Posts Tagged With: colin baker

Out and about in Haworth

By the time this little missive turns up on the feeds, I will be in Swansea. I trust your week is going well. I will probably be shouting at the kids. One of these days I really must take them down to Cardiff and do a proper location tour, rather than simply strolling along Roald Dahl Plass and giggling at the Ianto shrine. I need to go and check out that cemetery, for example, and re-enact bits from ‘The Girl Who Waited’ in Dyffryn Gardens. So many power stations, so little time.

As I write this it’s late July, we’re still in the middle of a heatwave and it’s almost impossible to think remember a time when it wasn’t insufferably humid. But the last holiday we had – and one I’ve unfortunately neglected to write about until now – was back in February, when we visited Haworth in Yorkshire, under a couple of feet of snow. Home of the Brontë sisters (and their wayward black sheep), Haworth is hilly, picturesque and overly tourist-driven, particularly in the old village, but it’s not a bad place to spend a week, and the moors are right on your doorstep – providing you can cope with the mud.

Still, you don’t want to see my holiday slides. Well, you do; just not all of them. What possible interest could the BoM audience have with seven shots of us rolling an enormous head up a 1:3 slope? (I knew I didn’t think that one through.) Or panoramic views of the Peaks? You can go to Shutterstock for that sort of thing and you’ll probably find the lighting is better. Still, we did go to Cliffe Castle Museum, in the heart of Keighley (pronounced Keith Lee, for some unknown reason, although I live in a country where Godmanchester is pronounced ‘Gumster’ by the locals, so clearly it’s not worth turning over that particular stone). And this was on the top floor.

Cliffe Castle is home to a dazzling array of…stuff, from ancient Egyptian artifacts to nineteenth century tea bricks (Google it). There are ornate chandeliers in the Victorian parlour, contemporary paintings around the balcony, and there’s an impressive taxidermy collection near the geology exhibition. You walk through one room that deals with farming traditions into an ornate summary of the formation of the Earth, from magma through to Cretaceous, in an impressive inner sanctum with black walls that make the colours stand out. Sod local history: I’m going to look at rocks.

Speaking of stuffed animals, we did find this during our wanderings.

It’s hard to miss it, really, isn’t it? Apparently this really was a genuine sheep, born of ewe and graced with two heads; by the looks of it the poor thing didn’t live very long. It is in here because we think it resembles a Smiler.

My family and I visited an awful lot of museums on this trip – one of my favourites was the Bradford Industrial Museum, which has an impressive array of classic cars, printing presses and just about every loom that rolled off the production line, and if you’re not well versed in the history of weaving when you go in, it’s a dead cert by the time you leave. There are live demonstrations and workshops and a temporary exhibit near the gift shop – and that was where we found this.

I mean. it’s Peter Cushing, isn’t it? He’s changed his hair but I’m sure I can spot Roy Castle in the back somewhere.

One thing this neighbourhood is famous for is its art – or one artist in particular. David Hockney (you know, the swimming pool guy) was born in Bradford, and don’t they know it. Nowhere is this more prevalent, perhaps, than Saltaire – a model village (in the aspirational, as opposed to physical sense) that’s now a World Heritage Site since the mill closed its doors, before re-opening them to reveal a bookshop and hipster cafe. The mill’s enormous ground level is now a spacious, almost cathedral-like exhibit dedicated to Hockney (and a number of other artists): vast murals dominate the walls and ethereal music is piped through the speakers. It’s an almost religious experience, and I say that as a lifelong churchgoer.

We went to Saltaire, but just down the road from the Industrial Museum there’s a smallish gallery called Cartwright Hall, which doesn’t have any incense, but which does have a prototype for Colin Baker’s Sixth Doctor costume in the Hockney exhibition upstairs.

Hockney’s a permanent fixture at Cartwright Hall, but the stuff downstairs is shaken up every couple of months. When we went there was a room dedicated to old circus posters, which was far more interesting than it sounds, and an entire wall of Abzorbaloff victims.

Meanwhile, spotted in a Bradford underpass: the DWSR team that never made it back from the ‘Flatline’ shoot.

Admit it, you’re secretly pleased.

What were we doing in Bradford? Amazingly, we weren’t there for Indian food (which Bradford does very well). We were visiting the National Science and Media Museum: five floors of old cameras, magic lanterns and a nice little exhibition about the history of the internet. (There’s also an IMAX cinema, for those who can afford that sort of thing.) If you troop past the walls displaying old cartoons (which are frankly a little unsettling) you will find the penguin jewel heist from The Wrong Trousers – the only set that Aardman didn’t lose in the fire that hit their studios several years back. There’s also an old arcade full of slot machines and consoles from the 70s, 80s and 90s, where we spent a happy half hour revisiting Asteroids, Gauntlet and Sonic The Hedgehog, and where I swiftly remembered that I was never any good at Street Fighter II.

No idea what this is, though. Apologies.

PUT-HER-IN-THE-CURRY.

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Doctor Who meets Beauty and the Beast

Let me tell you a story, children. Once upon a time there was a concept called regeneration and it involved the transition of one actor to another. In the 60s, 70s and 80s this was achieved using filters and white-outs and whatever trickery the BBC could afford at the time. At its best, it was highly successful. At its worst, it was Sylvester McCoy in a blonde wig. In 1996, they experimented with facial morphing, presumably because of Terminator 2 and the ‘Black or White’ video. It was a little strange to behold – Doctor Who, in actual special effects shocker – but it sort of worked.

Then came the Golden Sparkly Energy thing. It’s been used ever since, in every disappointingly familiar regeneration (Smith’s aside; at least that one’s quick) and if it looks familiar, that’s because they nicked it from Disney. Specifically, that bit at the end of the otherwise splendid Beauty and the Beast where Belle succumbs to her Stockholm syndrome and her grizzly captor turns into an Aryan Chippendale. It’s a wretched scene, which – whilst nonetheless remaining true to the spirit of the original story – says an awful lot about Disney and its obsession with appearances, often at the expense of what was actually best for the customer. (You will know this if you visited Disneyland Paris, as I did, back in the early days: the place was immaculate, but the shuttle buses were an unruly scrum. They’d hired people to pick up litter, but no one who could facilitate a queue.)

There are other versions of this. It’s an obvious joke: cellular regrowth instigated by magical sparkliness. But this one attempts to match the dialogue. This involved an awful lot of chopping and changing and shifting things around, which is not in itself a bad thing because otherwise you have Disney on your back for copyright infringement. At the beginning Eccleston has a long monologue, which I opted to present as a voiceover while we established the castle: this is actually the opening pan out from the beginning of the film, reversed. Am I saying that the Ninth Doctor was the Beast and his impossibly sexy successor is the human (and incredibly vain) prince? You decide.

I sent the completed version to Gareth.

“It might have worked better,” he said, “if I knew anything about Beauty and the Beast!”
“You got the idea, surely?”
“She kisses him, and we learn that looks are more important than personality?”
“And that’s why I love Shrek.”

But I’d like to close by returning briefly to Colin Baker, who we were discussing over dinner just yesterday.

“So he didn’t film his regeneration?” Emily said.
“He didn’t,” I said.
“So what actually killed the Sixth Doctor?”
“We don’t know for sure. But the first thing that happens in that episode is that the TARDIS is attacked, and when the Rani steps on board, the Sixth Doctor is lying on the floor, face down. And then they turn him over, and – ”
“It’s Sylvester McCoy.”
“Yeah, in a wig.”
“And that’s all you get?”
“Well,” I said, “Big Finish eventually filled in the gaps. They gave him a proper send-off, and there was a whole story with the Valeyard and loads of other people. But on TV, just the wig.”
“So McCoy’s lying there,” she said, “and you can see it’s him, but in a wig?”
“The moment they turn him over, they stick a filter on the screen. One of those photo negative effects. So it’s obscured and you’re supposed to not be able to tell. Except of course you can. What can I say? They did the best they could under difficult circumstances.”
“Right, right,” she said. “But there’s no reason why the McCoy in a wig thing couldn’t have been an entirely new Doctor. You know, a secret regeneration.”
“What, another one? Who just happened to like the same clothes?”
“Yep. So you have the Sixth, and then he regenerates into the Seventh, but that’s not McCoy. Which would make – ”
“Which would make McCoy the Eighth,” I said. “Oh, I’m going to have sooo much fun trolling the fandom with this one.”

And I will, but in the meantime –

God bless you, Deviant Art. God bless you.

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God is in the detail (10-06)

Sorry I’m a bit late on my rounds this week, folks. I’ve not been at all well and it’s too hot to really focus. But the truth must out, and thus I have struggled through sickness to bring you this important list of VITAL CLUES AND SIGNS from last week’s episode, ‘Extremis’. Let us make haste. Enlightenment lies within.

We start in Bill’s flat.

Look on the table, next to the open book. You see the multi-coloured thing? Now look over to the work surface and look at the blue pot.

Now look at this.

The hen alludes to Peri – specifically her fear of birds, as explored in ‘Vengeance on Varos’. But things get more complicated when we examine Bill’s jacket, and the patterns on its arms: a deliberate allusion to American rock duo The White Stripes, specifically their sixth album. Actually, their sixth track on their sixth album, ‘Prickly Thorn, but Sweetly Worn’, an allusion to Leela, and therefore a CLEAR AND UNAMBIGUOUS HINT that Leela is due to star in a series of adventures alongside Colin Baker: just not on television. If you need any more clues, consider: Bill has a BIG essay due, and she is endeavouring to FINISH it.

I’ll just leave that there for a moment. Take your time. You’ll get there.

Note also that the right-hand cupboard – above which the chicken is located – is slightly ajar, and that the right-hand socket on the wall is empty. In other words, we’re talking about empty jars, specifically this sort of Empty Jar. To those of you who’ve been campaigning for a Yu-Gi-Oh / Who crossover (and I know you are many and vocal, dear friends), rejoice: your prayers have been answered.

Next have a look at that open laptop in the Vatican’s library.

For ease of reference, the names on that list are:

Stefan Anchorage
Michael Finch
Nicia Russo
Peter Dukes
Bill Pullman
Albertina Ricci
Keven Paters
Christina Tom
Francis Esposito
Phil Bond
Daryn Mcloughlan
Abramo Tognaccini

Bill Pullman? BILL PULLMAN???

But there’s more. Pullman isn’t just on that list, he’s the focus – or rather one of former his co-stars is. Observe the sixth and eighth names on the list (highlighted) and take the surname from one and the forename from the other: Christina Ricci, you will observe, co-starred in Casper with Pullman, along with Eric Idle, WHOSE NAME CAN BE FORMED BY REARRANGING THE OTHER HIGHLIGHTED LETTERS IN THIS LIST.

Eric Idle’s never done Doctor Who, has he? Well, that’s all gonna change, folks. Just saying.

Now, to the cafeteria.

You remember this scene. It’s the one with the numbers. There’s something about large groups speaking in perfect synchronisation that’s a little creepy, as both Greek theatre and Children of Earth proved in abundance. Needless to say that’s not all that’s going on here. We’re actually going to count the wine glasses, but we’ll get to that.

It’s the specific numbers we need to look at first, though, and here they are:

36
17
9
48
103
1000000
7000007
67
905
20
460
12
4
87
702

(I am, as ever, indebted to Chrissy’s Transcripts.)

Added together this makes 8002477 – coincidentally the EXACT SAME NUMBER as the Yakima Road Trip 80002477 RV Trailer bike rack, available from RackWarehouse, Vermont. And Rackwarehouse Vermont is an anagram of ‘A charmer’s even workout’, a CLEAR AND UNAMBIGUOUS reference to this particular scene from ‘Terror of the Vervoids’, in which THE SIXTH DOCTOR CAN BE SEEN ON AN EXERCISE BIKE.

However! It’s not just about the Sixth Doctor, even though the six visible wine bottles give this clue an even greater sense of gravitas. We also need to look at the clock – reading 5:11, or in other words the IMPENDING CROSSOVER between the Fifth Doctor and the Eleventh. This works on two levels: Fifth and Eleventh Doctors and also the Eleventh Doctor’s fifth episde, ‘Flesh and Stone’, in which the Doctor and Amy encounter the Weeping Angels. Remember that, because we’re coming back to it.

Finally, look at where the scientist is positioned: deliberately in front of the N, partially blocking its view so that ‘CERN’ effectively becomes ‘CERI’. And ‘CERI’ is, as you’re fully aware, a village in Powys, on the A489 – SPECIFICALLY, THE YEAR DOCTOR WHO WAS CANCELLED AND THE NUMBER OF STORIES IN ITS FINAL SERIES.

It’s clear what this is leading to, and that’s another multi-Doctor story, starring Davison and Colin Baker with a cameo from Sylvester McCoy – and we get a clearer picture of this when we examine the Pentagon.

There’s a reason why Moffat chose this particular building – and, indeed, this particular shot of this particular building, in the first instance, look at the complex itself. It may be pentagonal in shape, but there are ten interlocking sections making up the five sides, each section comprising three separate buildings, implying the presence of three Doctors (i.e. Five, Six and Seven) in a single, Weeping Angel-themed story.

Note also the single red car down in the bottom left segment of the screen, a CLEAR AND UNAMBIGUOUS reference to the Angels. Why, do you ask? Because it’s on the left, and one must look to one’s left, and red is predominantly associated with the colour red, which can only mean that JEREMY CORBYN IS SLATED TO BE THE NEXT DOCTOR following his inevitable defeat in the General Election in just a few weeks’ time.

But that’s misdirection, dear reader. Also note the three sets of tall windows making up the sides: they look like Roman numerals, and you will see four sets of three visible in the shot, placed equidistantly around the edge of the building. Assuming that each ‘window’ corresponds to a single canonical Doctor, and disregards John Hurt, that’s 12 canonical Doctors. What’s more, the closest as the crow flies to the red car is the fifth one in the sequence – in other words, the Fifth Doctor.

Gee. It’s a shame the Fifth Doctor’s never met the Weeping Angels, isn’t it?

Mind. Blown. Here’s the mop. Make sure you clean up after yourself.

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Doctor Who and the Misplaced Consonants (Part One)

We were talking just the other day about the Biblical creation story, and this reminded me of something that happened a few weeks ago: a Facebook discussion I was reading included a comment from a pastor who said he’d once heard someone read (by mistake, one assumes) about “the spirit of God hoovering over the surface of the waters.”

“You make the jokes,” I said, “and I’ll do the pictures.”

 

Graham Rawle,” said another friend of mine, “is twitching in his armchair, and preparing to lawyer up”. To which I responded “Look, I don’t take any credit for the gag, just its visual execution…”

Anyway, it occurred to me that Doctor Who is full of similar silliness, if you have a list of story titles and a good dictionary to hand. This entire blog was built on a pun – I’ve talked before about possible alternatives for its title, and remain convinced that a good deal of the weary travellers who stumble in here (welcome to you, weary traveller; mind the dog poo) are those who have been searching for ‘Brain of Morbius’ and just got their litters in a twest. Meanwhile, those of you with a few minutes to kill could do worse than check out the Unused Monsters entries. (If anything is liable to provoke the oft-heard and generally loathed remark that I have too much free time, it’s stuff like that.)

But today on Brian of Morbius we launch a new series, which shall be updated as I do them. (There is already a queue, and I haven’t even touched the post-2005 episodes yet.) Rules are simple: the addition of one (and only one) letter to a given word. This is the exact opposite of Graham Rawle’s series, of course, but that’s partly the point. Suggestions are welcome, although I am not short of them for the time being.

 

1. Pyramids of Marks

 

2. The Leisure Chive

 

3. The Wedge of Destruction

 

4. The Twine Dilemma

I sent the last one to Colin Baker, who tweeted back “Pedant alert – misplaced vowel?”

“Indeed it is,” I said. “It’s just that calling the series Misplaced Vowels made it sound like a set of medical blunders…”

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Welcome to the jungle

Oh, Colin. Really thought you might do it for a while.

Anyway, if I’d been in the editing suite for I’m a Celebrity, I’d have manipulated Colin Baker’s time in there so that things came out something like this…

 

 

Baker_1

Baker_5

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What’s in a name?

Most of my day has been spent in an appraisal and development workshop. Among the tasks we had to perform were the assessment of objectives and the formulation of development plans for two managers in a fictitious company – an underachieving market research chap named Mark, and a high-flying (but ice cold) sales manager named Rani.

Sadly, I was the only person in the room to understand why this was funny.

“Please, just don’t make me watch The Twin Dilemma again.”

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You were expecting someone else?

Those of you on the other side of the pond may not be aware that Colin Baker – Mr Underrated, Much-Better-In-Big-Finish Carrot Juice-Quaffing Regenerated-When-He-Fell-Off-A-Stool Sixth Doctor himself – is one of the entrants in this year’s edition of My Career Is Over, Feed Me Bugs* I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!.

Baker has complained, apparently, that while the careers of McCoy and Davison don’t seem to have particularly suffered post-Who, he hardly gets any work, apart from Big Finish. Which is a shame, for sure, but perhaps not surprising. For one thing, he will always be the Doctor that many casual viewers of the show (at least the ones I talk to) dismiss as brash and unpleasant, when the truth is he was far closer to Hartnell’s arrogant demeanour – and therefore more classically Doctor – than any of the others. Plus the BBC really weren’t very nice to him (or to the show in general) during his run, which is one of the reasons why the reign of the Sixth Doctor is seldom viewed under the warm and fuzzy lamp of nostalgia, despite some strong stories.

For another, have you seen the size of him lately? I mean, it doesn’t matter to me. It really doesn’t. It would be the monolith calling the kettle black. But show business is an overwhelmingly superficial beast and these things count, apparently. It’s a shame, because I’d imagine he’d be splendid in something like Pickwick (he’s no Harry Secombe, but he can hold a tune, that’s for sure). Sadly, the addition of a few extra pounds is always an excuse for a sea of paparazzi shots and headlines like “Looks like Baker’s been visiting his namesake a little too much!” in the gossip columns, with comments like “Former star looked old and tired”. One day we may get beyond this obsession with image, but I don’t think it’s going to happen in my lifetime.

You may remember that about this time yesterday I was whinging about the appalling sub-editing (or complete lack thereof) in a Daily Mail article about the Christmas special. The Mail is a despicable rag but it does at least have reasonable coverage of the events in the jungle, and while I have never watched the show (I gather it didn’t last beyond two seasons in the US, so perhaps I’m not alone in my disdain) I do try and keep up with what’s been going on, if only because it makes for interesting conversation in the office. Besides, there are few places you can see Colin Baker falling out of a canoe.

Then, of course (thanks Gareth) there’s this.

It’s curious how over the years he and Eric Bristow appear to have traded waistlines, but all credit to the man for mucking in and having a go. It would be nice to see him in the 50th anniversary lineup somewhere.

*I would dearly love to take credit for the bugs line. I would. But for the sake of scholarly integrity I will admit here that I pinched it. Still funny, though.

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1982

We start here:

Because that’s where I started. Sort of. There’s a reason memory doesn’t begin at birth. The trauma, I’d imagine, is too much. There’s this sensation of floating, perhaps a little cramped, perhaps with the muffled thrum of the outside world poking through, but still warm, safe. Foetal. Then there’s the sense of movement, and then a wall – a wall you must pass through, somehow, against all odds. Perhaps it’s like trying to get a really tight jumper over your head. They talk about the pain of childbirth, and having seen it first hand on three occasions I’m personally rather glad it’s something I will never have to go through myself – but I suspect it’s no picnic for the baby either. Then, once the pushing and squeezing is done, there’s the sense of breathing, really breathing, great big lungfuls of something that’s no longer liquid, but gaseous, and cold, and the overwhelming instinct to draw as much air as you can into those tiny, newborn lungs before expelling it out with the loudest noise you can make.

But perhaps life’s a little like that. You begin with the safety reins and then learn to walk the tightrope. And sometimes you fall, and perhaps knowing you might is as much a reason to keep going as it is to stay on the ground. Still, perhaps we block out these early encounters because it’s easier than having to remember what they were actually like.

It must be said that the death of a companion is a hell of an introduction to a classic series, but perhaps (paradoxically, given what I’ve just written) that’s the reason I remember it. Because I’m sure that it wouldn’t have been the first story I watched; it’s just the first one I remember. Love him or hate him (and a great many did), the departure of Adric was my first real brush with death – more real, and more tangible, somehow, than the untimely death of my beloved but barely remembered grandmother just a few months earlier. Adric’s death was solidified, visible – that broken badge still haunts my sleep – and more to the point, they never tried to bring him back. (And no, ‘The Boy That Time Forgot’ doesn’t count.)

Perhaps the reason I can still remember this now, just shy of thirty years after the fact, is significant. Perhaps we latch on to one death in particular – the first time it means something – and that’s the death that stays with us. It would explain why, when reading The Hobbit to my eldest son (who figures quite a lot in this narrative), he burst into tears after I’d recounted the Battle of Five Armies. It’s not as if he’s never seen death before. I was expecting trauma after The Lion King, which he survived without a single sniffle (unlike his father, who was in tears). When he was two we took him to see our beloved cat put down – it’s not as if it was a family excursion, but we thought it was for the best, some sort of closure. For years he’s been comfortable – I thought – with death. Then I read him the account of Thorin’s passing and his grief was tangible and thus as upsetting to me as it evidently was to him. This happened to him because over the weeks we’d spent reading the book I’d had time to build up a portrait of Thorin that you seldom get in the space of an hour or so of screen time. So it was effective – but for a while there, I felt like the worst father in the world.

My encounters with Doctor Who began round about here. I cut my teeth on Davison. When he eventually regenerated, my parents were less likely to have it on in the evenings, as neither of them were keen on Colin Baker – despite his possession of the same sort of blustering arrogance that my father so admired in Hartnell, his own favourite. When Baker became McCoy I jumped back into the swing of things and devoured every story, despite the fact that many of the early ones were dreadful. Then it was cancelled. A few years later they brought it back, in the form of a television movie that we don’t talk about in the circles I inhabit. There was much to admire about McGann, but the rest of it merely sullied fond memories.

By the time Doctor Who was resurrected some six years ago, I was married and about to become a father. Watching the show now has taken on a curious duality, as I’m able to view it from the perspective of the critical adult viewer who laments that its occasional childishness is symptomatic of a show that’s past its best, and simultaneously the child who is entering the Whoniverse for the first time and experiencing the wonders of the groaning TARDIS with fresh eyes. Joshua grew up knowing the characters from infancy (at the age of three he could pick out Dalek Sec in a lineup) but it wasn’t until Easter this year that I first introduced him to the television series. We started with Eccleston, which is as good an introduction to the show as I can think of for someone his age (at least until I get round to buying the Beginning box set) and as I write this we’re working our way through Tennant’s run with Piper (two episodes away from ‘Doomsday’).

I hadn’t intended to turn this into an autobiography, so this might be a wise place to stop: I simply wanted to give you some context for this blog, which is something I really should have started a while ago. I’m not – and have never been – an obsessive fan of the show; my experiences are confined to the TV series and the occasional comic story, and I do not own a single novel or Big Finish production. (A friend of mine has been trying to get me to listen to ‘Spare Parts’ for the past couple of years, and one of these days I swear I’ll get around to it.)

I tend to view Doctor Who from a writer’s perspective – I look at the structure, I look at the narrative, I look at the characterisation. I blanched in horror when the Doctor abandoned the TARDIS in ‘Curse of the Black Spot’ – it seemed such a pointless, out-of-character thing to do for the sake of confining him to the ship (even though it could have been justified with one simple change to the narrative). At the other end of the spectrum, I thought ‘Blink’ was the best forty-three minutes of television I saw in 2007, and some four years later I’ve yet to see the show do anything that surpasses it.

Away from the new episodes, my other half and I have been trawling through the archives and discovering Tom Baker, of whom I was always aware without really knowing him. We may therefore divide this blog into three main categories – thoughts on the classic series; retrospectives on the post-2005 episodes as I watch them with Josh; and anything else, including all the new stuff. It won’t be this clean-cut; the ambiguities and crossovers are as big a part of my writing style and approach as they are to the show in general. But that’s sort of how it’s going to work. My guess is that you’ve Googled for something else and just stumbled in here – in which case, welcome, and pull up a chair. Sorry I’ve eaten all the biscuits.

This will be part information dump, part pretentious meandering – inconsistent, schizophrenic, perhaps with an inflated sense of its own importance, much like Doctor Who itself. That isn’t intentional; it’s just me. The simple truth is that it’s been a big part of my life, on and off, for some thirty years – and if I spend much of my time (like many fans) simultaneously loving and hating it, it’s taught me a lot about a lot of things, and it’s rich with analogy and goodness, even within the confines of a prime time family show. It is when it is at its darkest and most unpleasant that the beauty of the show is at its most luminous: we spend our lives behind the sofa but we cannot resist peeping out because that’s when the best, most interesting stuff is happening. You have to pass through the darkness to reach the sun coming up, and sometimes bathing in the darkness is the only way to grow. And it’s curious, perhaps, that as a closing thought I should turn to the words of Elton Pope – protagonist of ‘Love and Monsters’, one of the worst New Who stories in the canon – who nonetheless, in this oft-quoted monologue, had one interesting thing to say:

“I’ve had the most terrible things happen, and the most brilliant. Sometimes, well, I can’t tell the difference. They’re all the same thing. Stephen King, he once said, ‘Salvation and damnation are the same thing.’ And I never knew what he meant. But I do now. ‘Cause the Doctor might be wonderful, but thinking back, I had this great thing going that was destroyed. And that’s not his fault. But maybe…that’s what happens when you touch the Doctor. Even for a second. When you’re a kid, they tell you it’s all…grow up. Get a job. Get married. Get a house. Have a kid, and that’s it. But the truth is the world is so much stranger than that. It’s so much darker. And so much madder. And so much better.

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