ramen spike there was: when instant noodles sales surge due to panic-stockpiling, you know that something's got the Seoulites spooked. No, sales of the much-loved nutritional-equivalent-of-antimatter remained at their normal level ('much higher than is healthy') for the entire duration of the outrage.

So you can gather that the North's testing of a nuclear device just wasn't the event here as it was for everyone else. Even Kim Jong-il has now apologised for causing such a fuss. And yesterday, he said he was ready to return to the Six Party Talks. Well, what a surprise.

See, what your average bouffanted-shortarse-dictator-weary South Korean knows that the rest of the world hasn't yet copped on to is that the DPRK has got itself a strategy, and that strategy doesn't involve guaranteeing the complete destruction of its 60 years of dubious acheivement within half an hour of its declaring war on the world. Rather, the strategy is this: Irritate the world (particularly the US) by developing every weapon that you possibly can (even though you have no intention of using them), then use said weapons as a bargaining chip to gain concessions at subsequent talks. Shoehorned into a childish allegory, it would look a little something like the following, in which Child 1 represents North Korea and Child 2 the US of A:

Child 1: Give me a sweet or I'll duff you up.

Child 2: Don't you dare duff me up or I'll get all my friends together and we'll duff YOU up!

Child 1: If I promise not to duff you up, can I have a sweet?

Child 2: Okay.

From this textbook example of over-simplification, you'll gather that South Korea isn't scared because South Korea isn't really involved. In fact, if were to be included in the above tableau, it would have to be named 'Child 2's Weakling Friend That Only Hangs Round with Child 2 to Stop Its Schoolbag Being Thrown into the Girls' Toilets on a Daily Basis By Child 1'. So you'll now understand that as long as I'm associated with Child 2, I've got nothing to worry about from Child 1. After all, Child 1 is, at the end of the day, really only seeking approval and acceptance from the other kids of the world, but it's just going through that difficult 'trying to develop private ownership and a free market and move away from its current economic stagnation' phase that all children go through at one time or another as they grow up. Let's all try to be a little more understanding. After all, haven't we all been a bit of a 'pariah state' at some time in our lives...?

Anyway, enough of the politics - let's get on to the much pleasanter task of issuing a whole nuclear bunker-full of radiation-resistant, freeze-dried gratitude to Glynnford 'Married-to-the-Mob' Cooper. Why? Well, I don't think I need a reason, but if there were one, it would be that he sent me this week the following volumes: Blood Sweat & Tea, by Tom Reynolds; Phaic Tan, by Santo Carolino, Tom Gleiner and Rob Sitch; Never Hit a Jellyfish with a Spade, by Guy Browning; English As She is Spoke, by Jose de Fonseca and Pedro Carolino; and Pompeii, by Robert Harris. Cheers, G-Unit.

And thanks that would outlast a nuclear winter also go to Keren 'Aloha-Dubai' Still-No-Fixed-Surname, who, wary of the ever-present threat of international generosity, sought to top up her favour by sending me Smoking, Drinking & Screwing: Great Writers on Good Times, the content of which I imagine I shall approve of around 66%. See, I don't smoke anymore, and what's more, if the young punk sitting next to me at the PC bang doesn't think about quitting within the next second or so, he's going to learn exactly how disasterous an effect the habit can have on his health. Still, thank you very much, Keren, and good luck in the desert.

Right, that's me for now. Next time, I intend to clear up a mystery that seems to have been dogging a few of you for some time now - whether or not I'm actually enjoying it out here.

Until then, annyonghi kasseyo.

S