Monday 17 May 2010

A sad goodbye – the curse of Wee Jock Poo Pong McPlop?


So I’ve officially passed the nine-month mark of my contract and have less than three months left in the land of the morning calm. I have to say it is bittersweet – in some respects I am really looking forward to getting home and seeing family and close friends again, but I will also be sad to leave behind life in Korea. Undoubtedly, I am ready to leave. My tolerance has been wearing thin of late, but I guess that’s part and parcel of living in a foreign country and having been ‘on the road’ for almost four years. And possibly old age! I’ve been traveling and living away from home for some time now and I can quite safely say I have gotten the travel bug out of my system – well, at least the long-term strain of it anyway! My return to New Zealand from Korea will include Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Malaysia, Borneo and Brunei – a trip I have been wanting to do for quite some time!

It’s funny how easy it is to forget how lucky I am to experience life in another country (or indeed, even ‘life’ at all). Lately I’ve been guilty of perhaps not embracing life quite so much as I should – something I fully intend to do in my remaining three months.

Last week I had an email to tell me that a good friend and former colleague had passed away unexpectedly in London as a result of an accident. Vivacious, vibrant, unique,, infinitely positive and very well known and respected in his field, his death will leave a huge void for many, many people. I’ve never met another person quite like him and possibly never will again. We had our differences at times (both being as stubborn as mules) but he had a heart of gold and was generous almost to a fault. When I broke my leg, he dropped everything at work and came with me in the ambulance to the Royal London Hospital where he sat with me for hours, held my hand, mopped up my tears and tried to lift my spirits with some atrocious jokes until a diagnosis was finally made. I distinctly remember sitting outside the x-ray room awaiting my turn, listening to his tale about how lucky I was not to have broken my femur – in his thick Scottish brogue he vividly recalled how his friend had suffered a broken femur a few years back and he was “hoowlin’ like he’d ne’er heard befoor”, and how it was literally months before he was back on his feet. No sooner had he finished this sobering tale, I was x-rayed and informed that my femur was broken. It was one of the only times I ever saw Greg speechless.

Surely, he was no saint either. To echo the words of his best friend, he was opinionated, uncompromising and perpetually late. He and I were similar in this regard (although I am very rarely late!) and at times his vocal opinions on some issues (including my life!) frustrated me no end. But, that’s what made him who he was. A Scot through and through, a colleague and most importantly, a friend, he will be in my thoughts for a long time to come, and the world is undoubtedly less bright without his presence. I’m sure right now he’s up there, propping up heaven’s bar quoting Robert Burns and giving The Almighty a stern lecture on the state of Scottish football and his sub-standard selection of Scotland’s finest. Rest in peace, Greggie.

Farewell, dear friend ! may guid luck hit you,
And, 'mang her favorites admit you!
If e'er Detraction shone to smit you,
May nane believe him.
And ony De'il that thinks to get you,
Good Lord deceive him.
- Robert Burns

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