As renowned as I am for my total lack of interest in doing anything constructive or unusual, I agreed that it was time to visit another of Korea's incessant "festivals" and moreover one that revolved around art.
If you don't know me, then you won't be aware that by and large I am indifferent to most art and hate some of it. I do like Dali and I did like Tony Hart as a small child. But then we should not forget that as a small child I wanted to be made from clay and live in a cave, so my endorsement of an artist at that age does not denote a guarantee of quality.
As it happened this festival was being organised by my friend Kimmy. She is Korean. That's not me bragging about having made a native friend, but I just thought I'd let you know. And I mean a proper Korean. One who uses the Korean language as her first choice of communication...madness I know.
Kimmy asked me to check her English for the official rule guide and timetable for The Daegu Body Painting Festival.
I checked it. It was fine. Now if the story ended there it would be a farce, but as luck would have it, there is more to come, although as I write this I realise that it in no way constitutes a "story". It is really just me telling you that I went to a Body Painting Festival. But, this was an artistic festival and was not in any way an excuse for gratutious nudity. As a horde of fellow teachers wandered about Duryu Park drinking beer, we would be led to the painting displays that were surrounded by a mob of middle aged Korean men with huge cameras taking pictures.
What was this? The press? A local celebrity? Surely there had to be good reason why men with huge telescopic lens on their cameras were crammed around one or two tents and not the multiple tents of women having the final touches put to intricate and impressive body paintings.
There was a good reason. The women in these tents had not yet got much paint on, or anything else for that matter. The men were not from the press, but evidently felt that a massive zoom lens was a necessity for taking a shot of a woman who was 6ft away. Now, I would provide you with a picture, but that would supporting such lewd behaviour, so I will instead give you an image of a finished painting.
I have to include the caption "Daegu International Body Painting Festival 2012" because according to the rules that I was asked to check for English mistakes, failure to do so on any unauthorised or unofficial media would result in me being sued. I don't fancy being sued, so...
Daegu International Body Painting Festival 2012:
What I immediately noticed was how few of the models were Korean, but many were white and blonde. I asked Kimmy where they were from. "Russia" she said. Hmmm...no xenophobic stereotypes please, so I asked "Ah ha...and what are their jobs?" to which I was told "They said they're English teachers".
Not the best cover story that these women could have come up with, given that only people born in an English speaking country and with a passport from said country can come here and teach. Their genuine line of work was also one that involved not wearing clothes but, I imagine, rarely staying still for such long periods of time.
And it is with such thinly veiled references to prostitution that I move onto the topic of a new student of mine. At this point you may well be alarmed at what link a new student of mine and prostitution could possibly have, and I assure you it is nothing of concern. My new student is about 10 years old. I think. However, being in my lowest level class his English is so poor that you would think his only lessons had been taught to him by someone from...I don't know...Russia or something.
Because my new student, who is called Frank, can only say one thing, "Okay Teacher". This is said in a voice that is almost as deep as mine and it is said to answer pretty much any question.
Me: "Hello Frank"
Frank: "Okay Teacher"
Me: "Do you have your pencil Frank?"
Frank: "Okay teacher."
Me: "What colour is your T-shirt Frank?"
Frank: "Okay Teacher."
I'm not convinced that Frank is as clueless as he acts, because first of all, although he is officially a child, he looks to me like he could well be the owner of a major multinational corporation. He is a huge, round lump who chuckles with a sinister, raspy laugh. When I look over to see if Frank is colouring his picture of a car, he is leant back, smiling with his arms stretched out. He looks as if he should have a cuban cigar in one hand, a glass of cognac in the other and perhaps a freshly trafficked Russian prostitute perched on his lap.
Frank could well be 45 years old. Granted he is short of stature, but he swaggers down the corridors, has the face of a bonafide fat cat and despite the fact I've overheard him use other English, any request or enquiry is still only met with "Okay Teacher".
I tried this with his year of birth. I wrote every year from 2000 up to 2004 (as that has to be his age ranged for this class) on the board and asked what year he was born in. He smiled. Probably remembering the time he sealed a merger in a board meeting, before kicking a homeless man to death on the way home. "Okay Teacher".
I point at 2000 and say "This?".
"Okay Teacher". I try 2001...."Okay Teacher."
1965 Frank? Does that ring any bells? Or how about the mid 1980s when Saddam Hussein's regime bought chemical weapon components from the US? Know anything about that "Frank"?
"Okay Teacher".
It is infuriating to try and teach Frank, but what can I do? If I get frustrated or give him a poor grade, he will probably have my house torched and withdraw all of his UK based investments, crippling the ailing economy still further.
But there is a glimmer at the end of the tunnel. Because the other day he identified two pictures, the first was a can of coke, which he should know given that he runs the distribution wing in Southern Asia, and the second was a car. "Okay Teacher...Car." Genius.
Now, my old sparring partner Phillip the Loathsome is due in class shortly...."Erm Frank, you know what a car is now, do you think you could push Phillip in front of one?"
Just say those two words of yours Frank...
