Thursday 3rd July- I go Winkling with Russell T. Davies

Today is one of those days where I could do with either a Tardis or those big springy shoe things so I can bound ten leagues in a leap.  I have an hour to spare before I have to dash off into the ether again and have decided to blog in case I don’t get to sit down again before midnight.  In fact you can cross the Tardis off the list, and I’ll just make do with the shoes.  I am sulking with Russell T. Davies, and if he doesn’t rectify the situation by this Saturday evening I shall be writing him a stiff letter of complaint.

I have blogged about Tallulah’s obsession with Doctor Who before, and that we all like the show, even if we are not quite as fascinated by every microscopic detail of the show as Tallulah.  In fact probably only Russell is on a par with Tallulah to be honest in her crazed ponderings.  I like the fact that she is passionate about things, I just wish that she were not quite so passionate in that; ‘I’m going to squeeze it all to death like a giant boa constrictor’ type way, because it can be wearing and, at times, frightening. Being quizzed over the eating habits of the Sontaran army over breakfast by a gimlet eyed girl can be somewhat unnerving.  She’d make a good Who villain herself.

She has been glued to the screen ever since episode one of the revived series.  She loved Christoper Ecclestone and Billie Piper.  She was in bits when Christopher regenerated into David.  David had big shoes to fill, but fill them he did.  Now, fickle creature that she is, and despite still watching the dvd’s endlessly, she announced that Christopher is, was and always will be pants, and David is, was and always will be the best Doctor Who in the history of Doctor Who ever. 

She still nurtures ever glowing embers of passion for Billie/Rose and has spent the entire time since she left in mourning, and demanding to know when she was coming back.  She refused to believe that she might never come back, and she also secretly refuses to believe that it’s not all real, despite the fact that we have explained about actors and how it’s just a job, like being a bus driver, only more fun.  She knows this at a rational level, and yet the part of her that remains true to miracles being an everyday occurrence is not giving up on the fact that one day the Tardis might appear in our front room and Rose/Billie might pop out the door and ask her if she wants to come for a ride.

Russell, we all agree, is brilliant.  He has revived, regenerated and redecorated Doctor Who until it is total top drawer entertainment and up until last week I loved him dearly, especially the week before when he finally did bring back Rose/Billie.  Tallulah nearly fell off the sofa with pleasure.  I’m not saying that I’d want to adopt him, what with me being on the waiting list for Stephen Fry, but he was riding quite high up in the charts of people we’d like to invite round for a cup of tea and a bourbon.  Now he is in the bad books.

Saturday, as you may know, if like us sad people, you are interested in such things, is the end of the current series.  A giant plot arc has been drawing us all series like a little, teeny, helpless fly into the jaws of the slavering spider that is the final three episodes of the show, all of which are a giant, extremely complex story, that brings everything together, and hopefully explains everything neatly and with a giant bow.  It is traditional in such three parters to do a ‘Flash Gordon’ and leave each episode teetering on a cliff hanger, with the boulder rolling towards the hero and a giant wall of water coming the other way.  How will he escape? Dan DAN DAAAANNNNNnnn.

Indeed.  Because on Saturday evening the Doctor got obliterated by an evil dalek and promptly died.  Now, everyone who knows anything about Who knows that when the Doctor dies he regenerates.  He was just about to regenerate in a giant Ready Brek style glow and the episode ended.  Well, you’ve never heard the like! It was bedlam.  Tallulah was hysterical because Rose had only just got to see the Doctor again (Rose and the Doctor love each other madly and were separated in the season before last by the forces of evil and some complex laws governing the quantum mechanics of parallel universes.  Even I cried.) and he was shot.  Jason was hysterical because Davros came back from the time wars where he had been locked in a giant, impenetrable time capsule thingy never to return, until he returned without explaining why, and he wanted to know what the bloody hell was going on.  Tilly was hysterical because she gets hysterical when an ant dies, and I was just pissed off.

I have, thanks to Russell and his cunning cliff hanger stylie scripting, been fielding questions ever since.  Why everyone thinks I know so much about;

1. the writing habits of Russell T. Davies
2. Script spoilers for the last episode
3. The nature of quantum mechanics and its effect on parallel universes
4. The entirely fictional, made up laws around bringing the King of the Daleks back through the space time continuum
5. David Tennant’s timetable for the next two years
6. Whether Doctor Who and Rose are ever going to get it together

I don’t know.  But it’s safe to say that I don’t.  And no amount of cunningly worded questions are going to winkle such information out of me, mainly because no such information was winkled into me in the first place.  As my grandmother would have undoubtedly said when faced with such a situation: ‘You can’t winkle winkles out of a winkle that doesn’t want to be winkled.’ So there!

I think someone has been spreading rumours about my expertise, because the news is travelling.  I rang my best friend Rachel on Tuesday to discuss running away from the children in a mutual escape pact (she can’t.  Chris her husband has impounded her passport to help make a positive impact on the carbon footprint of their family), she asked me what was going on with this regeneration business.  My exact words were: ‘I don’t bloody know! Why are you asking me? I’ve failed to answer questions on it at every meal time since Saturday night and I hate Russell T. Bloody Davies and his pesky, interfering ways!’  She then said that her middle child, Maisy is also obsessed with Doctor Who.  She is in love with him and calls him Davey.  Which is nice.  She too has been badgering the life out of Rachel ever since, and she was only asking me in desperation because she’s sick of saying; ‘I don’t bloody know!’ every meal time.  We agreed that we would join forces and have a word.  So if you too, are suffering from Russell T. Davies or the effects of Russell T. Davies, drop me a line and I’ll include your name on the letter.

Russell! You have been warned.  You have until Saturday to sort it out.  So sort it out!