Money is a problem, money's always a problem! I've probably got about 200 quid to land 5,500 miles away from home with and it's got to last me a month, until i get my first pay packet.There's no benefit system, no NHS, no family and no friends who can help me if it goes pear shaped, just me and my crumpled vertebrae.
Kieran's parents had said they would help (remember Kieran, the mate who drove me into the wall...). It turned out that he wasn't insured to be driving at all and his Mum and step dad came to see me, all apologies and 'how can we help'? They were obviously worried about being sued or some form of legal action but that's not how I roll, I made the decision to get into that car and it's down to me to deal with the consequences.
I asked them for help buying the girls some presents over Christmas because they offered but I was fobbed of with some bullshit excuses. It might be worth a shot though so I call them for the second time ever, they had originally seemed sincerely sorry about their son breaking my back, but it doesn't go well. I end the phone call after the step dad grabs the phone and informs me that my constant harassment is not welcome and is causing undue stress on the family... well gee thanks for nothing, I'll just take my crushed, mangled and shattered body away then, sorry to bother you guys, hope Kieran's sprained wrist is all better now!
Dad's skint so no joy there as is my sister, the only money I have is from her anyway and she's helped so much I can't ask for more. In the end it's my go to guy Mr Howie who steps in and doubles my bankroll, thanks Gogs. £400, a knackered body, hope, a steely determination to survive and it's Heathrow here I come for the 11 and a half hour flight to Korea!
There's heat in the air when i step off the plane, it's March now but it was chilly in the England i left behind. I've took my temporary cast off as my injuries didn't come up in my interview and I don't see any reason to start on a negative footing or by inducing any sympathy. I'm looking for an exit or smoking area but I've already been spotted by a suited, distinguished Korean gent holding a board up with 'Mr Free' written on it, I hope the spelling at the school will be better and that it's not a forewarning of what he expects to pay me as I make my way over and introduce myself.
He's Mr Kim, my boss and the director of the school/academy that I will be working in. He looks about 50 but tells me that he's nearing his 70th birthday. His English is pretty broken and as he's the first Korean I've ever met I haven't got the nuances or any experience of Korean communication to help me. He's very formal and apart from a brief smile on greeting me he's adopted a slightly unfriendly manner by western standards but as I will find out it's the standard out here, no smiles. I show him some English cash with a shrug of my shoulders and he walks me over to a change bureau where I instantly become absolutely loaded, my 400 quid buys me nearly 800,000 in Korean won! What was I worried about being skint for... I fold up the wad of cash as Mr Kim watches on before leading me out to his people carrier.
The drive to Cheonan is about 90 minutes but with the tiredness, my desperate need for a fag which went unsated at the airport and the agony coming up from my imploring back ('put the bloody cast on' it's saying!) the 90 feel like 300. The driving is mental, it's not just that we're on the wrong side of the road. I don't see one head turn from straight on to check left or right as we plough down the 'expressway' and cars cut across us, undertake, overtake, slam the brakes on for no reason and every couple of minutes bang on the hazards for an invisible unknown reason! One good thing is that all the signs are in Kilometres and they fly past much quicker than miles.
When we turn off the expressway and into the city of Cheonan the driving is even worse, there just doesn't seem to be any rules. I react to every potential impact and as I'm sat on the driver side for England I'm pumping the non existent brake pedal like a maniac! When I ask why we're going through a red light my new boss informs me that the red is only 'be careful' and not stop...
Eventually we arrive at an apartment block in what seems to me to be a quiet enough neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city. It's Sunday evening and my politeness is nearing its limits as Mr Kim offers to take me to the supermarket to get some supplies. Given the circumstances though and the fact that I have nothing at all to eat or drink I accept and after dumping my baggage and getting my first quick view of 'home' we head straight back out. Luckily the supermarket is only around the corner, literally a 2 minute walk away from my door.
It's a 6 storey affair with everything a Korean could ever need! The first two stories are devoted to clothes and fashion, third is food, fourth is a food court serving all kinds of food that I've never seen before, fifth toys, sports stuff and household essentials such as bog roll and toothpaste, and sixth is electrical and furniture. I grab a few bits, bread that turns out to not be bread, milk, cereal and coffee, just enough to be polite and show that I'm all good in this very foreign environment before Mr Kim finally drops me home and after walking me through the apartments' heating, washing machine and cooker he seems satisfied that I'll survive the 15 hours before he comes to get me for work.
I suck the life out of what is probably the second nicest cigarette of my life and I'm dizzy after just a drag or two. It's getting dark as I come to terms with my apartment, I'm really glad it's on the ground floor with my irrational fear of heights, I get nervous anywhere above a height that would break bones. I remember discussing my fear with someone and they asked me why I had an irrational fear... well if I could explain that it wouldn't be bloody irrational would it!!
My mind creates scenario after scenario in which i fall to my death as soon as I get up anywhere high, I think it stems from a recurring dream I had as a kid in which I was hurtling along down a zip wire thousands of feet in the air and gradually losing my grip as I morph into the Michelin man. As the final act of transformation happens, my fingers pop out becoming massive inflated sausages and I lose my grip on the handle and fall through the air, waking myself up with the sheer terror of it all. Yeah I guess in retrospect the Michelin man is probably not the scariest but anyhow, it doesn't matter as I'm on the ground floor!
'Che Roy' has two rooms, one a bathroom on the right as you enter, and then the main room containing a kitchenette, with gas burner and microwave, left opposite the bathroom. Opening out from there is a not big but not too small living area with a TV in the corner and nothing else but built in cupboards, shelving and a worktop with an office chair. It takes me about an hour to work out that the big cupboard is actually a fold down bed which is a bit of a relief as the wooden effect floor would have done my back no good at all. I fold it down into the position it will hold for the coming two and a half years, find some blankets and cushions in my cupboards, smoke another fag and realise what I've done.
I'm 5000 miles from anyone I know, 5000 miles from any family. 5000 miles from my 3 little angels. I wanted to get away from the heartbreak, away from the recrimination, the circular and damaging rehashing of the same old problems and I've done it. There's no sense of relief though, just a big gaping emptiness and the reality that with just 360 odd quid in a currency I've yet to work out I am truly alone.
Thursday 31 October 2013
Wednesday 16 October 2013
Buying a restaurant (part 1)
Driving up through Cwm Bychan at 6 in the morning is pretty awe inspiring and if you've never done it, I would recommend. The sun is rising with its crown now visible, creeping upwards as if scaling the surrounding mountains. Spring is turning into summer, there's a warmth to the air, a freshness still, but definite warmth and the birds are singing as the mountain flowers open up to welcome the new day. It's 1998 and I'm set to be 25 in September, a quarter of a century done, 3 gorgeous daughters and a reasonably happy marriage. I'm in the middle of sitting my final exams at Bangor Uni but right now I'm off to work.
I'm painting a house in the middle of nowhere, there's a couple of them here to do and if I take my time I can get two to three weeks work out of the job. They're going to be holiday lets and belong to a friend of Gordon 'Gogs' Howie. Gogs is my 'go to' guy, he's looked after me more than most over the years by employing me in his TV shop, housing me in his flat and generally being there whenever I need a helping hand. I owe the guy a great deal of thanks as even after years of no contact I've rang him and he's helped, it's much appreciated!
Anyhow, my plan is to paint till about 11 as I've got to be in my second job by 11:30 at the chippy in Harlech, that one involves waiting on, peeling spuds and washing dishes. This is the best of my jobs pay wise, the best freedom wise too as I'm the only person within a 5 mile radius (or so it feels) and the best for thinking time. I'm thinking about buying a restaurant you see, trying to come up with a magical formula that will succeed in the face of serious adversity.
The restaurant is where I have my 4th job, head washer upper or kitchen porter depending on which title you prefer... basically the bottom of the pile in the restaurant despite performing one of the most important tasks of the kitchen. Anyone can do it but there are not many that can do it well, do it under pressure when the 60 plus diners all finish up and the crockery is needed in a timely fashion for the next sitting while the chef needs a certain pan now or a fish filleting five minutes ago or a runner to grab something from the walk in fridge. It's an undervalued role if you're good at it and it's a nightmare to work on the other side (as chef) when someone is bad at it. But that's later, at 7ish tonight, and for now I'm deep in contemplation.
The problem is the banks. They won't touch me with a barge pole as my credit history is appalling. All I've ever done with banks is use them and abuse them. I've run up so many debts and then just moved away that I've pretty much run out of banks I can use at all, let alone get a mortgage with. The plan is to go directly to the restaurant owner Huw. I have the remaining inheritance (I say remaining as it's been accessible as a safety net for me since I was 14 but the balance is due on my 25th) from my mother of around 20 grand and I plan to use this as a deposit and arrange a private mortgage with Huw to pay the remaining close on 100k he wants over the next 12 years. It looks good on paper, sounds good when I run through it in my head and most importantly that 20 grand cash incentive is very hard to refuse from the sellers point of view.
And so after all this contemplation, plans that I've worked through 100 times, I wash up my brushes and my roller, check my progress to find that I've finished a bedroom but for the final 'cut in' between ceiling and wall, lock up and set off for the chippy.
Keith and Linda run the chippy, both retired from their lives in Stoke and happily immersed in the unwelcoming climate of being an English invader, running a business in Harlech. Linda loves me and has all the patience in the world for me, Sue (who also does a few shifts) and the kids whilst Kieth is a bit cooler, grudgingly accepting us as workers and friends. It's pretty quiet today though and after serving the 6 or so diners that come in, washing and cleaning up and having a natter to Linda I'm sent 'home' early at 1:30 which gives me 20 minutes to say hello to the wife and Jennifer, who's not yet at school, eat dinner and get to job number 3 for 2pm.
Job number 3 of the day is my role as retail outlet manager with Harlech Technivision! Sounds good when put like that but in reality it involves opening the shop and sitting on my arse for 3 hours on the off chance that someone might come in looking for Gogs or better than that, and by some miracle somebody actually looking to buy something! I also have to answer the phone and make notes in the diary should it ring, which it usually does at least once during my shift. If the shop gets into too much of a state I tidy it up, if I'm ridiculously bored I tinker with the window display but generally I just sit and try to study.
Right now I should be studying a lot more than I am. I've basically gone into each exam and re written my essay on the subject to suit my choice of question. I remember 7-8 keywords that remind me of the paragraphs or points from the essay and write them down as soon as the exam begins and then just pad it out with bullshit!
The loophole I'm working is that the marker of the exam can have no knowledge of whose paper he or she is marking and so if I replicate the same old answer I gave in my essay he or she has to mark it on its merit as an answer and not even take into account that it's the same old shit I already wrote once! It's working so far but I'm very much borderline with my goal of getting a 2:1. My Dissertation was absolute shite, it started well enough and had great potential but then I got job number 3 or 4 which took up even more of my day and I ended up just padding it out with crap quotes and meaningless opinion which earned me a 49% mark. Getting one below the 50 was a little dig by the tutor, he knew I could have and should have done better, as did I. With more time and just a bit more effort I would have.
There's only 2 exams left now and I finished off the last of the overdue essays last week so I'm a lot calmer than I was but still pretty stressed out and determined to finish with at the very least respectable marks in these two exams.
I've done well to get to the end of the process at all really. I only went to college to get off the dole and I only went to Uni as a natural progression of the college decision but I really want to get a 2:1 now and it's close, so close I can smell it. To start with I just wanted to get through, to pass, but now that I'm at the end and so close I just want the 3 years to give me a fair price. A 2:1 is just that tiny bit better than my dads' 2:2 and so eternal bragging rights can be achieved!
The 3 hours drag on as my 'management' duties go un-required, no phone calls and no customers at all. I leave Gogs a note in the diary so that he at least knows I was here before heading off home for a couple of quality time hours with the kids ahead of job number 4 this evening.
I head into work for 7 and start clearing away the days carnage from the prep crew. It's still pre summer holidays and still pretty quiet so I have a bit of time on my hands and share some banter with the waitress. She attempts to put me in my place by reminding me that I'm 'just' the dishwasher. I quietly whisper to her that I am thinking of buying the place and she laughs, I mean really laughs. Like the idea is completely ridiculous. Like I, the dishwasher, the dogsbody, the skivvy am making the most ludicrous claim ever. And all night she carries it on, despite me asking her to keep it quiet. There's no malice and I'm sure she thinks I was joking but her words and reaction sting.
My shift finishes at around 11 and I head home to catch up with the family's day. I don't stay up long though as I've gotta do it all again tomorrow. As I drift off to sleep the waitresses words and ridicule drift back to me. She really can't see it, can't even contemplate the possibility that I could buy the restaurant and she's just made me doubly determined to see it through...
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| Cwm Bychan |
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| The shop downstairs and flat I rented above |
Anyhow, my plan is to paint till about 11 as I've got to be in my second job by 11:30 at the chippy in Harlech, that one involves waiting on, peeling spuds and washing dishes. This is the best of my jobs pay wise, the best freedom wise too as I'm the only person within a 5 mile radius (or so it feels) and the best for thinking time. I'm thinking about buying a restaurant you see, trying to come up with a magical formula that will succeed in the face of serious adversity.
The restaurant is where I have my 4th job, head washer upper or kitchen porter depending on which title you prefer... basically the bottom of the pile in the restaurant despite performing one of the most important tasks of the kitchen. Anyone can do it but there are not many that can do it well, do it under pressure when the 60 plus diners all finish up and the crockery is needed in a timely fashion for the next sitting while the chef needs a certain pan now or a fish filleting five minutes ago or a runner to grab something from the walk in fridge. It's an undervalued role if you're good at it and it's a nightmare to work on the other side (as chef) when someone is bad at it. But that's later, at 7ish tonight, and for now I'm deep in contemplation.
The problem is the banks. They won't touch me with a barge pole as my credit history is appalling. All I've ever done with banks is use them and abuse them. I've run up so many debts and then just moved away that I've pretty much run out of banks I can use at all, let alone get a mortgage with. The plan is to go directly to the restaurant owner Huw. I have the remaining inheritance (I say remaining as it's been accessible as a safety net for me since I was 14 but the balance is due on my 25th) from my mother of around 20 grand and I plan to use this as a deposit and arrange a private mortgage with Huw to pay the remaining close on 100k he wants over the next 12 years. It looks good on paper, sounds good when I run through it in my head and most importantly that 20 grand cash incentive is very hard to refuse from the sellers point of view.
And so after all this contemplation, plans that I've worked through 100 times, I wash up my brushes and my roller, check my progress to find that I've finished a bedroom but for the final 'cut in' between ceiling and wall, lock up and set off for the chippy.
Keith and Linda run the chippy, both retired from their lives in Stoke and happily immersed in the unwelcoming climate of being an English invader, running a business in Harlech. Linda loves me and has all the patience in the world for me, Sue (who also does a few shifts) and the kids whilst Kieth is a bit cooler, grudgingly accepting us as workers and friends. It's pretty quiet today though and after serving the 6 or so diners that come in, washing and cleaning up and having a natter to Linda I'm sent 'home' early at 1:30 which gives me 20 minutes to say hello to the wife and Jennifer, who's not yet at school, eat dinner and get to job number 3 for 2pm.
Job number 3 of the day is my role as retail outlet manager with Harlech Technivision! Sounds good when put like that but in reality it involves opening the shop and sitting on my arse for 3 hours on the off chance that someone might come in looking for Gogs or better than that, and by some miracle somebody actually looking to buy something! I also have to answer the phone and make notes in the diary should it ring, which it usually does at least once during my shift. If the shop gets into too much of a state I tidy it up, if I'm ridiculously bored I tinker with the window display but generally I just sit and try to study.
Right now I should be studying a lot more than I am. I've basically gone into each exam and re written my essay on the subject to suit my choice of question. I remember 7-8 keywords that remind me of the paragraphs or points from the essay and write them down as soon as the exam begins and then just pad it out with bullshit!
The loophole I'm working is that the marker of the exam can have no knowledge of whose paper he or she is marking and so if I replicate the same old answer I gave in my essay he or she has to mark it on its merit as an answer and not even take into account that it's the same old shit I already wrote once! It's working so far but I'm very much borderline with my goal of getting a 2:1. My Dissertation was absolute shite, it started well enough and had great potential but then I got job number 3 or 4 which took up even more of my day and I ended up just padding it out with crap quotes and meaningless opinion which earned me a 49% mark. Getting one below the 50 was a little dig by the tutor, he knew I could have and should have done better, as did I. With more time and just a bit more effort I would have.
There's only 2 exams left now and I finished off the last of the overdue essays last week so I'm a lot calmer than I was but still pretty stressed out and determined to finish with at the very least respectable marks in these two exams.
I've done well to get to the end of the process at all really. I only went to college to get off the dole and I only went to Uni as a natural progression of the college decision but I really want to get a 2:1 now and it's close, so close I can smell it. To start with I just wanted to get through, to pass, but now that I'm at the end and so close I just want the 3 years to give me a fair price. A 2:1 is just that tiny bit better than my dads' 2:2 and so eternal bragging rights can be achieved!
The 3 hours drag on as my 'management' duties go un-required, no phone calls and no customers at all. I leave Gogs a note in the diary so that he at least knows I was here before heading off home for a couple of quality time hours with the kids ahead of job number 4 this evening.
I head into work for 7 and start clearing away the days carnage from the prep crew. It's still pre summer holidays and still pretty quiet so I have a bit of time on my hands and share some banter with the waitress. She attempts to put me in my place by reminding me that I'm 'just' the dishwasher. I quietly whisper to her that I am thinking of buying the place and she laughs, I mean really laughs. Like the idea is completely ridiculous. Like I, the dishwasher, the dogsbody, the skivvy am making the most ludicrous claim ever. And all night she carries it on, despite me asking her to keep it quiet. There's no malice and I'm sure she thinks I was joking but her words and reaction sting.
My shift finishes at around 11 and I head home to catch up with the family's day. I don't stay up long though as I've gotta do it all again tomorrow. As I drift off to sleep the waitresses words and ridicule drift back to me. She really can't see it, can't even contemplate the possibility that I could buy the restaurant and she's just made me doubly determined to see it through...
Thursday 3 October 2013
Leaving, on a jet plane... (part 1)
Options, choices, dilemmas. The back is okay, it's not great and it hurts like hell if i drive, sit without a cushion or sleep in the wrong position. Come to think of it it just hurts all the bloody time with varying degrees of pain that I have learnt will intensify if I do any of the above. My full body cast is off though, hacked and sawn away from my slightly dishevelled self. It's minging too, they asked me if i wanted to keep it and stupidly I said yeah, having grown quite attached over the last 3 and a half months. Now though, on reflection, now that i have this plaster cast torso shaped monstrosity sitting next to me smelling up my teenage nephews' bedroom I'm thinking i made a bad call. I've been in this thing all that time and been unable to shower, bathe or even really wash any of the body that it covered so not only is it a big pointless lump of plaster cast, it's also a stinkingly disgusting one too! Anything that can make a teenage boys bedroom smell worse is truly impressive in the olfactory sense!
I now have a removable strap on cast that I'm to wear for the next three months and I've now had a bath so things are looking up and smelling better. I'm doing a few shifts on the bar at my sisters pub, nothing too strenuous but it's nice to be earning a bit of money. I've been here a few months now in recuperation, thinking and deciding on what path to take next. I'm in the pool team but it hurts to play, darts is easier and the lads are gonna be disappointed now that the body cast's off as they've been throwing darts into it whenever i go to retrieve my throws! Hilarious the first 45 times...
I can't see me doing a driving job, too painful. Can't see me staying behind this bar too long as even though I know I'm welcome here, there's a limit to when I will have overstayed it. My sister, I think, would be fine with me around but my brother in law is whole different story. He likes to rule his roost, likes to have a shout and a moan, likes to create a bit of chaos where there could just as easily be calm and I'm not one for falling into line so it would only be a matter of time if I stayed that things would come to a head. Besides, I'm nearly 30 and coming out of a marriage and a near fatal car crash so I'm not the best company either.
So it's all about options. What can I do? Well i can do plenty of things if i go back over trodden ground. Restaurant work: chef, front of house, manager... dishwasher. Pub work: barman, cook, train to manage. Painter/decorator, bad mechanic, window cleaner, job in a cafe', care worker, carpet loom tuner (a bit random but i did 2 years worth of apprenticeship before the factory i was at closed down), job in retail maybe. Options, but all well trodden and none appealing. I could try and use my degree in some way. Social work, helping the homeless, prison warden, police force... yeah like they'd even look at me in my current state and Id need 12 months of training that I really am not in the mood for. I need to make a choice though.
Christmas comes, bringing with it family and gatherings and the usual festive bollocks. It's the end of 2001 and I can't face it. I'm in a bad place all through Christmas. I put a brave face on, even cook the dinner for everyone but it hurts. Physically with the back, and mentally with the past, the present and the apparent lack of future. I cook the Christmas dinner but I can't eat it, can't face it, or anyone or anything. I lock myself away feigning sickness and think some more, circles of thought coming back to the same miserable reality time and again. There's laughter and noise from the pub downstairs, there's laughter and happiness right outside the door but none here, none this side of my eyes. Fucks sake Roy, cheer the hell up and sort your shit out.
It's my first festive season away from the girls, that's the bottom line. That's the reason for my lack of harmony and as I contemplate what to do I realise that my old life just ain't coming back. There's no happy ever after in the story and the credits have already rolled. I promised my ex that I wouldn't take the girls away from their mother and I can't be near their mother without putting my brain into reverse. The only way I can see me coping with this admission to myself is distance and time.
As it turns out, 5,500 miles of distance is probably overkill but when opportunity and circumstance collide you gotta go with the flow! New year comes and goes and I'm at least starting to move forward, I think. There's an opportunity to teach English in Korea in the paper, the world cup is going to be in Korea this year, 2+2= why the hell not? I look at the requirements: A degree in anything, check. Available to travel to the other side of the world on a 12 month contract, check. A pulse, mmm just about, check!
I ring up to apply and am interviewed by the teacher who is leaving the post I'm applying for. He's happy that I'm eager and offers some helpful advice on teaching methods. The 2 things that they are concerned with are the colour of my skin (am I white... I know, pretty shocking) and am I fit to travel. It's the weirdest job interview I've ever had but I got the job on the basis that I could talk English, had a degree and was white. They need to do a bit of paperwork and sort out my visa (so much simpler in 2002 than it is now) and I'm set to fly out at the beginning of March. The pay is okay, the apartment is laid on and I will be working 5 or 6 hours a day 5 days a week... I'm happy and I'm sad, I'm exited and I'm scared, I'm ready and yet I'm most definitely not!
I now have a removable strap on cast that I'm to wear for the next three months and I've now had a bath so things are looking up and smelling better. I'm doing a few shifts on the bar at my sisters pub, nothing too strenuous but it's nice to be earning a bit of money. I've been here a few months now in recuperation, thinking and deciding on what path to take next. I'm in the pool team but it hurts to play, darts is easier and the lads are gonna be disappointed now that the body cast's off as they've been throwing darts into it whenever i go to retrieve my throws! Hilarious the first 45 times...
I can't see me doing a driving job, too painful. Can't see me staying behind this bar too long as even though I know I'm welcome here, there's a limit to when I will have overstayed it. My sister, I think, would be fine with me around but my brother in law is whole different story. He likes to rule his roost, likes to have a shout and a moan, likes to create a bit of chaos where there could just as easily be calm and I'm not one for falling into line so it would only be a matter of time if I stayed that things would come to a head. Besides, I'm nearly 30 and coming out of a marriage and a near fatal car crash so I'm not the best company either.
So it's all about options. What can I do? Well i can do plenty of things if i go back over trodden ground. Restaurant work: chef, front of house, manager... dishwasher. Pub work: barman, cook, train to manage. Painter/decorator, bad mechanic, window cleaner, job in a cafe', care worker, carpet loom tuner (a bit random but i did 2 years worth of apprenticeship before the factory i was at closed down), job in retail maybe. Options, but all well trodden and none appealing. I could try and use my degree in some way. Social work, helping the homeless, prison warden, police force... yeah like they'd even look at me in my current state and Id need 12 months of training that I really am not in the mood for. I need to make a choice though.
Christmas comes, bringing with it family and gatherings and the usual festive bollocks. It's the end of 2001 and I can't face it. I'm in a bad place all through Christmas. I put a brave face on, even cook the dinner for everyone but it hurts. Physically with the back, and mentally with the past, the present and the apparent lack of future. I cook the Christmas dinner but I can't eat it, can't face it, or anyone or anything. I lock myself away feigning sickness and think some more, circles of thought coming back to the same miserable reality time and again. There's laughter and noise from the pub downstairs, there's laughter and happiness right outside the door but none here, none this side of my eyes. Fucks sake Roy, cheer the hell up and sort your shit out.
It's my first festive season away from the girls, that's the bottom line. That's the reason for my lack of harmony and as I contemplate what to do I realise that my old life just ain't coming back. There's no happy ever after in the story and the credits have already rolled. I promised my ex that I wouldn't take the girls away from their mother and I can't be near their mother without putting my brain into reverse. The only way I can see me coping with this admission to myself is distance and time.
As it turns out, 5,500 miles of distance is probably overkill but when opportunity and circumstance collide you gotta go with the flow! New year comes and goes and I'm at least starting to move forward, I think. There's an opportunity to teach English in Korea in the paper, the world cup is going to be in Korea this year, 2+2= why the hell not? I look at the requirements: A degree in anything, check. Available to travel to the other side of the world on a 12 month contract, check. A pulse, mmm just about, check!
I ring up to apply and am interviewed by the teacher who is leaving the post I'm applying for. He's happy that I'm eager and offers some helpful advice on teaching methods. The 2 things that they are concerned with are the colour of my skin (am I white... I know, pretty shocking) and am I fit to travel. It's the weirdest job interview I've ever had but I got the job on the basis that I could talk English, had a degree and was white. They need to do a bit of paperwork and sort out my visa (so much simpler in 2002 than it is now) and I'm set to fly out at the beginning of March. The pay is okay, the apartment is laid on and I will be working 5 or 6 hours a day 5 days a week... I'm happy and I'm sad, I'm exited and I'm scared, I'm ready and yet I'm most definitely not!
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