So Nineteenth Century

 My current TV series is "The Frankenstein Chronicles" , a hybrid of Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" novel and "Ripper Street". I was a bit apprehensive about this but it has turned out to be a great watch , very high production values and barring what I have told you I don't want to give anything away. Even the abhorrent Laurence Fox turns in an excellent performance , and Ed Stoppard in this series is ideally avoided.

It's definitely nineteenth century with Sean Bean being Sean Bean with the transition of the Bow Street Runners to the Peelers. It is a Netflix series and well worth the temporal investment. I've just realised that Sean Bean's name visually rhymes but does not do so audibly.

My current paperback book is "The Other Log of Phileas Fogg" by Philip Jose Farmer, an alternate take on Jules Verne's "Around The World in Eighty Days" continually asking questions on why certain things happen in the original book that are unexplained and coming out for the real reasons for the events. There are elements of Sherlock Holmes in there and I think a lot of these books are available for free if you have a Kindle or equivalent. So my paperback reading is also nineteenth century. 

On my Kindle I am still reading Clive Barker's "Imajica" so that is more vaguely twentieth century although it reaches back into history and across five universal dimensions.

So that's me being nineteenth century in the twenty first century so to soundtrack this we will share Todd Rundgren's take on Gilbert & Sullivan's "Lord Chancellor's Nightmare Song" from that appeared on his album "Todd"

Love unrequited, robs me of me rest,

Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers,

Love, nightmare like, lies heavy of me chest,

And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers.

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache and

Repose is taboo'd by anxiety,

I conceive you may use any language you choose to

Indulge in, without impropriety;

For your brain is on fire, the bed-clothes conspire of

Usual slumber to plunder you:

First your counter-pane goes, and uncovers your toes,

And your sheet slips demurely from under you;

Then the blanketing tickles, you feel like mixed

Pickles, so terribly sharp is the pricking,

And you're hot and you're cross, and you tumble and

Toss 'til there's nothing 'twixt you and the

Ticking.

Then the bed-clothes all creep to the ground…

Enjoy