Off to Pohang

I'm in no rush to rise. Our train isn't until 12:38.

Our train to Pohang, that is. Where my other son, Alexei, is currently studying. Did I explain that visiting him is the point of our trip? No? OK: we’re in Korea to visit Lexxie. South Korea, obviously. I’m not insane.

I don't have much in the way of packing to do. As I didn't unpack yesterday. Other than my laptop. I soon get that in its bag. Despite it putting up a bit of a struggle.

We stop off at a shop on the way to the station, picking up provisions for the journey.  Sandwiches, cola, soju, beer, whisky. Just the essentials.

Sitting on the pavement close to the station, some blokes are enjoying a morning soju. How sweet.

“That’ll be you in a couple of years, Dad. When Mum finally gets fed up with you.”

“That’s an inspirational thought to start the day.”

“No need to thank me, Dad.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

The train is very long and not that full. We speed along, wooded hills and greenhouse-packed paddy fields smearing past the window. Then packed cities, surrounded by protective high-rise bristles.

Everything goes very smoothly. Including the train itself. Which is based on the TGV. I do sleep for quite a lot of it. Maybe the special drink I assembled is partly to blame. Diet cola and whisky. 50-50. Well, more 40-60, if I’m being realistic.

They’ve got this train stuff so wrong here. You can blame state control for that. Clean, modern stations, a network of high-speed lines, toilets cleaned during the journey, reasonable ticket prices. It’s clear that nationalised railways are a total disaster. Thank god the UK avoided that route.

“What would a South Korean think of UK trains, Andrew?”

“That they were surprisingly cheap, clean and efficient?”

“Don’t take the piss.”

I'm disgusted when the train arrives in Pohang a full two minutes late. I thought KTX was better than that.

We immediately go to the counter and get tickets for our train back to Seoul in about a week. Less stress on the day we travel by doing getting them now.

We get a taxi pretty quickly. From our experience over here last time, I noted down the name of the hotel in Korean. Just as well, because the driver can't read Roman letters. We’d have been screwed.

After checking in, we lounge around in the hotel a bit. This time we do have adjacent rooms. Which, oddly, contain a desktop, keyboard, mouse and screen. Not that we’ll need to use them.

We spend quite some time searching the room for the aircon remote. Until we sheepishly realise we’ve been holding it in our hands the whole time: it shares the TV remote.

We've arranged to see Lexxie outside the hotel at 18:00. His taxi pulls up just we step outside. He’s looking rather slim and mature. Korean food seems to be agreeing with him.

“What the fuck is this? You’re two minutes late.” I greet him cheerily.

“Dad, can you just be normal for once?”

“Just bantz, lads.”

“Please never use that word again. You sound like a right twat.”

“Pleased to see you, too.”

“You started it, Dad.”

“Just ba . . .”

“Remember what I said about using that word?” Andrew reminds me.

“. . . Ba ba bloody delighted to see you, Lexxie.”

“Stop being weird, Dad.”

“I can see you’re pleased to see me, too.”

“Don’t push it.”

Food is what we need. Off we go in a random direction. We spot a place with a pig in its sign. Which is a good sign. It's a Korean BBQ place. The menu is only in Korean. Lexxie uses his phone to translate it.

So glad I made sure the kids were computer literate. Not just dumping them on the computer in the hope it would entertain the little bastards, for at least a short while. Long enough for the shouting in my head to stop.

Soon we have a big pile of belly pork cooking away. The staff are very friendly and helpful. Which is just as well. I doubt they get many foreigners in. They patiently explain exactly what how we’re supposed to eat the food.

Noticing a proper supermarket on our way back, we nip in for some provisions. Mostly drinks. Though, as they sell no spirits, we need to call into a convenience store for whisky. Well, I do. The kids won’t be drinking any of it. Why were there no spirits? Did we just miss them?

We have a little trouble finding our way back to the hotel. As we wandered off fairly randomly. And our hotel is down a tiny side street. Oh, and we didn’t pay attention to where we were walking. Luckily, there's wifi and Lexxie can use Google maps to guide us back. The wonders of modern technology.

I suppose we would have found it eventually. How did I sue to find my way around strange cities without a map? I really can’t remember. It was all a very long time ago. My memory is really crap, too. Other than for “that stupid beer stuff” as Dolores calls it.

Back in my room, we spend a few hours chatting and drinking. Just as well we got in enough booze for three nights.

Before we know it, the clock has ticked past Lexxie’s dorm curfew. It's even later by the time we go to bed.

Get ready now for Drinkalongathon 2021

Sorry I'm a bit late with the list this year. I would come up with some lame excuse about being busy. But I haven't. 

Mostly doing stuff like discussing with Alexei how long it would take to walk to Gibraltar. And the best route to take. I'd go for one along the coast rather than the more direct route over the Pyrenees. Far too much climbing in the latter one. Up to 500 hours. That's how long it would take according to Google maps. The exact number depending on the route.

But I digress. Time for the list of items required for tomorrow's Drinkalongathon. You've still got a couple of hours to get them

1 bottle of Islay whisky
1 crate of St. Bernardus Abt
1 bottle Fino sherry
2 bottles of port
2 bottles of some sort of red wine
2 bottles of some sort of fizzy wine
6 hard boiled eggs
another crate of St. Bernardus Abt
3 soft boiled eggs
1 box of matches (extra long)
3 candles (not scented or coloured or any shit like that, just plain fucking white one.)
1 bottle of reserve Islay whisky (Lagavullin, if you can afford it. Bowmore is the only one I can afford. And not even a full litre, just a measly 70 cl.)
9 pieces of string
2 crates of alcohol-free beer*
1 bag of mixed nuts (with all the peanuts taken out and destroyed by fire.)
7 under-boiled runny eggs
1 protractor
2 light bulbs
4 raw eggs
3 heavy bulbs
1 bottle of gin.(I prefer the cheapo litre bottles Lidl in Germany sells for 8 euros a pop.)
1 crate alcoholic tonic water (If such a thing exists.)
1 final bottle of Islay whisky (just to be on the safe side)

A shirt list this year to reflect our plague-ridden times. I would have included 1 bottle of bourbon but Andrew polished off my value German Lidl bourbon. The twat.

* This is obviously a joke. Of course no drink substitutes are required,

The lost pint

Regrets. I've had a few. (Loads, really. But that doesn't scan so well.) One came back when I was back in blighty. Sorting mum's photos with my siblings.

I've two brothers. I rarely see the elder, Eddie. He's much older, born in 1939. He drifted in and out of Sunday visity days of cake, pop and sixpence in your hand if you didn't cheek or puke.

I've always envied him.

Dave, a year and nine months* my senior, I know much better. My first time down the pub was with Dave. The Wing for Barnsley Bitter, I'd hope. More likely The Castle and Falcon or another of Newark's 30-odd Courage pubs. Where the beer was bright, but electric. Watch that diaphragm go. Go. go. Four pints and I was puking. Not cheeking. I'm polite, me.

Andrew, my eldest son has just turned fifteen. One more year and we can share a beer in the pub.

It was a tradition. 18th birthday, dad took you down the pub for your first pint. A working-class rite of passage. Entry to the adult world.

My father died when I was fourteen. I never had that first pint with dad.

The gallons I may have drunk before wouldn't have mattered. That first symbolic pint. I wish I'd had it. Eddie did. That's why I envy him.

For Andrew it may not mean much. But when, in August 2012, I drag him to a pub and make him drink a beer, I'll be thinking of my dad. The first Andrew Kempton.




* Younger brothers have this precision.