Contracts and angry white pyjamas.

My contract and Notice of Appointment arrived today, it perked me up when I saw the letter with the words 'Congratulations on becoming a successful EPIK teacher.' The last few days were much needed, but my mood has been practically subterranian and a physical reminder of what is to come in the next few weeks was a timely lift.
The Korean Embassy is thankfully a little closer than the Apostille office, so a trip to London will be hopefully a little less stressful. They should be able to review my documents and issue me a visa, unless they decide (and I assure you, with my luck, they will) to conduct a rarely-seen initiation involving a chicken and a length of bamboo that leaves me walking like John Wayne all the way back to the tube station.
I'm all for Korean culture, I've had my hand in a very Korean passtime for years: TaeKwonDo.
I could bore you lovely readers with technical intricacies and history of what has become a truly international Martial Art/Olympic Sport. I need all the readers I can get so I will stick to the interesting stuff, and my own experiences with it.
At eight years old, with a Dad who could already see I was hopeless at anything to do with coordination, I took my first class. It happened to be in the gymnasium of the school I later went on to attend, and if nothing else is certain then this next fact is: I was crap.
It wasnt that I couldnt follow instructions, though I couldnt. Or that I was very unfit, though I was. It was more to do with being a big bloody wuss.
Put it this way; in any activity where the principle aim is to exploit weaknesses in another person's body by using speed of thought and foot (and sometimes just downright scaring them) I was bowing to my opponent and then doing a very good impression of Forrest Gump the second the referee called 'Shizak!'
I had an instructor called Des, who if I'm honest, was probably one of the biggest (but not a patch on my Dad) influences on my life as I grew up. He was old-school, but he had a daughter a year younger than me and that reminded him to include the kids as much as possible too. He'd growl at you if you were being lazy, but would always reward hard-work and this self-discipine he instilled in his students was possibly what made me able to cope with the world at all.
The competetive edge still eluded me, I once entered a tournament aged 13 and reached the final against another fighter who really should have won. I flukily excecuted a jumping back-kick and caught him in the jaw and he went down like a sack of spuds, I then infamously put my hands to my mouth and started apologising to him, forgetting that I had just won a gold medal.
My blackbelt examination was taken at 16 under the jurisdiction of Grandmaster Park Soo Nam, the only 8th Dan Black Belt and 6'5 Korean I've ever met. He was, for want of a more eloquent phrase, fucking scary. I passed, collected my belt and promptly lost all my interest in Taekwondo...until now.
I had a stint running a club at Uni, and of occasional guest sessions at my old club, but you cant go back. Des rarely runs it, and the club has less members to keep it open.
What could rekindle my interest more than a stint in the home country of the martial art?
Exactly, I'm packing my kit, and apologies in Korean.