The Ghost Of Frankenstein

Is there really going to be a point to this on and off series of musings? The title itself may have drawn one in under the misapprehension that there maybe something horrific inside, well apart from me, probably not, though what I will be attempting is to equate my constant viewing of old horror films with the everyday aspects of my own meagre and uninteresting existence. Of course peeling the skin from the bones of old enemies won't be on the cards every day, neither I doubt will the cracking of skulls in order to replace perfectly adequate brains with those that formerly belonged to a monkey, though maybe once or twice a month I may get around to my hobbies long enough to share these experiences, no, what you'll probably see here is the minutia, the concerns of the angry villager holding the torch or pitchfork, rather than the mad chap with the windmill or the headwaiter in the castle, how my addled consciousness interprets practically everything I see in terms of the grammar and imagery of the exponents of the macabre, and occasionally i'll throw in a review or two.

Maybe it will be cohesive even, who knows, but in the immortal words of Edward Van Sloan....

"Well......We've Warned You!"