The trailer for the new series of Doctor Who is an short and exciting affair, with Jodie Whitaker’s Doctor stating that something’s coming for her, and me thinking, “Oh does that mean it’s this series and she’s off?” in a resigned way because we get through Doctors like nobody’s business these days. It’s just as bloody well Clara convinced the Time Lords to reset the regeneration cycle or we’d be completely stuffed.
And as you watch it there’s little snippets of stuff. A Racnoss. I think. A rusty cyberman. Lenny Henry shooting out of a car window. Lots of stuff.
And then the worst thing.
Stephen Bloody Fry.
He has to get into everything doesn’t he?
I know I am in a minority, but he really gets on my tits. Some people hold him in high regard. They flock to follow him on Twitter. They look to him, for some reason, as the voice of technological wisdom because he got an iPhone when they first came out. Or because he was on Twitter in the early days. Or some bollocks.
He’s the Emperor’s New Clothes in human form, basically. He’s a marmite person.
And what sort of character is he playing in Doctor Who, I wonder?
Oh, a pompous and/or upper class English man.
The range he displays is breathtaking, I think you’ll agree.
You know, I’ll embrace the Doctor regenerating into any gender, non-gender or whatever. I’ll embrace the cheesy special effects of yesteryear. I’ll embrace the convoluted story lines of the Moffatt years. I’ll embrace Rose being sucked into another dimension, Martha leaving to join Torchwood and Donna forgetting everything because otherwise her brain would explode with the sheer amount of Doctor-Donna that was in there. I’ll embrace all that. And more.
And then they go an give me Stephen Fry as a guest star.
I guess, if I hang on long enough, they might replace him with Sandi Toksvig and everything will get much better.
But until then, that’s one episode I’m watching from behind a pillow so I can’t see it. And with my fingers in my ears so I can’t hear it…