Backstroke

By the time I got back home on Friday it was late and there was nothing much to watch. I stuck a shiny disc in the player and slumped on the sofa. Even then I realised I couldn’t stay up all the way through.

It had been a tough week. Just when I figured it was over, as the DVD went off, the goddamed Doctor Who titles appeared on the TV screen. What the fuck?

Of course it was Children in Need night. I’m all for worthy charitable causes, but these telethon nights that take over the whole schedule are pretty ropey at best. Personally, I’d pay good money to have them put something else on rather than watch some BBC sportscaster with a tin ear murder a decent show tune.

I don’t know whether this sequence was the second part of the piece or simply a late-night repeat. Either way, it was two different Doctors from two different eras and one good joke. Asking about The Master, the old version asked, “Has he still got the beard?” The new version replied, “No, he’s got a wife,” or something close, but that was pretty much it.

I finished with the show as a regular viewer when Tom Baker was still in residence. I would say the reason for giving up was that I grew up, but if you say things like that the little wieners who love it with a religious fervour get into a real froth.

Instead, I simply found better things to watch, and while that was happening the actors that succeeded Baker... maybe they weren’t thought of as the real deal. Maybe, through no fault of their own, they became the George Lazenby and Timothy Dalton of Doctor Who.

The short sequence last night seemed to be nothing more than a salute to Peter Davison for his tenure in the role. Possibly it was certainly deserved, I don’t doubt that. But with virtually nothing else in terms of plot or involvement, in the end all the back-slapping and arse-kissing made it feel like swimming in a pool of perfumed sick.