Posts Tagged With: royal wedding

Have I Got Whos For You (Winter Warmer Edition)

I mean, I made this one weeks ago, the last time it happened, but it seems fairly topical right now.

You have to feel a little bit sorry for Theresa May. She inherited an absolute dog’s breakfast, a situation that no one was going to be able to resolve because the concept of government in this country (and, indeed, in many democracies) is far more about the acquisition of power than it is about getting things done. No one had a clue how to pull out of the EU, and from what I can see we still don’t. And as Forrest Gump would say, “That’s all I got to say about that.”

Talking of Brexit:

You will have your own suggestions: please leave them in the usual place.

Brexit is having an effect on the economy, of course, with yet another great British retailer headed firmly down the tubes.

Actually I haven’t been in an HMV for years – well, specifically the last time I was in London alone, which would be for the ‘Twice Upon A Time’ press screening back in December 2017. I’d tried unsuccessfully to buy my mother gloves (no suitable gloves – in Oxford Street!) and wandered in; I’d been briefly tempted by a bobble-headed John Hurt, but in the end had left empty-handed. The unfortunate truth is that I don’t really like the place very much. It’s expensive, unless you’re multi-buying, which is what I used to do – come away with five CDs for £30, or two or £15 if it was the newer stuff – and they would sit on my shelves and never get played, another contribution to the great accumulation of stuff. Just before Christmas we had a big clearout of stuff, and the local charity shops were seeing me almost daily. I feel as good about it as I did a year back when I got rid of all my Doctor Who DVDs. (They’re still here digitally, of course, but hard drives are much easier to store.)

I once passed out in the Reading branch of HMV; did I ever tell you that? It was a hot summer’s day over two decades ago, and I was temping at the civil service, earning a little cash to see me through university. I’d while away the lunch breaks wandering the shops and would often find myself casually re-filing all the CDs that punters had left in the wrong places, only to have other customers assume that I worked there – at least that’s what I assumed, seeing as they were asking me to direct them to the Classical section. On this one particular Tuesday I dropped off in a dead faint not far from the video section and awoke as I was being shepherded down the escalator by two paramedics. I spent the afternoon in hospital. The next day I was back, moving Bob Dylan back to the D’s.

Moving on to other matters, there’s been drama over at Sandringham this week.

I was in an Oxford leisure centre yesterday when I overheard two elderly gentlemen remarking that “Young people have accidents too” – a sentiment I would not in any way disagree with. The remarkable thing about this was that I had genuinely forgotten that Prince Philip is standing there with his TV doppelganger, although Smith only plays him in the first two series, with Tobias Menzies taking over for series 3. The question of who they’ll get to play him in later series, as the televised queen approaches middle age, is still open to debate. Timothy Dalton, perhaps?

That episode was almost a decade ago. Can you believe it?

Yes, well, I can.

<giggles>

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Have I Got Whos For You (Bumper Catch-Up Edition)

It’s been a busy, busy few weeks and poor old Brian of Morbius has suffered a bit. Sorry about that. I feel for you folks, most of whom don’t actually read this anyway. On the plus side I have finally finished the book, although it needs chapter titles (this morning’s job), more footnotes and a whole lot of pruning. Lengthwise it’s currently longer than Prisoner of Azkaban but not quite as long as The Half Blood Prince. I may post a sample chapter here at some point, purely out of vanity.

We have several videos, a couple of think pieces and a stack of memes to get through, so let’s not waste any more time. What’s been happening over the past few weeks? Well, we’ve had several birthdays – notably Ian McKellen and Jojo Siwa, inventor of a particular type of headgear.

Meanwhile poor old Jodie Whittaker didn’t have a birthday, but everyone thought she did – thanks to a mix-up on the internet that she had clarified in an interview that people thankfully managed to drag out when the debate was still raging. If any of you are interested, Jodie shares her presumed birthday with my mother and her real one with me. Make of that what you will.

Catherine Tate also turned fifty recently – at least she might have done. We marked the occasion in Metro with a series of favourite characters, but when I came to post this on Twitter I had a woman contact me to plug her charity (which I suppose I can live with), of which Catherine is patron, and also tell me that I’d got the year wrong. “We got caught out when she turned forty,” she said.

“But there’s no ambiguity here,” I said. “No conflicting information. Every single source says she’s fifty.”

“Well, I’m speaking to her soon,” she said. “So I’ll ask her.”

Which is all fair enough, I suppose. She may be right. In response I’d say that if Wikipedia, IMDB, the Guardian and every single fan site I can find tells me Tate is fifty, then for the purposes of trending she can bloody well be fifty. If I’m wrong I am, at least, in good company.

What else happened? Oh yes, this did.

And, um, this.

No comment.

Meanwhile, it should be noted that David Tennant isn’t the only former Doctor to be accosted by fans at random moments.

The Eleventh Doctor’s been in the news quite a bit, actually, given that news has been announced that they’re bringing back the Celestial Toymaker.

And dodgy story ideas may, indeed, have been the real reason Christopher Eccleston jumped ship.

The big news, of course, was that royal wedding. Which was splendid to watch, although I did get a little uncomfortable with all the virtue signalling on Twitter – “Hey, isn’t it great that black people are at Windsor Castle! Woo hoo!” This all came, I noticed, chiefly from white people – it’s the sort of patronising gumph I saw quite recently in Get Out, which has a bunch of similar scenes where elderly white men tell the young black photographer how much they love Tiger Woods. Don’t get me wrong, it was a thumping good sermon (and wonderful to see all the dignitaries twisting in their seats), but can’t we not just enjoy it on its own terms, rather than looking at the skin tones?

But it occurred to me, when I was watching it, that the Royal Wedding was rather like the unveiling of a new Doctor. Months of speculative buildup and complaining from the naysayers, everyone’s obsessed with the outfit and nobody can figure out how James Corden got involved.

See you next time for more fruity goodness.

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