Then one day my wife comes home with a toy tennis racquet with a swivel head. "Just one? How can we play without a pair of racquets?"

Geese have down right? That must be it. "How do you get down from a Goose?" I correct.

"Better zip up, Mr. President, Minister Kim will be here in a minute."

"Oh well." I say to myself, a sigh of resignation. "I can just blast the shit out of them on the final."

This is no slipshod operation. It is a highly organised offensive, presided over, with an iron hand, but the purple haired lady that Lisa has dubbed 'The Bottle Boss'.

"I live in Daegu." I say. But I am really thinking is: It's none of your damn business.

"What is this Jack-hole doing, Lisa?" I ask.

Murder might solve a feud. A blood feud. It really has no other solution. Well, murder or forgiveness. But murder certainly is one solution.