Sunday, November 23, 2003

Affirmative, master - Dr Who and K9

Today is the 40th Anniversary of Doctor Who. Four decades of rotating through time and space, of battling rubbery monsters and saving the galaxy, of wielding sonic screwdrivers, scoffing jelly babies and clutching the sides of his head whenever those fab proto-electro sound effects went screeeeee yet always surviving. Okay, so he died seven times but always managed to come back, refreshed and as zanily-dressed as ever. I was weaned on Doctor Who - especially the godlike Tom Baker and Peter Davison - and am really looking forward to the new series. In celebration of the Doctor's birthday, and because it was pissing down outside and I'm skint, I spent much of the weekend indoors, watching The Daemons and The Pyramids of Mars on UK Gold. And no, I didn't spot a single wobbly set or monster made out of egg cartons.

When I was a small child, my Dad spent weeks locked in the garden shed making me and my sister a K9. We pestered him about it until he finally wheeled it out on its castors into the garden. It was life-sized, sprayed with silver paint and looked almost exactly like the real thing. 'Thanks Dad!' we cried, mightily impressed.

I think we played with K9 for about 2 days before forgetting about him. We left him in the garden with the snails and the weather. By the time we remembered his existence, the rain had rotted him and his wheels had rusted up. Kids are horrible, ungrateful creatures, aren't they? But, by God, I wish I still had that K9 - it would be sooo cool.