We went watching Frankenstein last night, it was the cinema screening of the National Theatre production. It was an excellent choice for Halloween, and a brilliant adaptation of the book. I studied it at school and loved it, and now I want to read it all over again. It asks such deep questions about humanity and morality, and the ethics of scientific endeavours. I noticed when we got in we both seemed to make even more of a fuss of the dog than usual, I wondered if subconsciously we were both guilt-ridden about abandoning our creature!
The production had the actors playing Frankenstein and the Creature alternate the roles each night. The screening in the next few weeks shows the casting the opposite way to last night; I'm tempted to go and see it the other way around. The production was directed by Danny Boyle in 2011, and it was also interesting to watch it now, following his celebrated Olympic opening ceremony, as you can see some of the beginnings of it in elements of Frankenstein. The industrial imagery and the incredible lighting designs would both have fitted straight into the ceremony itself.
The man under the stairs at the bookshop does not work on Fridays. I didn't get to thank him in person for the lovely job he did of binding my dissertation. He was right to be proud of his gold lettering, I was right to hope that he would look after them.
The admin lady in the University Department does not work on Fridays either. I left them on her desk, I arranged them neatly, I pondered whether to write her a note, but it was blatantly obvious from my name printed on the cover, and the spine, too, for good measure, who had left them there. It felt rather anti climatic to leave them there, in silence, and slip away.
Walking to the car I discovered a hole in my shoe. I realised that is something you only ever find out when it is raining. I wasn't wearing socks. I blame the dog for the hole, she has a fondness for footwear. Back in work I submitted my research for an international conference. There was a box asking if I was under thirty. I am. It meant I could be considered a young researcher (I think they are awarding prizes). I like that in some circles I am still considered young.
I had to go to a meeting with some of my senior supervisors in my soggy shoes. I managed to tie back my hair, which had frizzed fantastically in the rain. I had forgotten about my hands though. The bright red nail polish which had felt bold and brave when I applied it on Sunday night, and which pleased me on Monday morning, has not lasted well throughout the week. My left hand has survived better than my right so I spent the whole meeting trying to pick up my cup with the wrong hand. I couldn't work out how to hold my pen so that you couldn't see my nails, and probably made myself far more conspicuous with my bizarre contortions.
It was all very silly as I actually had a lot to contribute, and I can only hope that what I said was more easily memorable than my hands. I think I will go for a subtler colour this week just to be on the safe side though. On my journey today I passed the pub again, I honestly happened to go the same route, it wasn't a deliberate diversion. The pram had gone, though the pub still stood empty. It suddenly all seemed like a lot of worry about nothing, but that does tend to be my way.
I dedicated my dissertation to my mum. It is probably the best work I have done, it seemed only fitting to acknowledge her with it, my mum who has always taught me to do my best, has supported me in striving to be my best, and has always in life given me her best. We both had a little cry when I pointed out the page and it didn't feel anti climatic any more.