i'm squeaking

my shoes. my shoulder bag. my knees. all squeaking. I've been squeking for a few days now, but it has become more pronounced.

It occurred to me just minutes before the Nosferatu talk that I had no idea who I was delivering this talk to. Schoolkids, yes, but how old? How many? And why? Why were these kids watching Nosferatu? Did they just pick that film for fun? Are they students of German Expressionism? Of FW Murnau? Were they going to know more about it than me? Despite physical appearances, I was becoming more and more like Rex the Dinosaur from Toy Story by the minute.

So, it transpired that the 22 or so female A-Level English Lit students were studying the Gothic in fiction, and were about to start reading Dracula. A jittery blend of coffee driven nervous energy, and an on-the-spot rethink of my notes meant I was able to render my 10 minute intro to the film useful to their needs and (seemingly) intelligible. I even got some sort of a round of applause, though most likely one of relief. In the silent auditorium the squeak of my shoes was very pronounced. Must get some oil on them...