The North-South Divide

Before I arrived in South Korea, just over 2 years ago in May 2008, I knew next to nothing about the country or their neighbours to the north. My knowledge was limited to the Manchester United midfielder Park Ji Sung, the 2002 shared World Cup Finals with Japan and the fact that the residents of the Korean peninsula have been known to consume dog. I knew nothing of the history.

Since I became settled, gained Korean friends and work colleagues, and became ever more assimilated into the culture, my curiosity as to how this country came to be how it is grew steadily. I began to read studies on the history, analyses of the people and online news articles on the region with increased regularity. There was much for me to get my teeth into.

I arrived in Korea over 50 years after the end of the Korean war which left the formally unified nation split between the Communist, Russian-backed north and the Capitalist, USA and Allied-led south. Since the war ended in 1953, the two countries have taken drastically different paths with the south growing into a major world player with a top ten global economy, and the north cutting itself off from the outside world and becoming one of the world's most isolated countries.

Little is known about the Dear Leader Kim Jong Il and his country, and what is known by yours truly has been gleaned from the work of others much smarter and more eloquent than I. A lot of what has been written is simply conjecture; when visits to the country are so strictly supervised that your camera's memory card has to be checked or confiscated on departure, how can the average man ever truly learn the full story? What can be said with some certainty, however, is that the Kim dynasty, preceded by Jong Il's father, Il-Sung, are masters of manipulation and fear-mongering, and have succeeded in becoming a feared and strangely powerful nation, despite what is believed to be abject poverty and a severe lack of allies.

It is presumed, from North Korean defectors and South Korean intelligence, that a huge percentage of the population are below the poverty line. A famine in the 90s led to the death of hundreds of thousands of people and even the army - a huge force consisting of some 20% of North Korean adult men - are existing on a few hundred grams of rice a day. Media is strictly regulated, mobile phones are illegal save for a select few and information is so closely controlled that the 1988 Seoul Olympics, which took place only 100 miles or so from the capital in Pyongyang, were a mystery to all regular North Korea citizens. North Korean propaganda ranges from the dangerous to the downright ridiculous and raises questions about how a sane person could even consider it to be true. Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il are believed to have supernatural powers - their births were heralded by double rainbows and Kim Jong Il is capable of 11 hole-in-ones every time he steps on a golf course, for example - and their people are forever reminded that they live in the most wonderful country on Earth. Impossible to believe for us, of course, but imagine you'd been kept captive for over 50 years - many people for their entire lives - and had this drilled into you every single day. You might well start to believe it yourself.

My arrival on the peninsula came a few months after the election of President Lee Myung-Bak, leader of South Korea's conservative Grand National Party who, among a number of other controversial acts during his early months in power, declared an end to the previous leader's 'Sunshine Policy' towards the North. Kim Jong Il saw a massive reduction to the billions of dollars worth of aid provided by the previous regime and so declared President Lee, among other things, a traitor under the control of the US, North Korea's greatest enemy. Since then, there have been a number of events that have threatened the fragile peace in the region, climaxing in the bloodshed and consequent unease of the last few weeks.

North Korea have always been regarded as the ROK's 'unruly neighbours' who have maintained a policy whereby they misbehave so that they can be rewarded for not doing so. Whenever they felt that attention was not being paid to them, and financial aid was required, then they would test an underground nuclear weapon or refuse to join the 6-party talks on denuclearisation. Suddenly, attention was again paid to them, and Japan and South Korea provided aid so that no further escalation would take place. Because North Korea hold 2 very valuable bargaining tools - nuclear weapons and China.

It is widely suspected that North Korea hold 8 or 9 nuclear warheads, none of which are yet small enough to attach to the head of a missile (this doesn't make them a great deal less dangerous though, just ask the residents of Hiroshima, Japan) and shares it's largest border with China. The Chinese have been their only superpower ally over the decades and have essentially propped up the Kim regime. An aggressive North Korea and a retaliatory South Korea - when nuclear arms and Chinese involvement are added to the equation - makes for a very scary prospect. This would effectively be the United States against China, a confrontation that would be impossible to contain.

So North Korea has always been placated. Their misbehaviour has never brought anything other than stern rhetoric from the UN and others, and the sanctions that have been placed on them in the past leave little room for expansion. Besides, as it is already one of the least trading countries in the world and still maintains an annual military budget of $6 billion, it has been suggested that the regime is not in fact funded by the paltry sales of goods to China and South Korea, but more by sales of illegal arms and drugs to Iran and South East Asia. There is little Kim Jong Il is afraid of, because there is little anybody can do to punish him.

On the 26th March this year, a North Korean submarine fired a missile at a South Korean warship, the Cheonan, tearing the ship into two pieces and killing 46 young Korean navymen in the process. This was, without question, the most aggressive act of violence between the Koreas in decades and a great threat to an increasingly fragile peace. The north have denied any involvement, but the evidence is cut and dry. Like I read somewhere the other day, I'm sure the guy who left 1번 (number 1) written on the side of the torpedo isn't exactly being wined and dined back in Pyongyang right now.

As with the nuclear testing, the missile firing and the general "we will raise an ungodly war if you fuck with us" type of posturing that has gone on over the 2 years since I arrived, I was ready to dismiss these latest events as simply another - admittedly large - speed bump in the peace process and, after some more sanctions and harsh words, the whole thing would die down again. But this feels a little different. 46 soldiers were killed that day. The torpedo was fired by an underwater submarine, unprovoked, to cause mass death and destruction. That it is an incredibly aggressive act. It couldn't realistically go unpunished. And it hasn't.

Lee Myung Bak announced on Monday that the south would be responding in the harshest possible way besides a retaliatory attack. They have ceased all trade with the north. They have banned North Korean ships from its waters. They have resumed 'psychological warfare' (essentially they will transmit propaganda across the DMZ and drop leaflets into the north informing the people of the Cheonan incident), begun joint anti-submarine exercises with the US and have stated that any further attacks will be treated with a military response. These are the public statements. Less well known - and I have only heard these things through word of mouth and Internet gossip, might I add - is the fact that military presence along each side of the land border has tripled, the North Korean army is being prepared for defence and that it is known within the US Army base in Yongsan that this situation is only just getting started.

I'm not really one to panic. But there are a number of issues that have got me slightly on edge. Firstly, Kim Jong Il is an old, reportedly sick - perhaps dying - man. He is an egomaniac beyond comprehension who has developed an almost religious worship from his people despite leaving them to die of hunger and repressing their freedom. There has been a power struggle to find his successor with none of his sons considered strong enough to take over the role of Leader. An unstable Government is far more dangerous than a stable, deluded Government. There are rumours that the military were behind the Cheonan incident and fired the torpedo without an order from the very top. An unstable military is even more dangerous than an unstable Government.

Secondly, I live in central Seoul. And I mean central Seoul. If you drop a pin into the centre of a map of Seoul, you'd pierce my apartment. Or, in other words, if you drop a nuke into the centre of Seoul, it might land in my toilet. I would have no chance of getting away from an attack on Seoul.

Thirdly, I am being paid less and less every day. The won is tumbling, and whilst I have a very slender understanding of economics, I can get my head around the fact that ₩1200-$1 is bad and the predicted ₩1400-$1 by the end of June is very bad. I may have to leave my money in Korea when I go home and hope it recovers. It will certainly get worse before it gets better.

Finally, Koreans are talking about this. In all the time I have been here and all the many times I have asked a local about North Korea, I have been laughed at, told not to worry and that this sort of thing happens all the time. Not this time. People are, if not worried, then certainly curious as to how this is going to play out. It was being discussed in the lunch room today, in fact. This doesn't feel the same as all the other times. There will be some reaction.

But what reaction will there be? Well, since I have a rather flawless record of predicting current events, let me tell you how this is going to play out. It is extremely unlikely that there will be an attack on Seoul and there will be no invasion of South Korea. The North Korean army, large though it is, does not have the weaponry, the strength or the skill to fight a war with the ROK and the US. It will never happen. I think there will be a breach of the DMZ in recent months, with shots being fired either way, perhaps in retaliation to the rather petty South Korean tactic of blasting propaganda across the border. Besides a few pot shots, there will be no damage caused.

Look to the ocean for the real drama. The disputed maritime border is a major reason why everyone waited so long for a reaction to the Cheonan incident. It occurred in a grey area which, under North Korean reasoning, were their waters. This type of misunderstanding will happen often over the coming months - particularly with US/ROK paranoia about North Korean submarines. This will not lead to war, however.

At some point, the Chinese Government will realise that no good can come from continuing to prop up a flailing, unstable and volatile North Korean government and will distance themselves from future relations with Pyongyang. At that point, either the UN will offer money to North Korea in exchange for regime-change and we may even see reunification, or North Korea will back down, apologise for the Cheonan in exchange for continued Chinese backing, and things will go back to the way they were.

The alternative to these scenarios, and the one which I - and the rest of the world - must fear the most, is a dying Kim Jong Il who realises that the end is inevitably near and wants to go out with a bang, sticking it once and for all to America, South Korea and the rest of the world that he perceives to have wronged him. He then takes one of his nukes, loads it up into one of his shitty Soviet bombers and aims it at Seoul. He wouldn't even have to get very close to cause the most horrific amount of damage. More than 20 million people live in the Seoul Metropolitan area. That's about 50% of the country's population.

There is no way of knowing how the next few days, weeks and months will pan out. But I won't be surprised if we're witnessing the end of the last 50+ years of extended armistice. Things are about to change on the Korean peninsula and hopefully it can be done without any more lives being lost. But despite all the chest-beating and political posturing, and Hillary Clinton arriving to put her thing down, the fate of these two fascinating countries lies in the hands of the Chinese Government. And a 5'2" maniac with a bouffant.

Love, Smithy x


My Big Fat Greek Disappointment


Dining out on western food in Korea is like a sleepover at Gary Glitter's house.


There have been rare exceptions, especially since moving to Seoul. There is a burger place near my flat which is good. And an overpriced Bulgarian joint. And...

Okay, I've run out of others. The Mexican food is shit. The Italian food is beyond shit. You can get decent Indian and Middle Eastern food but I said western food, didn't I? Burger King is good.

The problem that this country has (although reducing the word 'problem' into the singular form is misleading) is an intense, fierce nationalism that extends into every walk of life.

So how does this manifest itself for the average, English foodie?

Well, poor service in restaurants, essentially.

Some Korean food is awesome. You can plonk me down in any smoky samgyupsal restaurant in the country, give me a grill over a barrel, some fatty pork, a few bottles of sugary, weak beer and some rice wine and I am a happy fucking camper. But service? It doesn't exist. Why should it, in a restaurant where they don't even cook for you? If you need assistance, you holler yogiyo at the top of your voice and - if you're lucky - someone will forgo the fact that you're white and come give you what you need. It's an effective, if - by western standards - impolite, system.

Because of this lackadaisical nationwide attitude towards customer service, in an a la carte restaurant like the one I visited last night a Korean waiting staff will struggle to perform their task effectively.

The restaurant in question was the Itaewon-based Greek joint, Santorini, a name that should have probably raised doubt in my mind after they served me an undercooked pork Souvlaki at the Seoul International Friendship Festival a few weeks back. The occasion was the 2-year anniversary of Miss Canadia winning the lottery in a Busan nightclub, and we wanted to eat something a bit nice. I knew the food was never going to be exceptional, but I wanted to sit with a glass of wine and stare into her eyes for a bit while I nibbled on a bit of pita.

It didn't quite work out like that though.

We ordered a main and a starter each. The waiter looked at me like I'd asked him to serve me parts of his wife but hey, it was a special occasion and I was starving. Besides, one of the starters was tzatziki and bread so there was only one real starter - spinach and feta pie.

I had a Heineken ("Which beers are draft?" "None of them") and planned to get some wine for my main. I had no time to even unwrap the paper napkin from my bottle before the starters arrived - garlic yoghurt and microwaved dough followed by microwaved grease (not Greece) and spinach pie in a grease (not Greece) marinade. The pie came with garlic yoghurt. This annoyed me as I'd only ordered the $8 tzatziki and bread in order to taste it. The menu didn't state that the tzatziki came with everything. And it wasn't even tzatziki.

My mind started racing. This isn't very good, is it? Maybe I should say something to the waiter abou-

No, there's no time. The mains have arrived. I had barely started on my very average starters and my piddly little 'service' side salad when they tried to squeeze onto the table two gigantic plates of kebabs, sauteed potatoes, pita bread and yet more garlic yoghurt. I was so angry. I threw my hands up into the air and threw the waiter a look that I hoped expressed my disgust at him and his entire family.

"We've now got two starters and two entrees at the same time. Why?" I said.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gushed, with a psychotic smile on his face.

Still left the fucking plates though, didn't he? What good is you saying sorry if I'm still stuck with the fruits of your mistake? Knobhead.

"What the fuck was he smiling at?" I muttered to the Canadian, who was gallantly trying to raise my spirits through this debacle.
"I think it was a nervous smile", she said, with one of her own.
"Well he should be fucking nervous", I spat, garlic yoghurt spilling from my mouth like a rabid dog, "because I've just decided where to stick the kebab skewer when we're done with it."

To be fair, the entrees were quite good. I have a sneaking suspicion they had been re-heated due to the speed they arrived, but I have no qualms about shoving tasty pork, sauteed potatoes, onions and garlic yoghurt into a pita bread and stuffing my face with it. I'm fine with that. But we had a stack of 6 dirty plates on our table throughout the whole meal, even though we had about 3 visits from the restaurant's walking waste disposal unit (literally the fattest Korean woman I have ever seen) to glumly fill up the glass of water I wasn't drinking. It was nearly overflowing by the third time she came round.

I satisfied myself with some biting comments (in a lowered tone to the Canadian) and scratching the word 'penis' into the credit card signature box instead of my name (before realising that I'd more dissed myself than the restaurant). I can never bring myself to complain in restaurants. I couldn't even do it at the previously excellent Kebapistan in Busan when my iskender was smothered in ketchup rather than spicy tomato sauce, our bread was stale and we were joined by an inquisitive cockroach for the last 10 minutes of our meal. But then again that place was run by a big, fat Turk. With a big, fat chopping knife. And a bad attitude.

Anyway, I spent the rest of the night with a pint of Hokey Pokey from Baskin Robbins and a few hours in front of the tele with La Canadiana and the dog. And indigestion.

I won't be going back to Santorini anytime soon.

Love, Smithy x



A few weeks ago, I predicted that United would win 3-1 in their tricky home game against Spurs. Guess what happened?

We won 3-1.

After this irrefutable evidence of my being a psychic, I predicted that Chelsea would draw 1-1 the following day with Stoke City, thus allowing United back into the title race. Guess what happened?

Chelsea won 7-0.

Yesterday, United played host to Stoke City in the final game of the season while Chelsea welcomed Wigan, knowing a win would secure the title regardless what United did. Only by Chelsea dropping points and United winning could the title remain in Manchester where it belongs.

My predictions?

United 4 - 0 Stoke City

Chelsea 1 - 1 Wigan Athletic

The reality?

United 4 - 0 Stoke City

Chelsea 8 - 0 Wigan Athletic

I was far from pleased, as you can imagine.

The thing is, I've known since the week of horror (going out of the Champion League, losing to Chelsea and drawing with Blackburn) that our title run was over and, if I'm honest, I've never really believed this season that we'd win the league. Chelsea looked awesome in the first few months and they'd have sewn the title up weeks ago if it weren't for some slip ups that they made against lesser teams. They've scored 7 goals 3 times this season and in their last game they scored 8. That's remarkable. I guess they deserve to be Champions.

But my god, I hate Chelsea.

As a United fan my entire life, it is in my blood to loathe City and the Scousers and believe me, that hatred is very real. But I reserve a special kind of contempt for Chelsea. It could be the fact that they received a financial injection from a Russian gangster that allowed their spending to be unrivaled until City did the same with some Arabs. It could be that they're based in central London, and I generally don't like people from that region anyway.

But I think that it's mainly due to their strange talent for selecting the most disgusting individuals in the world to play for them. People hate United because we have been the most consistently great team in the Kingdom for the last 2 decades, but we don't really employ dickheads. Chelsea, on the other hand...

Well, put it this way. After Chelsea's 1st goal went in last night after 6 minutes, I knew that the dream was dead and I decided to busy myself in other ways. I finally decided, after a debate that had been ongoing all season, in which order I'd shoot the Chelsea players if I was given a gun containing 5 bullets. If you're interested, the results are as follows.
  1. Ashley Cole
  2. Frank Lampard
  3. Ricardo Carvalho
  4. Michael Ballack
  5. The C**t
Save the best 'till last, you know?
    There are a few scumbags that didn't make the list, and I invite you, dear readers, to provide me with your alternative 'Top 5'.

    My God, I hate Chelsea.


    In other news, another of my predictions is about to come true as David Cameron will surely be our next Prime Minister. I say 'our' rather loosely as I've felt incredibly detached from this election, being on another continent as I am. That's not to say I'm sad about that. I think the whole thing has been a complete farce. I'm glad to be detached from it.

    The reason we have a hung Parliament (and, as my mate Bakercake said, maybe they should drop their pants and let us be the judge of that) is that there is no single party that is offering real change. They're all fucking idiots. The one piece of truth that has emerged from this whole debacle is that electoral reform is needed to create true democracy in the UK. Look at what is happening now. The party with the most elected seats, the Tories, will be doing a power-sharing deal with the party with the least elected seats, the Liberals. How can this be so? And our next Prime Minister will be David Cameron who, as the election has shown, does not have the confidence of the majority of the country. And how can the Liberals and the Conservatives share power? Their politics are absolute polar opposites. Liberal leader Nick Clegg is selling his soul in order to get a job in David Cameron's government. It's a disgrace.

    Am I the only one who things Labour are getting a bad rep? Gordon Brown is not Prime Minister material, that is clear to all who can see (not including him though, eh eh?) but he is not a fool. He was a damn fine Chancellor when he held the position in Blair's government and was left to deal with the disgrace of a country that the war criminal left him. He should step down and there should be a new Labour party leader. But any bi-partisan Government should be between Labour and Conservative. The Lib Dems have been given a clear no-no by the voting public. They got 11% of the seats. How can they be in power?

    At least the BNP's Nick Griffin got his arse handed to him. Hopefully that's the last we'll see of him. If not, he can stand behind The C**t while I show Chelsea what time it is.

    Oh a happier note, I attended the Seoul Friendship Festival yesterday which is Korea's latest attempt to persuade its guests that it is not the racist, bigoted country that it appears to be (even though it is). Regardless, this provided me with a welcome break from rice and kimchi and I gorged myself on Turkish kebabs, Greek souvlaki and baklava,  Iraqi stuffed peppers, British sausages (courtesy of Gavin) and Paraguayan chicken pies washed down with Vietnamese beer and Argentinian red wine. Very happy, I was. And we rounded it all off with Iron Man 2 at the IMAX and a $5 pizza for tea. Lovely stuff.

    And then the Chelsea thing happened. Bastards.

    Happy Monday!

    Love, Smithy x


    As the Sun Sets...

    The sound was unnerving before it was anything else. It sounded far away and round the nearest corner all at once. It was coming from the east.

    The sun was creeping below the horizon as he checked his watch and walked slowly towards the sound. A low-frequency hum that kept him walking ever nearer and yet more fearful with every step. He thought it was electricity. No good could come from following it.

    He followed.

    He slapped his arm then slapped his face and clutched his hand against his mouth as the putrid stench of death attacked his throat. The corpse cast an elongated shadow beneath a tree. A pair of rats ran in opposite directions.

    A body unmistakable beneath the cloud of feasting flies lay all at once in peace and frozen terror. Though certainly not human with it's matted mane and stringy tail a friend of man it clearly once had been. The shoes upon it's hooves suggested love and friendship - ownership - had been and passed.

    The belly of the horse had long been opened by the desert beasts and if only they'd have stopped after opening him up. He could not tell for how many hours the mare had laid in agony and said a silent prayer that death had been upon him before the feast begun.

    And how they must have feasted.

    An empty cage of ribs displayed the open torso of the once beloved horse, and showed to all (the man) what lay inside. Nothing. Only bone and skin remained from what would once have rode the plains. And flies and maggots now where lungs had breathed.

    The man turned once away and then turned slowly back again and took a deep and painful breath of the deathly stench. He opened up his jacket, took a cigarette from his packet and placed it still unlit between his lips. He reached between his legs and chose the second branch on which his fingers fell. The first had felt too thick. He couldn't lift it comfortably.

    With the branch grasped in his left hand he searched his pocket with his right and gripped his lighter with the ease of one who knows. He toyed a moment with the flame and watched the sunlight slip away and held the fire beneath his cig until it smoked.

    He inhaled.

    With 3 long pulls the smoke was finished and he tossed the fag to the ground where it would smolder 'till the task was done. In two long strides he was astride the corpse, the head between his ankles and the torso stretched out before him towards the dying sun.

    He swung.

    The wood crashed down, not on, but into the ribs, splintering them into dust and making a mockery of their former job of organ-defence. The skin was turned to powder. A third, previously-concealed rat made a dash for freedom. The man let out a scream of anguish. A tear formed in his eye.

    He flogged until he could flog no more.

    The body of what once had been a horse was now as flat as a polar bear rug in a cheesy movie. The legs were as they'd always been, strong of muscle and sinew, and protruded like tragic candles from a long-destroyed wedding cake.

    He lit another cigarette. He fell to his knees beneath the tree.

    He sat and smoked and regarded the head. He gave the horse a name.

    The horse blinked.

    Not a blink as we'd know it to be one, as the eyes of the brute had long been closed and remained as such. But there was certainly no denying that the lashes that had overlapped with such grace had flickered beneath the last of the evening's light. A breath escaped the lips of the former stallion.

    The man began to weep.

    He crushed the cig beneath his boot and reached his hand inside his coat to feel the reassuring cool of stainless steel.

    He looked to the sky and prayed again to a God he knows cannot exist.

    He looked down once more as the horse's eyelashes parted. Behind the curtain lay a sphere of piercing blue.

    He placed the muzzle of the gun against the matted temple of the suffering animal.

    And he cried.


    I Truly Hate Scousers

    Did I miss a meeting or something? I am fully aware that the modern-day professional footballer is an overpaid, pampered baby with no true life experience, sense of reality or code of ethics, but when did integrity go out of the window? What happened to the competitive spirit, the endless desire for victory? Since when did bitterness rule the land?

    Last night I went to the bar to drink watery, cheap lager, eat diarrhea-inducing chicken wings and watch the Chelsea-Liverpool game. If you are unaware, prior to this game Chelsea held a 1 point lead over United at the top of the table with 2 games left. A win against Liverpool would leave Chelsea only needing to beat Wigan on the final day of the season to win the league. Even if we won all our remaining games, there would be nothing we could do to stop them.

    Liverpool hate United. United hate Liverpool. Liverpool have won 18 league titles. United have won 18 league titles.

    For a team with no future and certainly no present, the past is all that a team like Liverpool has left. It cannot be easy to let go of former glories. To have United win more league titles than them (and this, believe me, is inevitable) would leave Scousers across Merseyside crying into their bins.

    However, fear of losing their one stronghold over United is simply not an excuse to bend over and let 11 Chelsea rent-boys run a train on them is it? Don't they want more credibility than that?

    The Liverpool fans hung a banner at Anfield declaring themselves 'Cockney 4 a Day', essentially conceding that they wish their own team to lose in order to prevent United winning the League. That's disgusting. Nobody at United would ever expect a favour from Liverpool, just that they'd do their job. I never genuinely believed that the fans would want to lose.

    Steven Gerrard is a cheat and I will say no more on the matter.

    What really bends my head though, is that the 40,000+ Scousers that were stuffed into Anfield yesterday had paid good money for their tickets. It's not cheap to go to a Premier League game, and those fans would have been out robbing DVD players, nicking stuff from bins and defrauding the benefits system for weeks in order to go to the Chelsea game. And all to watch their team lose.

    United have to beat Stoke next weekend and hope that Wigan do a job on Chelsea. I'm not giving up hope yet.

    But if we don't win it this year, then we fucking will next year. And I can't wait for the next time we meet Liverpool at Anfield after that so we can shove all 19 titles down their cheating, Scouse throats.

    Same old Scousers. Always cheating.

    Love, Smithy x


    Ooh, Mark Billy's Got a 12-foot Willy!

    So, the first person to prove his worth at the helicopter game was my man, Beezy.

    His prize?

    To have his glorious face plastered front-centre on this Sunday's blog! How does it feel, Billy? Interestingly, this isn't the first time that Killer Bee has been rewarded for his chopper skills. His gigantic man-meat was the subject of a high-school chant which, I've been told, went something like this -
    Ooh, Mark Billy's got a 12-foot willy, can I see? Hee-hee!
    I'm not a pervert so I didn't join B-Diddy at Catholic School and can't confirm first hand that these lyrics are verbatim. However, my reliable source (Silly Billy, himself) informs me that this is the case.

    Anyway, I'm back from Gumi (shithole, wedding was nice, no doves) and the sun is out on a beautiful summer evening in Seoul. So, I'm going to go buy a ₩5000 pizza and a few cans of Hite, open up the windows, and settle down to watch the Scousers beat the Chelsea rent-boys.

    Love, Smithy x