Greetings,

my readers, who are yet few and far between. I introduce to you now what I hope will become a rich and delightful (and imminently less pretentious) collection of my experiences here in the Republic of Korea.

I am currently residing in a small studio apartment of which when I walk in through my front door (admittedly there are only 2 doors - the other of which leads to the bathroom - so to specify front is rather unnecessary) I am greeted by the unpleasant smell of must, appeased only so far by the act of maintaining both the small window and the door open. This is in turn an invitation for the cold air - occasionally icy air, of which I've been informed will only get icier - that flows through the corridor outside to waft into my otherwise heated room, not to mention any curious neighbours in need of an escape from their own cosy abodes, or the occasional door-to-door seller excited by the prospect of saving the energy from knocking. Still, by regularly doing my washing up and airing the airlocked bathroom this is not so much a problem as an inconvenience that I am getting used to. And regarding washing up - I only have one set of cutlery so in order to eat this is a necessary chore anyway.

Now it's not all bad. There is a small supermarket just a thirty second walk down the road outside, and a regular street seller just downstairs with his inviting smells of 호떡 (honey-filled pancake). I say there is a small supermarket, but it holds the majority of one's food needs - especially when one is not one would describe oneself as a foody. It is certainly bigger than your average Tesco Metro. But I realise that I write as though this is my only food source! There are, in fact, dozens of cornershop-esque shops all the way down the small stretch of road that I live on all selling apparently the same produce; one does walk by wondering how they all stay alive/why they all exist when all one's basic needs are covered by the aforementioned grocery store. Nevertheless, they do, and with friendly old people often sleeping inside until they hear your rustle at the door, eager to practice their limited English and help you with your poor grasp of the Korean numbering system.

I doubt this is a sufficient introduction to my new life, but my chosen current occupation does force me to "conk out" - as it were - rather sooner than my regular bedtime. My initial dreams of lessons filled with colouring in and singing songs have been shattered by a replacement image of energetic small children insisting on running/jumping/spinning/sitting anywhere but their designated seat in the classroom. And as far as they look cute on the outside -- they're little devils inside.