Imagination

I went to see my professor over my dissertation today and there were several of us there, so we ended up spending almost an hour in that stuffy room and because most of the things he was talking about were in the module handbook already, I ended up gazing at him and the others and dreaming away. I remember thinking that he had a ridiculously young nose, and writing "ridiculously young nose" on the palm of my hand to save for blogging later.

One of the guys who works at The Terrace in the Union (for convenience's sake, let's call him GWWATTITU) has the same nose - large, snub, very distinct - as the professor; and I was wondering whether he would look like him when he grew up; staring at the professor's large bulging eyes that never seemed to focus on you when you were speaking, his wide frog-like mouth, and the mass of his body settled ponderously on an office chair, I wondered whether the professor was some kind of species totally different from ours - a new highly evolved species surrounded by books and files and notes stacked in messy piles around the room.

I could imagine GWWATTITU growing up to be almost exactly like the professor - expanding a little in girth, with masses of fluffy grey hair shooting in all directions and settling neatly in a nice ironed suit of clothes and a ludicrous green checkered bowtie.

The girls in our group were interesting as well, two of them looking almost exactly like the caricatures of British girls I used to see in Asterix and Obelix comic books. I remember reading Asterix in Britian and thinking what a funny thing it was that Asterix's cousin (who was British) kept on saying "Jolly good, wot" and "rather!" and thinking how interesting the girls looked with the lips always apart and their very large protruding teeth. These girls in my tutorial group looked like living, breathing caricatures. Though I think, of course, that the average British girl is very pretty.

Another of the girls was very quiet and shy and you could tell by the way she sat with her hands folded on her lap. When the professor made a droll comment, she would smile slightly while the rest of us would giggle. She barely lifted her eyes to look at anyone, and had them cast down to the floor most of the time. She was very simply and awkwardly dressed. I thought she was very sweet and would have liked to talk to her, but didn't get the chance, and I know I shouldn't have been wandering off while the professor was talking but I found myself wondering why she was so shy and pensive; had her parents been very strict or had she grown up like the Bronte sisters on a moor with few companions save the sheep and horses?

Think my imagination has been running wild these few days - too much imagination can affect the emotions, too, sometimes. Sorry for such an incoherent entry, will write a better one next time!