3-03-gridlock-killcolor-4New Earth. I craved your wonders and instead

All that I found were endless fumigated queues,

Street traders selling moods:

Over the counter feelings for the living dead.


Kidnapped. At gunpoint. For a six year drive.

Mincemeat. Chased down by feral beasts.

Call this a fast lane?  Three will be four

When our destination reached! If still alive…


Cut out the light! In darkness our safety lies

Until he comes. Can’s breathe. Grip onto life…

I do not know, but feel his presence near.

He’ll make it. Yes… Today nobody dies.



The Day of the Doctor | 50 Years with Doctor Who

From Gallifrey to Tranzalore_50 Days of Doctor Who

Welcome to The Gallifrey Express: Your Online Whovian TARDIS Tracker!  

The Gallifrey Express has been around for as long as… well, for as long as Gallifrey itself, but getting it transported and translated for your Earthling delectation took a little longer than it takes to say TARDIS. Why so long you ask? It is all a matter of time, you know… TIME.

“People don’t understand Time. It’s not what you think it is. …Complicated… Very complicated. People assume that time is a strict progression from cause to effect, but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint it’s more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey… stuff.”

So now that we’ve made it through – from Gallifrey to Tranzalore – we’ll be keeping track of The Doctor’s roundabout journey through the wibbly-wobbly stuff and it goes without saying that we couldn’t just let the Doctor’s 50th anniversary pass without mention. In all the excitement of The Day of the Doctor our time capsule got a little side-tracked – hehe – but now we’re here and we’re here to stay.

Who was you first Doctor? Come on. Don’t be coy. One never forgets their first Doctor. For this Whovian it was the one and only, the irreplaceable fighter of a Time Lord, The Doctor Who didn’t want to go. Guessed it yet?

Yes. It was David Tennant. This Doctor-comeScot-Who counts the highest number of snogs in the history of the timey-wimey. We were with him on that. Didn’t want to see him go either.

That’s not to say that the next Doctor is not a Gallifreyan to be reckoned with. After Christopher Eccleston’s action man and the sand-shoed lip-snogger-happy David Tennant, we love Matt Smith’s bow tied chinny repertoire and can’t wait to see what Peter Capaldi will bring on next. Wasn’t it just wonderful to see him make a special cameo debut in The Day of the Doctor?! I can tell you that The Gallifey Express team squealed ecstatically the moment those doom-set eyes flashed on screen.

Imagine this: a ten million strong Whovian shout out. I wonder that the Earth wasn’t sent rolling off its axis. I bet you the Doctor was there to keep it nice and steady. Or I should rather say: the Doctors.

Nine other faces of the space adventurer came together with Matt Smith, David Tennant and John Hurt so that an army of TARDISes could save Gallifrey from Dalek attack. Fourth Doctor Tom Baker made a sonic screwdriver-less appearance to reveal that the Doctors did save Gallifrey from destruction. Good news all around. However…

There is a Big Wolf question darkening the Whovian horizon.

Are we living through the last days of The Doctor?

We delve into the realm of Whovian folklore laid down in 1976 episode The Deadly Assassin: a Doctor can only regenerate twelve times in a cycle therefore allowing thirteen incarnations. Since John Hurt’s redeemed War Doctor interrupted the Time Lord’s chronology of incarnations, does that make this journey to Tranzalore a final one on the Doctor’s path towards mortality?


We can deal with the Doctor’s ever changing face. We’re even rather partial to the TARDISes face-lifts every now and then. Companions come and go. The monsters can’t be relied on to make repeat appearances either, but the end of the Doctor?

It would mark the end of an era. The end of life as we know it. How will we Whovians cope in a Doctor-free universe? Who will make sure that our Christmas dinner is safe from Dalek tyranny?

Let’s leave these gloomy thoughts aside and hope that the rumour will remain just that.

Meanwhile… Christmas can’t come too soon!

Say WHO?

I don’t fancy Benedict Cumberbatch. Daily Prompt: Pants on Fire

I don’t fancy Benedict Cumberbatch. Please! I only admire his craft.

Half true.

I am an admirer of his craft.

He’s very good at what he does. Hell! The only line I could remember after watching Atonement was his: “Bite it. You have to bite it.” And let’s admit it; he didn’t feature much in it.

I saw Danny Boyle’s Frankenstein four times. Yes. Four. In one week. I confess, I  gave Jonny Lee Miller’s naked bod an equal share of that, but it was Cumberbatch that got me standing in line at 7am in front of the NT, shaking against the lukewarm contents of a coffee cup.

His acting prowess made an Arthur Conan Doyle fan of me. He rekindled my passion for theatre. I have a lot to be thankful for in that respect.

But. I have to concede, reluctantly, shame-faced, that I also fancy the pants off him. Have done, obsessively so, for some time now.

It’s so bad that my husband’s nickname for Cumberbatch is ‘your boyfriend’.

“When’s your boyfriend’s show next on? Taking their time with the new Sherlock, aren’t they?”

“It was awfully cold on that stage. You boyfriend didn’t get much of a chance to show off, did he?”

“If you say one more time that I’m the Scottish version of your boyfriend, I’m getting the Tesco divorce pack. I’m serious.”

You get the picture.

Why did I lie about it? Because I prided myself on being a rational creature, someone who saw celebrity culture for the mind-bending, money-peddling machine that it is. I was so damned smug. Fell off that horse pretty quickly, didn’t I?

I am still at a loss to understand how it could happen. Yes. That’s it. It is something that’s happened to me. I mean, I like Ben Wishaw’s acting too, David Tennant’s, James McAvoy’s, Tom Burke’s… But I’m not stalking any of them on networking sites.

I finally understand what actors feel like when they suddenly get famous and struggle to cope with all the attention. As a recovering Cumberbatch addict, I feel the same in reverse: deer-in-headlights bewildered by this obsessive streak I had no idea existed in anyone!

Embarrassed? Yes. My only hope is that now I’ve confessed it, I can gather myself up and move the f on.