Had some more Thai food last night. Superb. Underlined by desire to fly over and actually sample the real thing from the horses mouth. It is quite possible they actually serve it in a horses mouth. You never know?

We were not out for a really late one, but afterwards we went out for a beers and some pool. I was actually shooting quite well and so was on the table for a while. It was during this time that I saw of the worst pulling I have ever seen.

In the bar were what looked like a bunch of young French kids. They said they were uni students, but they looked more like sixth years to me. Despite their jailbait status, their were some very attractive girls in their group. And for whatever reason they all seemed to be interested in some lads who were quintessential examples of Gallic noncery. They combined a sort of pseudo-McFly style with general frenchyness. Two of them were actually wearing hooped jumpers. I kid you not. I was actually looking for the onion necklaces and the baguette filled baskets.

Now one of these lads had a big mound of curly hair. And one of these girls was very interested in these flowing locks. I can see why many lady types would be interested in his bouncing mop, however I personally thought he looked more like a dog just out of the bath. So this girl, who Asian looking yet spoke French, seriously flirted with him for the entire evening. She poked his curly hair, touched his shoulder and gave him furtive glances. This lad was clearly interested, yet could not overcome his innate awkwardness to do anything. His beetroot complexion was masked in a film of sweat.

By the end of the night, this girl was sitting in his lap, stroking his cheek and hair. Just as he seemed to have plucked up the courage to actually roll the ball into this open goal, disaster strikes. He loses his eyebrow ring. He springs up, tossing this young culturally fused damsel in the air and gets down on his hands and knees to begin his search. He then proceeds to ask over the other attractive girls to help search for his piece of jewellery. He looks frantic and he has tears in eyes as he looks for his eyebrow ring. Finally, after much searching the item is found and the garish implement is returned to his eyebrow. However, by this point his prospective pull is wearing an expression like she has smelt a fart. Well done Casanova. You lost out on the hot girl, but found your eyebrow ring. What a stupidhead.

In other news, my mother and sister arrive on Monday. The South Korean economy should remain buoyant over the next two weeks as they help to purchase new homes for street sellers everywhere.

However, today my little sister makes her debut for the new Rangers Football Club dance squad. I am not kidding. It is hunnery in motion. I am just hoping Ally McCoist stays away from them.

Apparently some of the abs in 300 were digitally enhanced. I knew those boys looked too good too be true...

Another eventful weekend in Seoul.

On Friday, I accompanied my good friend down to Itaewon. He had a doctor's appointment in the middle of the afternoon so I chummed him down. He went to the doctor and got his ailment looke at. We had a browse around the shops and a wee wander, had a coffee etc. Then we decided to go shoot his pool. At this point we had our first drink. Around six in the evening I think. I did not stop drinking till six in the morning. Needless to say I woke up with a hangover the next morning. However, bizarrely, I was not nearly as hungover as I have been. In the midst of the evening however we went for some Thai food. Although I have eaten quite a few Thai curries in my time, I have never actually a visited a Thai restaurant. It was delicious and I am definitely interested in returning for some grub.

Anyway, I got through work at the asylum on Saturday and I was invited to a birthday party. I work with a gentleman by the name of Davd Kimel at Asylum B and he has connections out here. I was not especially keen as I both knackered and skint. (To clarify the skint point, I had plenty of money in the bank, but no cashcard to get it at the moment.) However, after a bit of cajoling I agreed to come and pop my head in the door.

However, this was no ordinary birthday party. Oh no. The birthday boy was a gentleman by the name of Kent Kim. Kent was a character alright and on a few occasions on the night I wished he was fictional. The venue was the Presidential Suite of the Grand Interncontinental Hotel and this place was pimping. Lavish living room with large couches, a kitchen, a big bid and some bathroom. It was a jacuzzi tub, in which you could lie down and watch the built in TV. When I walked I expected to see P Diddy lying in there with some Chirstal and friends. This place was the schnizzle, my jizzle. (Outside it was raining, a bit of a drizzle.)

When we arrived, the birthday boy was drunk. Now when I say drunk, I mean schnozzled, hammered, lambuscoed. I mean rugby club dinner drunk, Mike Watson setting fire to the curtains drunk. He was warming a loudly patterned Armani shirt, nearly open, last sported by Tony Montana as he invited people to come and meet his little friend. He warmly embraced David and Scott, the guys I was with. "My brothers, you are all my brothers." His next command was: "Bend over all of you, I want to penetrate all of you." (I really was reminded of rugby club drunkeness at this point.) He continued more drunken rambling in this vein until he commanded someone to touch his nipple. Guess who the lucky nipple toucher was?

Being a sport, I did not entirely want to leap out the window whilst I indulged in this jape. I also fairly quickly managed to get out of this nimcompoopery with a line about nipple touching being outlawed under the terms of visa. Harf, harf. Kent continued his drunken rampage as I began to settle into more standard party behaviour. At least kind of.

The rest of the evening was extraordinaly interesting. The place was filled with various important types from amongst the Korean hagwon sector, and huge amounts of networking went down. Generally, people were not particularly interested in speaking to me. (What else is new?) No, but seriously folks. The impact of being a foriegner and not being American really, really came across in this social setting. Over the course of the evening, these barriers were broken down by irrestible social charm and the fact that the two Harvard boys kept laughing at my jokes. At least I think they were laughing with me rather than at me...

As the night drew on events took on further bizarre twists. I was a colleague called Valicia who many of the Koreans took a fancy to. Their attempts to woo her resembled those of neanderthal men as they engaged in push up contests and generally flexed their guns. At one point they actually tried to pick her up and carry her off.

In the end I just ended up sleeping on a sofa in the suite. I woke up to the full devastation of a night's partying, in a lavish suite, and with a view from the twenty ninth floor to gaze out. I felt like a rolling stone, or at least a stones roadie anyway.

On today's schedule, I spend the first three hours of my day teaching a class called elementay level one. Now, as you might be able to guess, this is not a group of young people likely to be battering down the doors of Harvard in the years to come. Essentially, an attention span beyond that of a goldfish is an attribute they lack. Yet one student, Peter stands out. He is actually a nice and sincere youngman, but just happens to be slower than a week in the jail. Now, as is customary in a debate and discussion class I ask a lot of questions. Peter is not usually the most forthcoming with the most astute and cutting answers. However, he carries it off with considerable charm. When I ask him a question, and he usually has not the foggiest, his face becomes a contorted grimace of concentration. He jabs his temple and says 'think, think, think! He then plops his hand under his chin and strokes his upper lip as if he may be Socrates himself. Finally, he gives an exasperated shrug as if one of life's great questions has eluded him, although I have probably just asked him for the time. Maybe next time...

My night did not actually end after the wolfhound. I went on to have some more adventures at a club I am beginning to regularly frequent. I was quite happy to see that I was nodded in without having to pay cover. Sweet.

Anyway, I kept smashing away the drinks and unlocked the repertoire of incredible dance moves that allowed me to win a dancing contest while on holiday in Majorca at age seven.

After taking a break from my John Travolta impressions I would pop through to the quieter bar in the club for some relaxation. As often happens it is quite easy to get to chat to people and people are often quite interested in my accent. Anyway, we got talking to these four people, a couple from the South of England and a couple from the States. The couple were both African American and were clearly no strangers to the inside of a McDonalds. She in particular was a big girl. I mean massive. I mean she looked like she should really be in Disneyland walking around holding a smoked turkey leg. So big that as she approached she warped the physical laws of space time and I found myself back in Glasgow at my tenth birthday. If the North Koreans ever invade then she could easily be utilised as a human roadblock, no problems.

The inevitable where do you come from discussion ensued. This was easily cleared up until this girl asked me to guess where she was from. Erm "New York.'" No. "Washington D.C" No. "Atlanta."

"Excuse me." Her hands leveraged onto her oversized hips. "Do you know how rude it is to accuse people of being from the South." I just gave a baffled, yet polite grin. "I am not from the South, I am from the Pacific Northwest, Portland, Oregon."

Outwardly, I was drunkenly apologetic and affable, however inwardly I was thinking, you stupid bitch. If you are so proud of your Portlandian heritage then why have people play the guessing game to get there. "I am sorry I forgot to tell you I am not an expert in the linguistic nuances of the North American continent, how rude!" Furthermore, it is not like I implied she was from some provincial backwater. What has Atlanta got to be famous about? How about a massive population and economy, the home of CNN and oh gosh it hosted the fucking Olympic Games!! Thankfully, her husband, who looked like he could play line for an American football team simply shook his head ruefully, this was clearly not the first time he witnessed this performance.

No fear, it certainly did not take the shine off an epic night.

********************************************

I got further confirmation that figures at the other academy that I teach at have a problem with my background and my 'minority voice.' Annoying. If I wanted people to assume I was stupid because of my accent I could have taken the train to Edinburgh. No worries, I will overcome as I have been to the mountaintop and had a dream.

**************************************************

I went to see '300' on Friday night. It was stunning, an extraordinary smorgasbord of stunning visuals, gory violence and glorious overacting. I saw it in a brand new cinema equipped with a digital projector and it looked amazing. Also, it could make a good date movie, as the chaps can enjoy the scrappy scrappy and the girls can admire the physiques. I am serious, I have never seen so many six packs since the last time I was at the off licence bit in a cash and carry. I was unaware that the Spartans had a subscription to Men's Health and followed a high protein-low carbohydrate diet, but apparently so. A really amazing looking film though, well, well, worth watching.

St Patrick's Day celebrations proved to be eventful. I did not get down to Itaewon till about a quarter to midnight. So I met up with the boys and had a bit of catching to do. A challenge I approached with gusto. I started with the customary pint of Guiness and to my suprise and pleasure really rather enjoyed it. I honestly used to think it was foul, however I enjoyed it so much I drank about four more. With each Guiness I had a shot of Jamieson's and I was drinking at a rather quick pace. Needless to sayI was definitely not drinking responsibly. The place we were drinking in was called the Wolfhound. It was full of people pretending to be Irish. So it was just like St Paddy's day at home. I wanted to go along in the hope that there would be singing, instead there seemed to be a lot Tupac and Dr Dre on. Must be the Black Irish I concluded. So dissapointed that there was no 'Danny Boy' being bellowed and that Connor Buckley was not here I went up the stairs to watch some of the Six Nations.

The Scotland vs France game was on the TV upstairs so I decided to have a look for a while. The place was filled with people wearing green shirts, but quite a few folk were wearing the characteristic shirts of 'Les Bleus.' Anyway, on the whole Scotland were taking an absolute humping, but I managed to catch Sean Lamont's creative and opportunistic breakaway try. I let out a cry of delight and did a wee jump, as happy sports fans do. Instantly, I get punched by a Frenchie. I say punched, but it was a ludicrously weak blow. The blow from the drunk Frenchman had all the force and vigour that you would expect from, well a drunk Frenchman. Now I thought I was going to have roll up the sleeves and show this cheese eating surrender monkey some of the lessons I learned on the mean streets of Bishopbriggs. (How do you defend Paris? Who the buggery knows it's never been tried.) However, before I can his friends go mental and restrain him. One of them, with perfect English explains: "I am so, so sorry, our friend is such a moron. What a fool. Let us buy you a drink. " A free pint of Guiness for a wimpish blow. Frankly, I hoped Pierre would take another swing.

Happy St Patrick's Day.

It was a beautifil day in Seoul, sunny, but with a lovely breeze, half of my day's classes were cancelled and tonight I am going off drinking. What a day. This will be one of the few times I have really celebrated St Paddy's day hard. Usually, I'm scared of being villified as a traitorous proddy.

I am currently going over the debate over whether the Elgin Marbles should be returned to Greece. It brings back warm memories of the Scottish Mace semi a few years back. It was on that day that I actually thought I might get the hang of IV debating. It was the shot of confidence that led to some truly memorable experiences. Also, on that day I came within one vote of winning the Scottish mace with my best bud.

One hour to go and then it is out on the town. I cannot honestly say I am as happy today as I have been in 2007.

The below is a bit of a change of pace . I never intended this blog to become a poltical diatribe, but there you go. Just an issue I have been thinking a bit about.

*****************************************************************************

There is a rather heated debate raging on at home regarding whether Britain’s nuclear deterrent should be maintained by replacing Britain’s trident missile system. It is interesting because when I first joined university I attended a few SSP meetings. I am fairly sure that I would have joined had this issue not arisen. I was not then entirely against nuclear weapons and the acidic fervour of the reaction I received convinced me this was not the place for me. Nevertheless, many of the people objecting are left wingers and on what I consider to be entirely honourable and respectable grounds. However, I am a left winger, at least sort of, and I would argue that it would be a good idea to replace Trident. Here is why.

It is true that we no longer live in a world where an evil empire in red threatens to use nuclear weapons to blast our way of life, and us with it, into oblivion. However, we still live in a world with nuclear weapons, and we now live in a world where a very real problem are rogue or failed states and terrorists. If there is a chance they might get them, I would far rather we had them as well. Now the immediate objection that comes to mind is that terrorists are stateless actors and so nuclear weapons cannot be considered a viable deterrent. This is only partly true. Terrorists still require a state to act within and has past events have shown those states are sometimes far better hosts than they should be. Afghanistan and the Taliban welcomed Al Qaeda with open arms. Figures within the Lebanese Government assisted Hezbollah and others were complicit by their inactivity in stopping them. I currently live next door to a country that has used its recent nuclear tests as an excuse to throw its weight around them. The technology is out there and so it seems is the will, if not the insanity to use it. If a state by its complicity allows terrorists a platform to craft and use a WMD I want the consequences to be crystal clear. Do I consider it probable that a genuine nuclear threat will emerge towards Britain? No. Do I consider it possible? Absolutely. If this eventuality arises then I do not want the UK bringing a knife to a gunfight. Moreover, I believe that Britain should be a nation of progress, both inwardly and outwardly. However, we can progress nowhere if half of us are dead and half of us are mutants eating old tins of beans.

It is on this question of progress and how it is initiated that I do believe even those on the left should favour our possession of nuclear weapons. I want to see a world with a fairer and more egalitarian distribution of wealth and resources. I want to see a world where tyrants and those who perpetrate political terror and ethnic cleansing are better held to account. I want to see a truly global response to the threat of climate change. Moreover, I want to see Britain taking a role as a leader in these struggles. I do not think we can do this as effectively, if at all, if we do not have nuclear weapons.

When addressing whether Britain should indeed disarm it’s nuclear weapons, Nye Bevan said: “you will send a British Foreign Secretary, whoever he may be, naked into the conference chamber. ... And you call that statesmanship? I call it an emotional spasm.” I think Bevan was right then and I believe the core truth of that statement remains true. Those countries that possess nuclear weapons still gain a type of indivisible membership to an informal and elite grouping of the world’s most powerful nations. Nuclear weapons are not just the apotheosis of the art of destruction, they are the largest note in the currency of soft power. India does not simply want them because of Kashmir, it wants them because they represent a meaty chunk of muscle in terms of Foreign policy. They are an intangible representation of influence in the world’s conference rooms. And it is in these conference rooms that the direction of the international community will be decided. If we want the world to adhere more closely to an agenda of social justice then I believe we must retain our global influence. To retain our global influence, I think we need our nuclear weapons.

I do not deny the absurdity of this premise. That in order to save the children in Africa we must retain at our disposal, weapons that can do untold destruction. However, the system of international relations is rather absurd. It is chaotic, it is about power, and it is a sphere where ultimately it seems, might is right. Frankly, when push comes to shove the UN trying to contain the US is like saying boo to a goose. It is the same reason why I place so little stock by international law. It’s not law, it is just a collection of little bits of paper. It is closer to the state of nature than the rule of law. I would rather see a international system of rules and standards that were universally adhered to. However, I would also like six pack abs, yet these are the not the cards the world or I have been dealt.

So in this realm, if we want to stop Africa being engulfed, or peoples being oppressed and not to mention the planet blowing up, then to do right we need the might. When I consider the world in which we live, and the challenges we face, and the things we could do and frankly must do. Well I actually believe £20 billion is a bargain price.

The cavalcade of the bizarre continues.

So work was interesting today. They essentially asked me to teach extra classes they have started on a Monday and Thursday at academy A. This misses the point that I teach at Academy B three days a week. The request to teach on my day was off was annoying, but less bizarre than the request to teach when I am actually teaching somewhere else. I essentially dug in my heels and pointed no I can't and no I won't to each day. So they turn and ask the other person I work with Valicia, if she can do it. Now Valicia is already being seriously overworked and also has a friend visiting. So I stepped in and grudingly said I would teach tomorrow. Then I asked what the class was. Was it a debate class? Was it a scholars cup? (Another type of class they teach.) They did not know. They said they did not know. So, with one days notice, on my day off, they expected to me to teach a class whose purpose they did not seem to know. As they told me this, they grinned apologetically at the requests they were making. However, I don't care how much you grin. The sheer absurd incompetence of it all is frustrating beyond belief.

So I went home read a sizeable portion of Animal Farm. Identified the allegorical elements, reviewed some themes, important sentences etc. (All intellectual muscles I have not properly flexed since Higher English.) I then went into work early to do the photocopying and finalise my lesson plan. All in all, I had managed to put something fairly decent together in a short time. Class time comes and one student turns up. One student. He came ready to be taught about Herman Hesse's Siddartha. I have not even read the book, let alone prepared any materials for it. The wee lad, and he really was a wee lad, politely excused himself, ostensibly to visit the gents. Shortly, his mother came in to explain he really did not want to be taught on his own. Understandable, he was supposed to be taught, not tutored. So off he went and my breakneck attempts to get something together on my day off were for nowt.

Off home I trudged, to my apartment that currently had no hot water and heating. I had not showered in a couple of days. This final Dickensian twist to events had me burst out in laughter. The job is shit and indeed my odour reflected this.

Korea had actually done a good job of convincing me that the climate was genuinely warming. I was thinking I might have to buy a lighter jacket and that within weeks it might be time for just a cheeky wee jacket. Oh no, don’t think quite that quickly you foolish ingrate Scot! Yesterday it was very cold,, with a wind so bitter I thought it was cutting to my very soul. Today, well within the first five minutes, it has started snowing so heavily I’m regretting not bringing my pack of huskies to work today.


I had a couple of new students in a reorganized class today. Below is the speech of introduction they gave. It might give you an insight into why I feel a tad misled about the levels of the students I would be working with.

My name is Peter (Could this be the next Peter English?)
I am thirteen years ago (Ah existential, I like that.)
My favorite music is Korean. (OK)
My favorite sport is soccer because I can run and kick. (True.)
My favorite book is Harry Potter because I like it. (Now come on son that’s a tad taudological is it not?)
I once went to on a family trip to the sea. (There is a shocker.)
I have no interesting thing about to say for me. (No shit Sherlock.)


A couple of people dropped me some emails yesterday after I put my hotmail address down. Thank you very much to those people, it definitely cheered me up!

In general, very little of interest has been happening over the last week or so, hence the lack of major updates. I have had trouble sleeping, which means I’m usually feeling too tired for any serious lashing adventures. However, I did have a bit of a nightout on Sunday evening. A few quiet drinks after work turned into a few more. Now, I was really more tipsy than anything else, but I ended up joining the people off the Norrebang. This is essentially the Korean version of a Karaoke bar. Bascially, the setup involves a private room, some cheap Korean booze know as Soju, the stench of old cigarettes. It is quite possible that my rendition of ‘Living on a Prayer’ by Bon Jovi could be utilized against the communist forces of the North. I am a terrible singer, kareoke or otherwise. Even I try a stray croon in the shower, it threatens to unleash the very gates of hell. In the many years I frequented the GUU, I never once did karaoke. However, I have twice visited norrebangs since I have been here and when in Rome…

Otherwise, I am still in a bit of a limbo situation workwise. I was supposed to be having my visa and contract moved to one of the places I work, however chat has basically calmed down on this. The Fleming family are coming out to visit at the start of April, so I will pretty much be here till then. A reappearance in mid April remains a possibility.


this blog has a somewhat misanthropic tone and it be might more pleasurable to down a fistful of paracetamol, some whisky and slowly choke to death while listening to The Cure, but hey whatta you gonna do!

Seriously, if people do not want to comment then an e-mail would be good to see how people are doing. Kenny_F1283@hotmail.com