My Experiences With Korean Workmen.

First, let me say that I have had dozens of encounters with workmen here (I don’t wish to be sexist, but I’m talking about car, and washing machine repairs and the like, which tend to be guys) and most of them have been fine, but, as with so many things here, such as driving and politeness, the minority that aren’t is too large and too salient.

As an outlander here, when something goes wrong you also often get: ‘dumb foreigner doesn’t know how to use it’. Here’s an example. A few years ago my new apartment’s underfloor heating only worked along a one-foot strip next to the wall. This, clearly, to me, meant that the thermostat and boiler were working as hot water was being pumped into the underfloor pipes, and to me the problem was a blockage in said pipes. I informed my school. They sent my co-teacher around to show me how to use the thermostat. I told him my theory of the blocked pipes. He sent his boss around to show me how to use the thermostat. I said ‘blocked pipes’. She in turn sent the landlady round to show the stupid foreigner how to use the thermostat, and once again I said ‘blocked pipes’. One month later this dumb foreigner finally convinced everyone to send a plumber to unblock the pipes. Problem solved. Sometimes Koreans are so amazed that anyone else from anywhere else can do anything. It’s very strange. A friend once said to me that in China they have a saying, “If you tell a Korean there are 12 other people in the world they will be surprised.” I know what that saying means.

Workmen. Recently, my washing machine, which belongs to my rented apartment, ceased to function. The landlord came around, with his wife, and they spent a solid thirty minutes fiddling with buttons and dials and eventually concurred that it was in need of a repairman. The company, LG, called me later that day to tell me he’d be here, in a week. This is unusual for Korea, a country where things are often done so quickly you think you’ve time-travelled, but a week it was. He came, fixed the machine, and left. I used the machine, and flooded the room where it sits because he hadn’t put the drainage hose back into the drain behind the machine. An easy task that took me 5 seconds – just push it in – but why a professional washing machine repairman hadn’t done this I do not know.  And this, I find, is a common work practice here, that is – speed over accuracy, not checking your work when you’re done, not getting it right, because time is more important than everything else, including getting the job done properly, and I have several examples of this.

Years ago I decided to buy a bicycle. Not an expensive one, just a cheap entry-level mountain bike to potter around on. I used a local bike shop to support him, rather than a large chain. I went in, picked one, and the middle- aged male owner started flapping away at lightning speed, ripping off cardboard, and adjusting handlebars etc. All the while I was thinking ‘I’ll happily come back tomorrow fella’ but no, he rushed this and rushed that, took my money, and I cycled away but a few minutes later. I got about 100 yards along  the street and the back end of the bike started wobbling around, and on closer inspection, he hadn’t tightened the two wheel nuts on the back wheel. I rolled it back to the shop and pointed this out, and he was so, so embarrassed that I felt bad for him. His embarrassment could have easily been avoided however, if he’d taken one minute of time to check the fundamentals.

That’s not the end. Maybe two years later, and after many hours and miles on the bike, I started to notice a bit of ‘play’ in the back wheel – just a little ‘give’  – and estimated that the bearing had worn out. I took it to the shop and he agreed, and proceeded to take the back wheel out, and smash the bearing out with a large hammer, right there on the concrete floor, with sparks flying this way and that. He also spent half the time looking at me and smiling as if to say ‘look how quickly I’m doing this.’ Again, I would have happily come back the next day. He fitted the new bearing, refitted the back wheel, and I got 100 yards up the road and it started wobbling again. Same guy, same bike, same problem. He hadn’t tightened the back wheel nuts.  

I went to get my phone repaired a few years ago, as the screen had developed lines  that ran its length. I took the bus to the Samsung repair centre in downtown Seoul.  On the bus back, I noticed, to my horror, that they hadn’t replaced the volume control switch on the side of the phone, and where the switch should be was just a rectangular hole. I couldn’t go back till the following day and on entering they recognised me, ushered me to a table with coffee etc and fixed my volume switch without asking. I have earphones with a volume control so I hadn’t noticed immediately, plus the switch is inside my folding case and partially hidden,  but why didn’t they check before giving me it back the previous day?

I bought a new (to me) car several years ago which had a central locking fault. I took it back to the garage to get fixed, which they did. On driving away I noticed that the repairman had left a small panel off the inside of the door where the door mirror is. He’d just left it off, I was looking at bare metal. I drove the car back and pointed it out – and he was angry with me for returning! He did fix it – he’d left it inside the door – but the whole time he was cussing and swearing and angry, and when finished told me never to come back  – after his mistake! Very odd. Koreans have a weird relationship with anger. They notoriously anger very easily and often use anger in a strange way, just like this here.

The crowning glory of my experiences with Korean workmen though, is this. One day I was sitting at my computer and the internet went off. That’s pretty unusual here – you don’t get much downtime. I looked down at my feet and the dog had chewed through the cable. I phoned and a guy came out the next day. My dog goes crazy at strangers sometimes, especially at home, so I ushered the dog into the next room while the guy fixed the internet. This involved him fitting a new modem at no charge to me, as he said the old ones weren’t used any longer. I said fine and went back to chaperoning the dog. He came through and said he was finished. I went into the living room to see that he’d run the new cable straight across from the window to my desk, at waist height – diagonally across, cutting off a full quarter of the room. He said ‘the dog can’t chew it if it’s like that.’. I said the dog would also not chew it if you ran it along the ceiling (as my current internet cable is). He just shrugged and left. To ‘fix’ the problem I had to slide the desk to the corner of the room so that the cable sat flush to the wall. And, as before, that’s not the end.

A couple of days later I’m sitting on the internet, and I noticed that I was on wifi only, which was odd, because I was sure I had a cable running from my router to my laptop. I looked, and he’d removed MY cable, and used it to fit his new modem and left me on wifi only. This whole thing  is, without doubt, the most inept, incompetent and downright stupid undertaking of any task I’ve ever had anyone do at my behest.

Most of the work you get done here is fine. I have a car, the same one as above, and many’s the time I’ve taken it to  the garage to have it fixed with no problems, but as I said at the top, and just like the driving and politeness, the minority that get it wrong are too many and too often, often enough that I have stories.

 

The Most Generous Thing a Stranger Ever Did For Me

There are lots of things people have done for me, without being asked, but the most generous was in a video game. I used to play a game called ‘Shot Online’, an MMORPG golf game. I know, it’s kinda nerdy, but anyway, I played it for years and years. I still have an account and occasionally go back and play a few rounds. It’s a very in-depth game – upgrading your character, clubs, items etc. The graphics are a bit old school, but it’s a really good game, with a nice friendly community, as you’d expect, in a golf game. There are no 15 year olds threatening to hack you or saying they slept with your mother and that kind of thing.


In the game there are different play modes – a simple 18 holes alone, quests and missions, 2 balls/4 players, 4 balls/4 players, and ‘mastery’. In mastery, you don’t get an aiming target, that is, you don’t get to see where your ball will land, you have to know the courses very, very well to play, as the name suggests. Also, a typical round costs maybe $20 000 game dollars, but mastery costs maybe $5 000 000, although the rewards, if you’re good enough, are very high. I was quite low level, early on in my career, and had saved up around $6 000 000, a fortune for me at the time in that game, but I was only around level 35, nowhere near good or experienced enough to play mastery.

So I’m playing hole 1 of what I thought was a regular 2 ball/4 player game, and to my horror I realized that I’d selected mastery by accident. My $6 000 000 savings, which is about 6 months of playing, had gone – and of course I was nowhere near good enough to recoup it via the rewards during the round. I was genuinely devastated – anyone who plays games will, I’m sure, understand. Kevin Bridges, the famous and brilliant Scottish comedian, says that he once died in Call of Duty and was so grief-stricken he considered buying a poppy.

So I’m playing this round, landing in bunkers, getting bogeys and double bogeys, and basically screwing it all up – meanwhile in the chat, I’m grumbling a little about how I’d accidentally clicked this game type and had lost all my hard-earned loot. A player who I’d never spoken to before said that he’d meet me back in the ‘square’ (the mini town you go to between rounds to buy clubs etc) after the game and he’d gift me the $5 000 000 – which he, to my utter amazement, did. He just gave me like 5 months’ worth of money, for nothing.

Now, I went on to play this game for many more years, reaching, I think, maybe level 140, at which point I had amassed around $600 000 000 or $700 000 000, and $5 000 000 was to me, by that point, virtually (pun unintended) nothing. No doubt it was virtually nothing to that experienced player at that time too, but it meant the world to me. Heartbroken to ‘fixed toy’, due to another’s generosity.

I helped many others out over the next few years – giving away cash and equipment to newer players, so what goes around comes around and all that – but I’ll never forget that one act of kindness.

Just a small addendum, unrelated to generosity. Back then – mid 2000s – I had an old friend, Dave Westoby, who was approaching 60 at that time – but we’d have a smoke and a drink together. I liked Dave – he’d tell me his stories about his wild life – the time he made a porno, or the time he went to jail for smuggling, or the time he lived in flat above a brothel. We’d play boules in his back garden and drink whisky. Anyway, one day I was telling Dave how I’d spent $2 on a virtual golf club to improve my online golf game – and it totally blew his mind that I’d spent real money on a virtual golf club. “You did what? Run that by me again! You can't even hold it in your hand?” RIP Dave, you’re missed, don’t worry about that old pal.

BTS Shouldn't be Compared to The Beatles, but to Bros.

BTS played Wembley Stadium recently, and the press went wild wild wild wild comparing them to the Beatles. But let’s get a few things straight. I’m not a Beatles fan, mostly on account of my never listening to their music. That’s what defines ‘liking’ music to me - would I play their songs at home, for my own pleasure? In the case of the Beatles, no I wouldn’t. I’m very much a ‘songs’ person anyway, I prefer individual songs over artist worship. I may like one song by, say, Father John Misty (and I do), but I’ve checked out the rest of his stuff and none of the songs grabbed me in the same way. It’s the same with the Beatles, I’ve probably heard most of their songs over the years – it’s just not my thing. 

The Beatles were serious musicians though, and changed the face of music forever – they have been hugely influential, their songs have been covered by thousands of artists, they are record-breaking songwriters, hold numerous sales records too, and have had many compositions written by them charted with other artists – did you know ‘Fame’ by David Bowie was co-written by John Lennon, for example? How about ‘I Wanna Be Your Man’ by the Rolling Stones? Yup, a Lennon/McCartney song. And there are countless others. Between Lennon and McCartney, they have five of the top ten most covered songs of all time. 

And they’ve been famous for almost sixty years. In the decade 2000 – 2009, they were the second best selling artists in the world after Eminem. They are still, almost fifty years after splitting: influential, big sellers, much covered, and oft-emulated. Anyone who likes music knows who the Beatles are. They are simply the most famous, most well-known, most covered, most copied and most successful band there ever was. 

And then there was Bros. Who? Exactly. But if this was 1987, you’d know, because in 1987 they were a very famous teeny-pop band that sold out Wembley stadium, and 77 000 delirious teenage girls went absolutely wild. For a brief period. That’s who you should be comparing BTS to, not the Beatles, because filling Wembley stadium and selling millions of records for a couple of years has been done by many a teen heart-throb who has since faded into obscurity. It’s music that endures, not ticket sales and ‘fan worship’ and the Beatles music, love it or hate it, has lasted, is influential, and admired over a wide-ranging demographic, from cool kids to dusty geography teachers, and everyone in between. BTS are not, and will never ever be, that big, that widely liked, that popular, that influential. Never. They are Bros. 

Incidentally – although the Beatles played Wembley Arena, a nearby indoor venue with a capacity then of about 10 000, they  never played Wembley Stadium. 

Meat Shaped Vegetarian Food

Hello, and welcome back to my blog. It’s been a few years, and honestly I thought I was gonna finish it with my last post about why I don’t talk to my sister – it seemed like a good place to stop, and furthermore an old nemesis from years past had caught up with me and was trolling me about it, so I thought I’d stop.

But I’m back! And this time I’m vegetarian. And that’s what this post is about.

Firstly, one criticism often laid at vegetarians, is that we are always harping on about it. That may be true, but no one is forcing you to read this, so if you don’t like it, fuck off and read something else.

People Saying You Shouldn’t Eat Meat-Shaped Food That Isn’t Meat.

Well. This gets my goat. Gets my goat? Did you read about PETA trying to change common sayings that contain animals, for example ‘flogging a dead horse’ to ‘feeding a fed horse’? They really did/are. Read about it here. I digress. Why would anyone want meat-shaped food that isn’t meat? Well isn’t it fucking obvious? You’ve eaten certain foods, in certain ways, with certain textures, all your life. Food isn’t all about ousting hunger, it’s also about other things – health, satisfaction, enjoyment and so on. If a person particularly enjoyed bacon sandwiches before becoming meat-free, they may particularly enjoy the same thing but meat-free afterwards. I kinda get it with say, a steak. But a burger? Meat eaters saying ‘you shouldn’t eat meat shaped food!!’ What shape do you mean? That well known meat shape, round?

This isn’t the problem with meat eating though. The problem is the macho-ness associated with it. ‘Men’ thinking they are somewhere between Bear Grylls and Fred Flintstone, because they recently consumed a bacon butty. ‘It’s man food!’ they say. Get over yourselves.  I’m not up on recent animal-related politics, but if PETA and whatnot aren’t focusing on the associations between misplaced masculinity and meat-eating, they should be, rather than being concerned about the above sayings (which, I have to say, I don’t entirely disagree with – there’s no harm in changing the sayings. Anyone who went to school when and where I did, will remember ‘eenie meenie minie mo, catch a n*gger by the toe’, which has now changed, thankfully to ‘catch a tiger by the toe’. It looks like we’ll have to change that again too though.)

Anyway.

Plus ça change.

Why I Don’t Talk to My Sister

There may be many people back home wondering why I don’t talk to my sister any more, especially after she did such a great job looking after my Mum during my Mum’s final months. There may also be many people hearing that my sister isn’t speaking to me, when in fact the opposite is true.

Given my distance and lack of contact to people ‘on the ground’, I thought I’d put my side over. I’m not back home. It’s not fair that people will only be getting one side of the story. Also, what happened immediately prior to the funeral bothered me greatly, and I don’t think that’s fair either. I should have been mourning the passing of my own mother and, solely,  processing those emotions; not having to deal with my sister’s anger, uptightness, control-angst, hubris, misplaced sense of superiority, delusion, snootiness, snobbery, ego problems and hissy fits. But then, what did I expect?

A little background on our relationship.

One of my earliest memories of my sister is when we were maybe 5 or 6 years old.

There are only four years between all of us, my brother, sister and I. If I was six, my sister would have been four and my brother eight. I think I was maybe 6 years old and the three of us were playing in the kitchen, and my brother spilled a pint of milk and broke the glass bottle on the floor. My Dad heard this, and came in, a little annoyed. My Dad asked who did it, and despite my sister knowing and seeing who did it, pointed at me and said “Paul!” and despite six-year-old me pleading with my Dad and my sister, she stuck to the story and I was sent to my room or whatever. A small, seemingly trivial story, but, honestly, a foreshadowing of a lifetime of spiteful lies and weirdness.

Fast forward another few years, and us three, my brother sister and I, and some cousins, are playing on a slide, there was some horseplay at the top, and my sister fell off and broke her arm. I can still remember seeing her fall, spinning as she fell – it seemed to take forever for her to hit the ground, even though it was only around 15 feet.

I was 2 or three people behind her on the steps, but on returning home, and despite the pain of a broken arm, she was still able to summon the discipline to look everyone in the eye and tell them I’d pushed her off. A lie she carried on despite my protestations, and despite everyone there confirming it was an accident I was not, and could not, have been involved in. I don’t think she ever changed her story. I imagine she’s still disappointed the lie didn’t work.

Fast forward yet another few years and my Mum had allowed me to have a 21^st birthday party at our house. Long story short – my sister pushed me (she’d do this crazy attack thing where she’d run at me backwards). I pushed her gently away, with a heavy emphasis on gently. She swooned and swaggered, looked over her shoulder, swooned again, and proceeded to throw herself down a full flight of stairs, backwards, risking, literally, her own neck. She would have been around 19 at the time. Luckily for me a host of people had seen her do this and, after establishing she hadn’t actually hurt herself, everyone just laughed at her. Again, she’s never admitted this, nor apologized. She probably denies it even happened despite all the witnesses.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still telling people these kinds of lies today. “He pushed me down the stairs once… he broke my arm …he did this and that….”etc.

What did she say when I went to university as a mature student? “Well done Paul”? No. She screamed at me, through angry tears, “You’re only going because I went!!’ revealing some of her underlying psychosis. She cannot stand it if either myself or my brother ‘do well’ at anything. She thinks we’re just trying to beat her, stop her, compete with her – this competition exists in one place – within her psychosis. p.s. I've completed a Masters degree since. Not so much as a 'well done'.

It may seem, and this is very important, that I’m just dragging up small sibling rivalries from the past and holding a grudge, but the only grudges I’m holding are direct and dishonest attempts to discredit me – lifelong attempts, by my own sister! It may seem like trivial sibling stuff,  but I don’t know of any other sibling relationships where one has such a black-hearted opinion of the other they are willing to risk everything just to lie. It’s not healthy, and it’s not normal.

Dad’s Funeral

Before my Mother’s funeral in 2013, was my Dad’s funeral way back when we were kids in 1979. I’ve always deeply regretted, if that’s the right word, not being allowed to go as an 11 year old. It’s come up in conversation a few times over the years, and I know my brother feels the same – we are hurt that we didn’t get to say our final goodbyes at the actual funeral. The decision was made by older family members, so that us kids should remember our Dad how he was. I understand their motives – but I didn’t get to go to my own father’s funeral, and I’m still sad about that. I feel this is the worst decision anyone has ever made on my behalf, and I talked about it with my Mum and family more than once. She understood and was somewhat apologetic, but I didn’t blame her, it seems to be something of a family tradition on my Dad’s side. Anyway, my point is that this is a big issue for me and my brother, and so not to involve us, and not to do things in the traditional time-honoured way at my Mum’s funeral was, frankly, disgusting and thoughtless (towards us, her brothers) on my sister’s part. She says we should have been more involved ‘near the end’. I don’t know what more we could have done. We’re neither of us rich, my brother and I, and he lives 150 miles away, and I live on a different continent.


Mum’s Funeral

This is where the hissy fits kicked in…

My sister had arranged the entire funeral herself without consultation with either of her brothers. Honestly, who does that? Someone who a) knows it’s wrong and b) doesn’t care.

The service and everything else was to be in Harpenden where my sister lived, 150 miles from Mum’s hometown, 150 miles from where all Mum’s family lived, and 150 miles from everything. Now, my sister had convinced my Mum to move down to Harpenden in around 2007/8, and help my sister look after my sister’s two kids. My sister helped my Mum buy a house down there. My Mum was happy there. That’s no reason for the funeral to be there. She wasn’t to be buried there, and Mum’s whole family lived in and around Hull. The main reason that a Hull-based funeral was not to be, is that my snooty sister didn’t want her middle class husband’s family to have to travel to Hull (a very working class town)! So after we complained that the funeral service should be in Hull – she relented and agreed, but arranged a separate service in for the posher lot! In Harpenden. We weren’t invited. I’ve no idea what happened at it. Bar her husband, NONE of my sister’s husband’s family attended the Hull service. They had their own!

My brother asked where the (Hull) funeral procession should be leaving from? His house? Somewhere else? – my sister forbid any procession, and we were all to meet at the crematorium in Hull. Her reason, my working class, Hull born, dead mother, and I quote ‘would have been mortified to leave from there’. ‘There’ being Stephen, the eldest’s, house. Pure snobbery. No, my Mum wouldn’t, she used to stay there often. I think we know who would have been ‘mortified’.

I have no idea what’s on my own Mother’s gravestone. I was neither asked, nor told. I don’t even know what colour it is.

I don’t know when the ashes were taken up there to Scotland to be next to my father. My sister took care of all that. No consultation, no information, nothing. She just did it herself. We, other family members, weren’t invited.

So we didn’t get to take the last trip, with our own mother, because of my sister’s snobbery, and after all that happened over my Dad’s, which I’m sure she’s known about over the years. She arranged her own separate service. She didn’t consult me and as far as I know anyone else as to what to put on the gravestone. She didn’t invite me or anyone I know on the final journey. Oh, and she kept all of my mother’s belongings. Everything. Every photo album, every….everything. Were we asked? What do you think? Not that I care about having anything of material value you understand – I’ve never been a materialistic person, a fact that is well known throughout our family. But I would have liked to look through my Mum’s (and that’s the point – it’s MY MUM TOO), I would have liked to look through my Mum’s stuff one last time – and maybe take a keepsake, a photograph, a memento – perhaps even something that I’d bought her over the years. I wasn’t allowed of course! My mum’s old room at my sister’s house, where she moved into when her cancer developed, was cleared out and empty, with nary an explanation as to where my mother’s entire life went, or what was to happen with her stuff.

Despite what she may think, and have tried to alter over the years, our mother, and our father, loved all of us.

And that’s just a little background. Now. I’ve made some bad decisions in my life. There are stories you could tell about me that are true. Fighting. Car crashes. Drunken behavior. I once had a party at my Mum’s WITHOUT my mother’s permission, for example, and the place took quite a bit of damage. So I’ve no idea why someone would need a load of lies to make it worse. She’s really had a weird view of me, ever since she was old enough to realize she had to share her parents. I’ve never understood it. I doubt I ever will. It’s a pure undiluted hatred of her siblings, not borne out of any action (and heaven knows there’s enough of it) but pure undiluted jealousy and loathing borne of something, and I doubt I’ll ever know what. Being the youngest? Being female? Not being an only child? Feeling she is better than her two brothers? All of these things? Who knows? But you don’t have to scratch far beneath the surface for this hatred to come spitting out. Even at our own mother’s funeral (or at least the arranging of it) hissy fits were thrown. “you’ve done nothing to deserve any say it what goes on”, “I never want to see you again after this” and so on.  She threw tantrum after tantrum when she wasn’t getting her own way. A civilized discussion became impossible when she knew all the arrangements she’d made behind everyone’s back may have to be changed.

And this is the over-arching point. My younger sister, out of nothing but pure spite, excluded her two older brothers out of arranging or having any say in their mother’s funeral because SHE didn’t feel they’d deserved to have anything to do with it. She used, one last time, our own mother’s funeral as a stick to beat us with. She used our mother’s funeral as a weapon, to cause us pain. An unmerited and disgusting act of revenge.

Having to deal with a foot-stomping sister who wasn’t getting her own way (but of course did) meant that I bottled up the emotions I should have been feeling at the funeral, and had to deal with my disgust and anger at her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she meant for that to happen.

Sister, you were great looking after our mother, and you’re a great mother yourself, but you have, throughout your entire life, been a hateful, spiteful, cunning lying bitch to me.

And that’s why I don’t talk to my sister. 

POMPC: Days 2 and 3, Summarised.

Albums listened to [one per day]: (Day 2) Black Keys 'Rubber Factory', (3) Thelonious Monk 'Straight, No Chaser', both of which I enjoyed. More album suggestions are invited.

Meditation [twice per day]: Once a day so far.

Exercise [new morning routine plus general extras]: Have been cycling FROM work (train avec bike to work  - next week I intend to start using bike in both directions). No morning workouts. Again, I will.

Dog walking [extra walk in morning, hill at night]: Managed full-blown morning walk on days 1 and 2, but actually clean forgot on day three! Haven't been up in hills in the evening as have had prior engagements, or weather has stopped us. Going camping tonight with dog, up a very big hill.

Reading [just, more/some!]: have done more, including an academic paper/chapter of a book an teaching English to Koreans. Reading levels have improved but could do more.

Learning Korean [10 new words, 3 new phrases per day]: have studied a little every day. Not quite met targets but still, an improvement on the norm of zero. Feeling quite motivated to learn more.

Money [150k per week]: I've spent, so far: (Day1) 26k on groceries, (2) 10k on household items from Daiso, (3) 34k on a restaurant meal as I met a former student of mine, plus another 5k here and there. Total: 75k.  Hopefully I won't spend too much over the weekend. Still on target for this one.

General procrastination [improve upon]: apartment etc is a lot cleaner. Still work to be done though on changing my computer/sedentary habits.

All in all, a decent start. I'm feeling a ot more positive and 'alive'. Let's do stuff!

POMPC Day One A Moderate Success

I had planned to do many things, and at the time of writing, 9.11pm, have done some but not all.

I DID walk the dog a good long walk before work this morning, which was a first. I DID eat my five a day (several bananas, a good handful of grapes, and a made a fresh stew/soup using cabbage, potatoes and carrots). I DIDN'T meditate before work. Nor did I work out before I left. Nor did I cycle to work. However, it was raining a little, though that's no real excuse.

I did take my bike to work on the train, and cycle home though! I also meditated at work - it's summer classes right now and my afternoons are free, so meditating is not a problem. It's deathly quiet, I'm almost certain to be undisturbed, and there's a big cushioned area at the back of my classroom. Perfect. So I did meditate. And I did cycle home.

I also learned my 10 Korean words today - all body parts. It was quite easy, and though my memory is not great, I think I've memorised them. I didn't get around to the three phrases, so that's a minor failure. Must do better tomorrow, and I will.

I listened, all the way through, to 'Blood on the Tracks', a Bob Dylan album. Whilst I was cooking a spicy sausage stew. So two success in one there. I didn't get around to writing, or painting either today, but I didn't expect to achieve everything in one day either.

I also have not read yet, but plan to read a chapter of something before I hit the sack. (Edit, didn't do - watched a TV show I 'needed' to finish).

All in all, not perfect, but an improvement on the norm, and something I hope to build on over the coming weeks.

Again, album suggestions are most welcome.