In a little over sixty minutes time, the first new Doctor Who for sixteen years will be hitting our screens (this is assuming, of course, that the terrible, Americanised movie-thing from the 90′s doesn’t count – which it doesn’t).
This should be a return, albeit updated to a current format, of the British Doctor – one instance of the peculiar breed of very English science fiction. All accounts, leaks (intentional or otherwise) and scuttlebutt seem to indicate that it’s got it right: can you imagine what would happen if they got it wrong?
Anyhow, I’ve been waiting for this for a long time – McCoy was my favourite Doctor, mainly because he was the one I grew up with – I don’t remember much at all of Colin Baker, and I’d have been far too small for Peter Davidson – but then, just as the show seemed to have found a great mix of non-wobbly sci-fi and suburban fantasy it got pulled.
I’ve been doing my best to avoid spoilers, although just like the iPod shuffle things seem to be slipping through my defences the nearer we get. TV and radio seem to be doing their best to surprise me with trails and Wikipedia managed to show me the new Daleks before I realised it – I think the Radio Times has just given something away too. Why would anybody want to know anything before they get to see it as part of the narrative? What’s the point in – literally – spoiling it for themselves?
But I’ll be watching, and hoping, phone turned off and lights turned down. One hour to go. See you on the other side.
