Good day yesterday. I watched Hot Fuzz on my laptop, which is bloody hilarious if you have not seen it. I also finished 'In Cold Blood' by Truman Capote. Very good if you have never read it.

Then I went for a walk up the mountain that I live next to. It really is astonishing that I can in the space of ten minutes move from a densely populated concrete metropolis into a setting of natural beauty. I went for a walk with my family at this spot back when they were here in Easter time, but it is much nicer now. The little river was dry then and the tree branches were spartan. Now however, there is plenty of water in the streams and the trees are lush with green foliage. The babbling of the water complemented the intense chirruping of the crickets and created a rather catchy natural soundtrack for my walk. It was really rather easy to get away from it all and I will definitely make use of the spot some more before I leave Seoul. Indeed, because if yesterday is any indication I really need to get some more exercise. The Koreans were evidently fairly perturbed by the sight of the red faced and huffing behemoth passing them on the mountain trail. Fair enough it was a very sunny and warm day, but I was still sweating like Paris Hilton awaiting a blood test for STD's.

On the evening I decided to go out and do some drinking. As a night it featured some of the worst attempted pulling I think the world has ever seen. By me. I was speaking to a red haired girl from Manchester. Usually I shy away from daywalkers, but you know I had consumed a few rums and cokes. It went something like this:

Me: “So do you teach English then?”

Gingertron: “No I am a dancer actually.'

“Oh thats interesting.... you must be quite good at dancing then.” uttered in all sincerity.

“Yes.”

“So do you find coming out to clubs a bit boring then, because you know you dance a lot in your job as a dancer.”

"Not really."

“So is dancing in Korea the same as dancing at home?”

“Yes its basically the same.”

It was at this point I realised the sheer magnitude of the inane drivel that I was pedaling, but I just could not stop myself. I wanted the words to stop coming out of my mouth but it was almost like I had an out of body experience and had no control of my faculties.

“What kind of dancing do you do?'

“Lots of kinds, tap, jazz, salsa.”

“Ah salsa, but not like the kind you put tortilla chips in.” Oh god the horror...

“No and what do you do?”

“Oh I teach English. No dancing, apart from here in clubs, for fun.” At this point I did a little sort of dance on the spot. Her face, not unreasonably transformed into an almost poetic mixture of pity and disgust and at this point I realised that a tryst between myself and the amber dancer from Manchester was never meant to be. I momentarily thought about killing myself also, but went for a kebab instead.