Boles, Cocktails and Dodgy Taxi-Cabs

Yo!

I just remembered what it was that freaked me out about Belfast - getting into a taxi and not being entirely sure whether you're going to actually get out again. The ole 'urban myth' is that black cabs in Belfast are run by those profiteering IRA fellows and as I have been frustrated about so many times, a lot of them won't go to certain areas in the city. For example, when I lived on the Lisburn Road, many wouldn't travel this paltry ten minute journey from city centre because of it's proximity to Loyalist areas such as Sandy Row and Tates Avenue. All perfectly understandable, you might say, and this is true. But last night, when Aoife, Loz and I hailed a black cab to the Waterfront Hall, and it took all manner of strange ring roads, I began to wonder if maybe the driver could see the words affluent Protestant university students glowing on our well groomed heads. All paranoia on my part, of course.

I have had an eventful few days. Boxing Day called for a reunion with many old friends in Monaghan, where I had my first pint of Guinness in a long time that didn't taste like iron shavings. It also was a time when, as I was chatted up by boys that were in my school and in the years below me, that I felt both hideously old and possibly murderous. I remember those boys, particularly one who was in a class with me in primary school, when they were hand painting. Hand painting! Fiddlesticks to them.

And yesterday, Aoife, Loz and I celebrated the Bole's 23rd birthday in style by going to Belfast for dinner and sophisticated drinking. The last part is a lie. We find that sophistication yet lies beyond us. Still, we had a fantastic dinner in Speranza. Some oblivious patrons at the table next to ours accidentally left their candle next to the menu where it reliably went up in flames. Lorraine was the fastest to react - 'Excuse me! EXCUSE ME!' and she sounded suitably alarmed. Aoife contemplated throwing things on it. I wasn't quite sure what was happening, which would bode well if there ever a genuine emergency. I'll leave Aoife with the last word on this event - 'Well, we ARE sitting in the smoking section!'. See? Sophistication, nada.

Then, hilariously, we got ID'd at Wetherspoons, and accosted by some Australian bloke who thought it would be funny to put on a Brummie accent. We were captivated by the Danger! High Voltage! video. We went to the Apartment, an upmarket (snobbish) bar and drank cocktails. I had forgotten how overtly men check you out here. It is a full on, unflinching assault with their eyes. Also 'How'r'ya'doin' is not a chat up line, merely a perversion of the language. Nor is 'you're gorgeous!', 'have you got a boyfriend' or 'what time is it?' It all sounds like polite conversation to me.

Merry Christmas!

That was a purely ironic blog title because I am not feeling the Christmas spirit of all. Not even the heart warming tale of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (when Daniel Radcliffe was still looking like a child as opposed to someone who might try and download fetishist porn) could rouse the joy that is obviously locked deep within me. But I expect when I eat loads of specifically Christmas oriented food and go to church and see children breaking their newly opened presents, all joy will be restored.

I know that the evils of Christmas have been well documented, so I am not going to complain about the epic queuing, the seemingly narrower shop aisles when you are carrying a plethora of bulky shopping bags etc - but I will say one thing - when people say 'Merry Christmas' they are not being sincere - they are robots that have been programmed into Seasonal Mode and will then possibly strangle a small child with gold tinsel. Or some fake icicles.

I had a kicking time in Belfast recently - I stayed with Kevin and the good natured bitching began in earnest as soon as our first hug stopped - it was great to see him again! I also saw Narnia and began to question my hidden bestiality - James McAvoy is damnably hot, even with his tottering faun's legs. Oh come on, it's no worse than fancying Legolas! Legolas is asexual. ASEXUAL! You can never trust a man whose most rewarding relationship is with something that is carved from animal hide and feathers.

Merry Christmas all!

Shopping is for Idiots (and I am the biggest subscriber)

Hello from Bangkok!

Mike and I have forty five minutes to kill until we board our bus, then our plane, rather conversely, to Seoul and then, in about 14 hours time I will be boarding my flight for Baile Atha Cliath, where I shall demand decent chocolate upon arrival.

I did the majority of my Christmas / arriving home at an awkward time shopping today and will most likely have to buy out the cargo section of the plane to get it all home. I am traumatised at the thought but hopefully I can sneak it all home by looking thoroughly pathetic at all check-in desks. It helps when you have Mike with you because he has a tendency to just wander off when he's checking in - he actually just wanders off. Sympathy is then effectively garnered. I am freaked out at the thought of flying on my own for the first time in 13 months but I shall conquer the loneliness with my pod of i and Philip Roth.

Koh Tao was absolutely beautiful, as I will be boring you all with this chat soon enough. I am now actually a qualified Open Water diver, and can go to depths of 18m. Diving was a seriously fun experience although not without the healthy fear factor, particularly of the dreaded territorial trigger fish. Apparently they are more fierce in Thailand because showoff prats think that it is funny to antagonise fish that are already antagonistic by nature. There was also a super-cool moment when our instructor, Lucy, came across a clown fish, alone in his self made circle of rock. She held a little bit of rock above the fish and he tried to take it off her to prevent her from dropping it into his territory. I was suitably enthralled.

Home in a day! I hope that it's perfectly natural to feel delighted, sorrowful and hyper-tense all at the same time. I shall see what kind of narcotics I can sneak onto the plane.

Soon to be Unemployed!

What an interesting thought that one is. After a year of what could be considered gainful, useful employment, I will soon be just another loafer floating through the dole-paved streets of life. I am definitely ready to stop teaching - not because I don't like the children but because I just feel generally itchy to do something else. But I have felt useful this year and - dare I say it - a professional. It will be fun to see if I can resort to be fully bum-like again.

Shaun left yesterday for Dubai and the less exotic climes of Norwich yesterday and I shed tears over his perfect departing head. But before he left, he managed to deliver, or be the victim of, two clangers:

1. (an ex-student): Teacher! Your head is everyday fantastic!
2. (Shaun, to a Korean teacher who had just accused him of being too thin, indignantly): "It's not like I'm dyslexic or bulemic or something!"

This stunning comment was produced by a journalist. I feel privileged to have heard it.

I am looking forward to tonight because it is Ladies' Night in Itaewon which means free drink until two in the morning for members of the better sex. The last time that this happened, and I worked on the Friday, I had to run away from children for fear that their shrill voices would pulverise my brain. But tomorrow is my last day teaching so I feel that I have earned the chance to do it completely half arsedly.

The weekend brings farewell parties, packing, cleaning, DMZ-ing and a healthy dose of nostalgia / self-pity. Korea, you rock! I will indeed miss you, even as I mentally chart all the things that I am happy to be leaving behind.