I love the new Doctor Who. I've just been watching episode 12, "Bad Wolf", and even the stupid storyline that takes up the first half of the show (the Doctor and companions find themselves in lethal versions of Big Brother, The Weakest Link and What Not To Wear) can't stop it being a classic. Who would have thought that when the BBC finally relented and brought Doctor Who back, that they'd do it so absolutely right? The writing's excellent, the special effects are something special and, most importantly of all, the regular actors are brilliant. Who would have thought Billie Piper would turn out to be so good? Or, let's be honest, that she'd turn out to be anything other than awful? Christopher Eccleston will be sadly missed, he's been a wonderful Doctor. And John Barrowman as Captain Jack, probably the best of the lot. This is what British TV's been needing all these years.
Sorry, I just felt a need to enthuse. Anyway, the whole fame-and-fortune thing is still going on. I'm meeting the producer (who, from his emails, seems to be a very nice guy) next Saturday morning (ie before people start arriving for the party) so he can try to sell me on the documentary idea. I'll see what he's got to say, at least. But I don't know what's in it for me, really, seeing as I don't consider appearing on TV to be much of a reward for the inconvenience it'll put me to.
I'm feeling slightly guilty tonight. As I've mentioned before, my dad always insists on sending me birthday presents, by post, weeks in advance of my actual birthday. I always try to resist the temptation to unwrap and eat the inevitable big bar of chocolate, but I usually fail. I haven't eaten it all yet, so there might still be some left by next Friday, which would essentially qualify as being good, wouldn't it?
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