A Korean Christmas- skiing, sickly sandwiches and the possibility of Civil War?

Hello there- here’s a late Christmas present. Far too much has happened since my last blog to cover it all. So, I will deliver the highlights to you, kind of like Match of the Day. How the hell my humour is supposed to measure up against the writers behind Gary Lineker’s comedic genius is beyond me.

Well, since I decided to begin with a football metaphor, it seems only logical that I should switch to footballing reality. At this point, I’ve now finished my first season for both my Saturday and Sunday teams.

First, my Saturday team- we started the season so brightly that I was soon declaring my belief that we would have an ‘Invincibles’ season and go unbeaten for the entire campaign. Instead, we performed more like a modern day Arsenal and crumbled at the end of the season. Still, we finished in second place- so it wasn’t a bad start. And I bagged three goals (from centre back) to accompany the respectable league finish. Add to that the fact that I was voted Best Newcomer and Player of the Season during our end of season awards bash, and I suppose I shouldn’t have thrown so many Mario Balotelli-esque tantrums when we lost a game. From this, I can take solitude in knowing that every goal conceded this season was not my fault- I’m, in essence, Thomas Vermaelen. If you didn’t get reference, you’re most likely a woman.

Now, on to my Sunday team – we fared much better. So, obviously, we won the league. However, it still wasn’t an ‘Invincibles’ affair- we faltered in the last game to deny ourselves that privilege. And, by my own admission, my displays were considerably less impressive. However, I still notched a goal- with my feet, for a change. Hello, Laurent Koscielny. *See the last sentence of the above paragraph*

Next up- the aforementioned awards bash. Both teams’ ‘ceremonies’ took place on the same night. At the same place. It was a night accompanied by copious amount of Jack Daniels and Vodka- in shot form. And Korean beer- in pitcher form. To summarise- the night culminated in me stealing the Sunday team’s league trophy and stumbling back to my girlfriend’s place at 4am, followed by a swift headache that lasted the majority of the next day.

The league trophy now resides in her apartment. I should feel guilty, but I don’t. Screw that team- they didn’t give me any awards… Just lots of ‘penalty shots’ for ridiculous things such as being ‘a nice guy in person, but a vicious little bastard on Facebook’. I think you can clearly see I’ve learnt my lesson.

Now, as it’s the festive season, I will fill you in on how I spent mine. It was my first ever Xmas away from home, and first out of the country. That pairing has proved to be the catalyst for a Christmas that could not be further from the idealistic family gathering I’ve become accustomed to. See, while you were all munching on mince pies and watching Harry Potter in a comfy chair near a smouldering fireplace, I was ‘tearing it up’ on the slopes. But more on that later- the time has come to talk about Christmas food.

Now, while I’m sure your Christmas turkey was succulent and well worth the morning your mum/wife/girlfriend spent preparing it, I had a rather different culinary experience here in Asia. First of all, last Friday was my school’s Christmas ‘party’ day- the premise being that the day was a ‘cooking contest’ between the children. The fact that there’s no oven or stove in my school should quash any images of fine cuisine you momentarily pictured…

Well, what Christmas treats were we making then? Mince pies? Christmas Cakes? Pigs in blankets? Maybe a cheeky Xmas Pudding? Why, don’t be stupid- those aren’t Christmas classics at all. Surely you remember such delicacies like ‘Baguette Waffles’, ‘Fruit Sticks’ and, Santa’s favourite- ‘Ham, jam and apple sandwiches.’ And the Korean teachers were kind enough to delegate me the role of taste tester for the day.

Smashing people. Love them to bits.

Also, as if my taste buds hadn’t sampled enough December delights last week, my actual Christmas dinner consisted of takeaway pizza when I got back from skiing in the evening. It wasn’t even a chicken one. But don’t feel sorry for me- I went all out and treated myself to the best in the biz. Merry Christmas, courtesy of Domino’s.

While the food offerings for Crimbo were mightily depressing, the actual skiing weekend was a fantastic, if a tad strange, way to spend Christmas. Rather than sitting in front of the TV watching Xmas specials of sitcoms and movies (which you become overly enthused about, but then are left with a lingering feeling that they were better last time you watched them), I was taking in the view from the top of a mountain and speeding down the slopes, having a blast.

The resort I stayed in over the Xmas weekend was called Phoenix Park and, while it was considerably less extensive than the European resorts I’m used to, it was also considerably less busy. Which meant getting back up to the top took less time than it takes to decide what the hell use the ‘prize’ in your cracker will ever be.

Further to this, I made an astute observation about Korean people- they suddenly become really polite and patient on the slopes. Not that they’re complete a**holes in the middle of Seoul. No, no, no. I wouldn’t dare say such a thing…

From all the European resorts I’ve been to, I’m used to people who show about as much courtesy in queues for lifts as I would for people who wear beanie hats in gyms (I mean, seriously?!?). This being Korea, I expected that they would use their ski poles on my face to get ahead of me for a coveted place on the next chair lift.

However, they behaved in such a docile manner that I had look closely to check that they’d not gone the way of their Northern cousin’s leader. This was all before pushing past them to get said coveted seat on the next chair lift, of course.

On the subject of Kim Jong-Il’s death, you’d think that the South Koreans would be jumping for joy. But they aren’t.  Despite the country now being on high alert, no one here seems to be behaving any differently.  When I asked the Korean teachers about how they felt about it, they responded with “Meh.” I think that’s how he wanted to be remembered…

Other notable mentions about my trip definitely include my ‘company’ in my youth hostel room. I thought I’d struck lucky when I realised I was in an all British room. Then I found out one of them was Scottish. He seemed to think that the sole purpose of life was to drink any and all alcohol within a ten metre radius of him at the time. I suspect he was trying to appear ‘hard’ in front of the ladies in our party. Instead, he just looked like Jay from the Inbetweeners.

Then, there was the resident skinhead’s method of attracting a mate. I’ll give him this- it required balls. Literally. Stark naked the entire time. In fact, on entering the room, I was greeted by his meat and two veg- not quite the Christmas meal I had in mind…

Nevertheless, despite Korea’s best attempts to quash my Christmas traditions, I managed to salvage some of the spirit in my apartment. As I write, there’s a Christmas tree (that I found in a cupboard) erected by the sofa, adorned with tinsel and fairy lights. Even more fairy lights adorn the top of my walls. I don’t expect that they’ll return to the cupboard anytime soon. I imagine that they, along with my Christmas cards, will remain on display until April, when I leave. It’s not that I love Christmas that much and I’m fighting a battle to keep the joy alive here in Asia. In fact, I’m just lazy. And, the tree’s the only plant we’ve got in the apartment.

Finally, this weekend, I’ll return to the same slopes yet again. Hopefully there’ll be more people on skis, this time round, as I felt a bit outnumbered last weekend. People just seem to gravitate towards the snowboard, for some reason.

Over my many years of experience, I’ve developed a quite accurate portrait of ‘the snowboarder’. They always look like they know what they’re doing when they walk around carrying their board at the bottoms of the slopes. They also look far more ‘badass’ than I do with my pint-sized mini skis.  This sentiment extends to when they plant their junk on the chair lift and lasts all the way to the top, where they promptly tumble off the lift and land face first in the white stuff. This behaviour then continues all the way to the bottom of the slope, at five second intervals, while I zoom past them with far more balance, poise and skill. At which point, they take the board off and instantly become the coolest people on the mountain.

So, I guess I’ll be snowboarding this weekend, then.

A weekend of football awaits me. My bag is packed. Boots? Check. Kit? Check? “F**k you” stare? Check.

I thought I’d treat you all to another post. How come? Because I have a desperate desire to keep you informed and never let you linger in the dark about the goings on in my life for as long as last time ever again, of course. It may actually be because I have a b**ch of a cold, and I literally have nothing else left to do. I’ve exhausted all other appealing activities. Being beaten by Sunderland time and time again on FIFA was not exactly lifting my spirits…

This week, I promise I will not discuss the intricate technique of poo-ing . Rather, I will describe the effects to you of a Korean cold. This is my first Korean cold. I speak as though I’m somewhat endeared to it, like a first kiss or a first car. Or a first poo in a squat toilet. That doesn’t count- no techniques were mentioned.

Anyway, why am I calling it a ‘Korean cold’, rather than just a ‘cold’? Well, this particular cold displays all the traits of something Korean. I have mentioned before how Korea is a country of extremes: i.e. extremely rude vs. polite; extremely hot vs. cold. Well, my Korean cold boasts all the symptoms you’d expect, but much worse than anything I’ve ever experienced during the chilly season.

This past Monday, for example, I was reduced to sitting down and dismissing my middle school class early, due to the fact that my sentences were reduced to the coherency of a guest on the Jeremy Kyle show. This wasn’t due to a sudden abandonment of all grammar and the pronunciation of the letter ‘g’, but due to a cough that pretty erupted every time I opened my mouth. Or breathed.

Something about the night air in Korea seems to trigger my cough, and cause the contents of my lungs to evacuate my body through my mouth. What I cough up has led me to the accurate conclusion that I’ve not actually got a cold at all, but Slimer form Ghostbusters has decided to live in my lungs for a couple of weeks. When I started miming that I need a Proton Pack at the local pharmacy, they produced some Strepsils as a solution to my ghost infection. That’s not how I remember it in the movies…

There was a time, one week B.C. (before the cough), when I could actually have conversations with my students. Korean kids, when you ask them a question, will quite often respond with another question in your direction to avoid giving an answer. This is mostly along the lines of: “Teacher, do you know *insert generic K-Pop star’s name here*?” However, one little girl, didn’t actually proceed with a question but instead decided to offer her opinion on my sniffer. It went a little something like this:

Student- “Teacher. You have a big nose…”

Me- “Yeah, I know.”

Student- “I want one too. It’s good.”

Me “Errr… thanks…… Wait. Really?!?!”

I can’t help but think that, one day, she might just change her mind. I hardly think Lucy Liu would have made it in Hollywood with a pecker like mine. She’s Korean, right?

Now, on to part two of this week’s episode- girls, you can stop reading now and get back to the ironing/dinner. That’s right- it’s time to talk about football.

So, last weekend marked a return to our home pitch for my Saturday team. I know every team prefers playing at home- usually, it’s just because it’s closer to home. Well, that’s certainly not the case for me. An hour and a half’s bus/subway journey for yours truly.

However, my relief at a return to home artificial soil is based upon size. Size really does matter. In fact, artificial soil matters as well. The previous weekend involved playing on pint sized pitches that can have only been designed for children. The pitch on Saturday was artificial- the standard here in Korea- however, some genius decided dirt would be the perfect surface as opposed to artificial grass. This genius also seemed to forget the use of a ruler when designing his pitch. At some of the corners, he must have become confused and thought he was designing an athletics track, as they were a tad rounded. I can see why, as there actually was a tarmac running track around the edge of the pitch, which doubled as the touchline- he can check health and safety off the list then.

Pitch issues aside, it seems I’ve hit some form as I’ve managed two goals in consecutive games for my Saturday team. The cynical/jealous/everybody else I know, might suggest that luck has played its part upon my good fortune. However, I’m here to argue the exact opposite- luck has totally abandoned me. Instead, I was blessed with a referee who deemed every header I won a foul. He actually physically hated me- I’ve no idea why:

Me: Ref, that’s NOT a foul. You’re wrong.

Ref: Well… actually, it states that…

Me: YOU’RE WRONG!

*Runs away back to defence and shoots a look at the referee, with connotations of “F**k You!”*

This same referee then awarded me my first ever yellow card in twenty-two and a half years of being on this Earth- for an accidental handball on the halfway. This is most disappointing as I didn’t even get to put an annoying Scouse attacker on his arse, for my first yellow. That was always the dream. But it never looked like a likely prospect to be honest. This could be down to, as usual, two factors:

 

a)      A) I’m just too much of a fair play merchant and despise the Jamie Carragher style of defending.

b)      B) Scousers are always a bit too quick to bring down- a life of running from the Bill after bar/”you looked at me funny so I’m gonna start on you” brawls has made them all a bit nippy.

I also managed to hit the crossbar four times in two days from a variety of headers and shots. Luck, I tell you, is on holiday. Still, I’ll never figure out that ref’s beef with me…

The concluding segment will focus on teaching, for once.

Let’s set the scene- upon starting my day yesterday, one of the Korean teachers tip-toed into my classroom and uttered what has become to me perhaps the most irksome phrase in the world: “Hi Tom. Are you busy?”

Harmless enough, right? Except it isn’t. Through conditioning, I now know that these words are to be followed by information on some ridiculous, logic-defying decision, my school has made. Even if, as I have tried in past, I say that I AM busy- the information follows regardless. (I wasn’t ever actually busy, but I’ve had enough practice pretending to be busy ‘revising’ from my days as a student to fool anyone…)

So, the information was of a student complaint- the innocent as-can-be child had told his mummy that I’d told him to “Shut up” in class for no reason. He had, according to the teacher, found this ‘offensive and rude’.

In general, he’s spot on. They are two of my five words for describing myself. In this case though, like the referee, “YOU’RE WRONG!”

Let me paint a picture of the exchange:

Cue incredulous expression on my face…

Me- If I told him to shut up, what does that tell you about the child?

Her- Korean children think “shut up” is a rude expression.

Me- I think talking while I’m talking is rude.

Her- Maybe you should try saying “Be quiet?”

Me- Don’t you think I did? “Be quiet” didn’t work. “Shhhhhh” didn’t work. “Shut up” worked. Case closed.

Her- But I am worried that the child thinks it is offensive.

Me- It’s not. I could be offensive if I wanted to, trust me. I find it offensive that you think the child’s opinion is more valid than mine. He needs to learn right and wrong. What I do works- none of the other kids mind either…

Her- Korean children think “shut up” is a rude expression.

Me- Great. Well done to them.

It appears, then, that the power of talking is to be taken from teachers too. First, we weren’t allowed to put our hands on them (cue Paedophile jokes). Now, it seems that the power to speak to our kids is now diminishing. What are we going to be left with? Classrooms full of riotous children, doing as they please. If only the children had the same amount of respect as I do for referees

Only in Korea...

It’s been too long… Largely due to a combination of forgetting to sit down and write, not having the time to write, and remembering to write but deciding my Xbox was lonely. The amount of news has since backlogged itself to the point where I’ve considered doing a ‘Harry Potter’ and releasing this edition in two parts…

 Lucky you, though- I’ve persevered to fill you in on all that’s ‘happening’ in just one chunk of self-absorbed story telling. I guess this can be considered my comeback blog- can it live up to the hype?

Where to start? Well, a major change has occurred here in the weather. Gone are the Amazonian rainforest conditions. Welcome what I like to call ‘British spring-time weather’. Who would’ve thought I’d be pining for the British climate, ever?!?

Yet, I’m still somewhat of a freak here in Korea, (I never knew!?) as I’m still walking round in a t-shirt, while they’ve all begun wrapping up and shivering violently. I’d be a liar if I said this didn’t raise a smile to my face. After all the months of intense sweating, I feel I’m getting my own back! Saying that, Korea put me back in my place last night after a mosquito found its way into the apartment and proceeded to abuse me without my consent…

What to talk about next? Clearly, as a teacher, I should have lots of teaching stories about how I inspire kids daily. Well, I’m going to talk about holidays instead. What did you expect?

I’ve now experienced Korea’s biggest national holiday in the form of Chuseok (it was actually back in September). This is basically Korean Thanksgiving and, I was told, is the biggest holiday of the year and the equivalent of Christmas to them. Well, for it to be the biggest holiday of the year, there were certainly a lot of people milling about in Seoul and a hell of a lot of shops open. There weren’t even any sales the next day… 1-0 England.

Also, their gifts pale in comparison to Christmas- where we get chocolate selection boxes, they basically get cooking oil selection boxes. Mmmmmm...

St. Nick smashes it in the top corner for 2-0; no bias is involved here at all, obviously.

On to all things adventurous- last time, you may remember, I’ve indulged the inner daredevil in me and have been climbing/ falling off mountains since September. I’ve now completed the course and actually made it to the top of a mountain. Along the way, there was a lot of sweating and some blood. There were no tears, but plenty of girly squeals echoing in my head…

I must give a review of my climbing ability. The signature move in my climbing arsenal seemed to be getting stuck. You could argue the reason I became stuck quite often was because of a lack of flexibility or manliness but, to be honest, it was probably stubbornness.

I would frequently ask for advice on where to put my hands and feet and respond with “Errrr… I’m gonna try this instead. Will that work?” This was met with the exasperated response of “Sure… whatever works for you” by the poor bloke who was stuck belaying me. Of course, in climbing speak, this probably translates as “Whatever. Just hurry the f**k up!”

Add to this that, despite assurances of “trust your feet, they’ll stick” and “trust your harness,” I knew secretly that they were lying and revelling at the prospect of watching the giant fall off the rock.

The experience has also brought to light something previously unknown- I have trust issues. See, when you are climbing, you are being backed up by someone who is ‘belaying’ you from below. This basically means that, should you fall, you they’ve got hold of you via a rope to make sure that you don’t plunge to your death. Well, not death, but at least a sprained ankle or two.

While I never actually plunged to the ground, if I slipped, I nearly always fell about 50 feet through the air, due to me being quite a big unit.  This was quite an accomplishment, due to the fact that I was only about 20 feet up the rock… As I slipped, my weight would take whichever regular sized person by complete surprise, and would yank them forward a bit, dropping me in the process- a massive confidence booster.

Ultimately, if I was to sum up the experience in one sentence, it’d be this- I still don’t trust my harness.

Another gem from climbing I’ve perhaps omitted from my diaries on the mountain is the experience of using a squat toilet. This is due largely to the fact that they are not the first thing that pops into your head when up on the rocks.

But, when you’ve hiked up to the top of a mountain, unsurprisingly, there’s neither a state of the art plumbing system nor an Armitage Shanks in sight. Instead, when nature calls, you are greeted with a small hut which contains a hole in the floor in which you have to aim your excess baggage into. If this doesn’t sound uncomfortable enough for you, I must add that there is no Andrex ‘Puppy on a Roll’ available either- it’s the ‘bring your own’ situation I’ve mentioned before. Oh, and the smell. No amount of gum or fresh air can undo the punishment it inflicts upon your senses- you’d best make sure you have some extra T.P. to wipe the tears from your eyes.

Obviously, then, my biggest worry was none of these things. The biggest fear playing on my mind was, when squatting, that I would fall forwards or backwards and end up washing my shorts in number two.

So, after careful consideration, I came up with a cunning plan. I was going to use the one facility the ‘toilet’ actually had- the wall. I squatted down with my back against the wall and used the power of the mind to create an imaginary seat beneath my cheeks. As for aim, I’ll be honest with you, I was firing blind. But, while I was not to trust my feet or harness on the rocks, I was perfectly fine with trusting my instincts. But, did he score, I hear you ask?

Goooooooooooaaal! In off the post (most probably). I ran out the toilet doing my best Alan Shearer impression. The Korean crowd didn’t cheer- they must be Sunderland fans…

How was this relevant though? Well, it was a turning point in the mental battle of rock climbing. I thought, if I can drop rocks, I can most certainly climb them…

At this point, we should note that I’ve dedicated the same amount of space in this blog to the success of climbing and successful defecation…

Let’s switch focus to a more hygienic topic then- my hair.

So, since I’ve been in Korea (due to my limited grasp of Korean) I had been avoiding getting a haircut. I feared the obvious miscommunication that would ensue would result in my sporting a shaved head, a Mohawk, or some other hairstyle that may result in the Korean students to think twice before calling me “handsome teacher”…

Yet, about four weeks ago or so, I bravely ventured into the depths of the nearest hair dressers that I could find. This was during my climbing stint- my mind was adrenaline fuelled and willing to take risks. However, I was not to go in unprepared- I’d consulted my Korean phrase book and recited the words for short and trim many times over. What could go wrong?!

Well, as I confidently stepped in and unleashed a bout of Korean at the man in the shop, he responded with a confused face- the very same face I pull when any Korean talks to me. My heart sank immediately.

 There wasn’t even a picture book for me to simply point at- I was out of ammo. Or was I? It was at that precise moment that I remembered the greatest weapon in my arsenal- my fluency in sign language. I was saved! About half an hour later, and after much imitation of shaving blades and scissors (complete with sound effects) I walked out with something relatively close to what I had intended to achieve. I’m now considering writing a book about improv sign language- much more useful than any of these “Learn Korean” books. It probably wouldn’t sell as well, though, due to the lack of an attractive Asian woman on the front cover…

However, with success comes failure. The latest failure to inflict itself upon my life involved being locked outside of my room a few weeks ago. This story begins after a gym session, when I thought I’d better pop in the shower before work. However, upon finishing my shower, I shuffled to my room, turned the handle and nothing happened. So, there I was, stuck outside the flat in just a towel- the only clothes at my disposal being my football shorts. One hour to work. Fantastic.

The events that followed involved phoning my director, having him call the repair man, a new door handle/lock being fitted and a £25 bill. How did it lock? I’m still not entirely sure, but hell, it’s Korea- anything can happen…

Other, than my exciting weekends, what occupies me in the week is far less glamorous. Mostly, it’s TV/Movie watching, Xbox and games of Pool. Last night saw me inflict a “Welcome to Korea” 6-1 slaughter of the new room-mate. However, I’m not one to gloat.

So, what TV programs do I watch/ shamelessly download? Well, I’ve finally finished working my way through all four seasons of Prison Break and would definitely recommend it to anyone who’s bored of watching whatever repeats E4 is showing these days. The reason I came to watch it was actually due to a comment from my Korean co-teachers, that I looked like “Prison Break” when I first cut my own hair when I got here. Great- two weeks in and I was already a criminal/fugitive.

Nevertheless, I was intrigued to watch and, in retrospect, thoroughly glad I looked like a convict!

However, on a hike up the mountains for climbing, the conversation topic turned to who Koreans all thought we looked like. This prompted one girl (code-name Demi Moore) to suggest I looked like some guy called “Finn” from the abomination that is “Glee.” I was informed he’s the (fake/American) Football jock and really popular. That may be, but for me to watch Glee, it would involve a major lifestyle change. I’d rather break out of Prison for the time being, thanks…

Let’s finish with some sporting news. Two weekends ago, my high flying (real) football team, travelled four hours south to a town called Ulsan to (alledgedly) dominate the Ulsan Cup. The journey there was treacherous for me, due to task of waking up at 3am to leave at 4am. However, I pity the driver, who couldn’t nod off in the back seat with a cushion but, instead, downed cans of coffee like they were vodka to keep us on the road.

 Arrival time- 8am. Kick off- 9am. First game: 1-0 to us. Sleep is for babies.

Well, judging by the rest of the days results, somebody had best get out the Pampers. Domination is best left to our current league-form. We proceeded to lose the rest of the day’s games. This prompted many players to drown their sorrows. Come the next morning, this drowned our hopes of any pride, as we lost to probably the oldest, fattest, ugliest, Russian-ist team in the competition and left the field with our heads hung.

Still, no weekend is fruitless in Korea. I managed to re-injure my big toe, as usual, and acquired a bandaged up left foot. Some may not view this as a ‘fruit’ as such, but it at least tells a story. Hell, maybe I’m becoming an optimist? Much more likely that I’m high on cold medicine at the minute, though.

Obviously, the best thing about the weekend for me was nothing to do with the beautiful game. In fact, it was the motel that we stayed- quintessential luxury. Double beds, a mini-bar, a computer and a sauna-equipped bathroom the size of my apartment- all for only £25. I’m pretty sure Lenny Henry and the guys at Premier Inn can’t even offer that kind of deal…

Furthermore, there was yet another priceless Korean moment that presented itself during the tournament’s opening ceremony. After all the inevitable monotony of various council and sports representatives delivering some typical cringe-worthy jokes/speeches, the final speaker then proceeded to call out the goal keeper from another team to the podium. At this point, it’s crucial to mention that this particular gentleman was of mixed race. That’s right folks, Korean racism strikes again.

The announcement went something like this:

“Ladies and Gentleman, we are very honoured to have a special celebrity for you today. Without further ado, may I present, TIGER WOODS!”

Cue stunned silence, followed by bouts of awkward laughter. For the rest of the tournament, I was really tempted to ask him how his many infidelities were in bed. This may sound insensitive, but my first instinct was to quip “Still, it’s better than OJ…”

Only in Korea.

Yippee Kay Ay, Shil-pal!

I'm starting this blog with a run through of all the positive events of the past three weeks.

Firstly, I've finally found a gym. Sadly, this means that I've had to say goodbye to loitering round the children's playground for my morning workouts. However, people still stare at me as I'm 'the only white man in the village' so to speak. At least it's better than being stared at for being a suspected kiddy fiddler. I suppose...

The best bit about the gym is it's name- “Superman Fitness & Health Club.” It's a very appropriate as, firstly, Korean fashion dictates that large black glasses are 'in' and a lot of them work in offices so the white shirt and tie accompanies the glasses. Add to this that they have straight black hair. Do you see where this is going? Yes, they all come in looking just tad familiar to the Man of Steel's alter ego, Clark Kent. They don't, unfortunately, emerge from the changing rooms in full on costume; and their work shirts are neatly folded up and put in lockers rather than being torn off and left on the floor... Amateurs.

From the gym, I'm going to illogically switch topics to toilets. Public ones, to be specific. Odour of any kind is regarded as a normality here, I'm beginning to think. The BO here has caused me to gag many a time, yet it smells like a field of roses compared to public loos. Urinals, in particular, are the main offenders. Ironically, the stench they emit is more reminiscent of that associated with their cubicle counterparts. I have to literally hold my breath when I pee- I've considered giving up drinking water to spare myself the hassle...

Back to the arena of physical endeavours. Two Saturdays ago marked the start of my new rock climbing course. Trust it to be the hottest day we've had for quite some time. Cue more sunburn. I had expected the first day to be taught by the health and safety brigade. Instead I was thrown in at the deep end, or high end, I should say. Climbing an artificial wall from 9am until 4pm rendered my forearms and fingers numb for the next day. Annoyingly, I got to watch I watched tiny women dart up the wall effortlessly as my fingers tensed, desperately trying to hold on to all 95kg of me. I predict my fingers will grow biceps in the next five weeks and I'll be able to sell tickets for a ten man gun show. £5 a ticket.

Fortunately, though, climbing actual rock this past weekend was a tad easier. My sweaty fingers could actually grip the stuff and there was no falling off this time. I also had a sneaky advantage this time round as my long limbs allowed me to reach places others could not. This, is an advantage in my upper body. However, this is not an advantage for my lower body. While my legs are even longer than my arms, due to the fact that my flexibility resembles a brick wall, they tend to just get in the way. But at least half of me ran into a bit of luck, I suppose. At last, a benefit of being tall in Korea. Does it make all the times I have to stand up on public transport with my head tilted to the side? Afraid not.

With the good, inevitably comes the bad- as we were climbing in a forest area, it meant Sergeant Mozzy and his grunts launched an offensive on me. As, my skin now resembles that of a greasy adolescent boy, I can only think that my blood tastes better than anything nature has to offer. But hey, I can't donate blood to the human race while I'm here, so the animal kingdom will have to suffice, for now.

Sticking around in the physical arena, I've succeeded in finding some football with fellow English speakers. The benefits to this are: I can expand my vocabulary on the pitch past “Yeah, yeah yeah.” I can enjoy a challenging, competitive game every Saturday, I get my own Juventus/AC Milan home and away kits with the “O'Rourke” proudly emblazoned on them, I actually get to play in my position (centre back) as opposed to being the 'star' striker in a team of ageing Korean men who's idea of half time nutrition is Soju.

Needless to say, our first league game produced an emphatic 5-2 victory and a mild concussion for myself as I was headed by another player. If I grow my hair a bit, maybe it'll stop looking like a Jabulani...

My busy Saturday, two weekends ago, concluded with a home-cooked meal, courtesy of my room-mate's girlfriend and her friend- we'll call them Betty and Betti (their Korean names are so similar I thought I'd give them equivalent English ones). It was fantastic to have home-cooked Korean food, which knocked the socks off anything I've had in a restaurant so far.

But anyway, after I'd stuffed my face, Betty and Betti decided they wanted to paint my big toenails- as I was drunk on food, I agreed as I thought “Who the hell sees your toenails anyway?” Of course, I forgot that, due to the Korean weather, I wear flip flops everywhere. So, I was forced to endure taking the subway and bus home with pink and green toenails. But, have no fear, in an ingenious ploy to butch the whole thing up I got them to write “Shil-pal” on top of the colour- you can work out for yourself what it means from the title of this blog.

So, I set off home, confident in my masculinity. Cue some very confused and bewildered looks from Koreans on the subway. This could have been for a few reasons: 1) I had painted toenails in a society where homosexuality doesn't exist, 2) I had a naughty word painted on my feet or 3) said naughty word also means the number 18...

Now, it is time to tell you a story that took place this past Saturday night as I got the lift down from my apartment. I was just on my way to drop of some rubbish in the recycling compound. However, on the 9^th floor the lift stopped and in walked a child who is mentally disabled.

It's not the first time I've met him, but he usually has someone with him (brother or mother). He tends to grab on to you a lot and prod and poke at you for the duration of your ride to the ground floor. This is fine really, as it's not his fault, he's harmless, and he seems like a sweet kid.

Yet, this time, he was alone. Upon entering the lift, he made a bee-line for me a proceeded to give me a thorough hugging. Fine so far. Yet, the next words that came out of his mouth were the highlight of it all. He started chanting “Apa” which translates as... wait for it... “father.” He then looked up at me and said “Helloooooooooo!” This prompted smiles all round from the rest of the Koreans in the lift and, of course, myself.

When we got out the lift, he promptly grabbed my shirt and proceeded to go all the way to the rubbish tip with me. I couldn't exactly explain that neither child adoption or abduction were on my to do list for this year. Only, when we got back to some steps, could I make my escape. Handy, as I was on my way to catch a bus to Seoul- I'm not sure how that would've gone down with his mother.

Finally, aside from learning how to be rude and offensive in Korean (like I needed help!?), I've actually decided to learn a bit of Korean after a mishap involved me getting on a bus to the supermarket going the wrong way. This then took me to another city entirely...

When I enquired with the bus driver as to where in the blue hell I was and whether the bus would return to Yongin city, he gestured for me to get off the bus. I refused and tried to communicate using the translator on the phone and showing it to him, he looked at the phone and put it to his ear. This series of events repeated itself until I just declared that I was staying put, and hoping I'd return home. Thankfully, I did. However, what should have been a 15 minute journey turned into a 4 and ½ hour round trip. So much for a relaxing Sunday...

So, anyway, I now know a few more Korean words which make my kids at school giddy when I say them. By next week, I should hopefully have learnt how to say “Where the hell am I?” At the minute, if I should happen to end up in a random city, all I have in my arsenal is “I'm an English teacher,” “I'm an English man, “my name is Tom,” “left” and “right.” Not to worry then...