Adventures with the Wife in Space

by Neil Perryman

  I am currently addicted to collecting a new range of classic Doctor Who action figures. These are the toys I so desperately craved as a child but which nobody ever got round to manufacturing for me. If only my younger self could see the carnival of monsters camped out on my bookshelves: fully articulated Zygons, difficult-to-balance Ice Warriors, a string-vested Sea Devil, and the shape-shifting robot Kamelion, who is disguised as the Master, and not the Master at all, despite what it says on the box. Furthermore, these figures look amazing. There are no Gareth Hunt lookalikes here.

  Am I being exploited? Say, for example, I want a ‘Destiny of the Daleks’ Dalek to complete my collection of Daleks. I have to fork out for Tom Baker Doctor at the same time – he’s part of the set. Or maybe I’ve got my eye on a Sontaran spaceship. Just as long as I don’t mind paying extra for another Tom – he’s part of the set. And then there’s the Jagaroth from ‘City of Death’, and a Krynoid from ‘The Seeds of Doom’. That’s two more Toms, thank you very much. As a result, I now have more Tom Baker action figures than I have Daleks. I’ve got Tom in a hat and I’ve got Tom without a hat. I’ve got Tom in a burgundy-coloured coat, Tom in an oatmeal coat, and Tom in a waistcoat. I’ve even got a unique Tom with no head; I think one of our cats ate it.

  And then there’s the spectre of eBay. Oh, look, some Weetabix cards with the original cereal boxes still intact – a bargain at £76. Before you know it, a trip down memory lane has turned into a time-consuming, money-draining quest for completism – because you are not trying simply to complete a set of books or toys or Weetabix cards, you are trying to complete yourself, to get back to the whole person you were before, as a child, before the obstructions and compromises of adulthood got in the way. And yet, all you are really doing is accumulating a pile of crap, souvenirs of the futility of the quest. Thanks very much, collector gene.

  All that being true, if anyone reading this can help me plug the hole in my Target book collection by sending me a copy of The Wheel In Space, I’d be eternally grateful. I haven’t slept since 1988.

  Introducing Doctor Who

  Sue discovered that I was a functioning Doctor Who fan the day I moved in with her and Nicol. Up until then, I’d managed to keep it under wraps.

  I didn’t bring that many possessions with me when I moved into Christopher Street in July 1993. All I had was a suitcase, two carrier bags and a small collection of cardboard boxes. When I asked Sue if I could store them in her attic, she demanded to know what was inside them. I think she suspected they might be full of pornography.

  Before I could explain, Nicol had already tipped the contents of the nearest box onto the floor.

  Nicol: What’s this?

  She was waving a VHS cassette in her hand.

  Me: That, Nicol, is a Dalek.

  She was holding ‘Day of the Daleks’ to be precise. (Infuriatingly, the BBC had edited out all the cliffhangers, but there was no need to burden her with that right now.)

  Sue: So, how many tapes like this have you got?

  Me: Oh, about six boxes.

  Sue: But you’ve only brought six boxes with you.

  Given the look on Sue’s face as Nicol systematically unpacked my boxes, I wish they had contained pornography. It would have been easier to explain and marginally less embarrassing. So again I asked Sue if I could store these tapes in her attic. Her reply surprised me:

  Sue: I could put some shelves up if you like.

  I stared at my tapes, which Nicol was stacking into neat piles on the carpet. I didn’t think Sue’s shelving suggestion was a trap, but I wasn’t sure. Her home was gorgeous, and it was obvious that a lot of time and effort had gone into making it look just so. You didn’t need to be an interior designer to know that my distended tape collection would create quite the wrong impression.

  Nicol was now arranging my tapes into a single quivering tower of plastic. As I watched her play, I thought about putting away childish things again. If I was going to be a father figure to Nicol, maybe this was an opportunity to make a fresh start. Maybe now was the time to stop worrying about continuity errors in ‘Mawdryn Undead’. Maybe the moment had come to grow up.

  Sue: Or I could get the stepladders and you can store them in the attic. It’s your choice.

  Wait a minute, this felt like an increasingly momentous decision. How damp was her attic? I didn’t want my tapes to go mouldy up there. And what happened if I decided to buy more? Would I have to hide them in the attic after I’d watched them? That would be a bit weird. Or did it mean that I wouldn’t be buying any more tapes? I wasn’t thrilled about that, either. And then there was my plan to become a fully formed adult in the near future to consider.

  Then it hit me: maybe I could watch these tapes with Nicol while we bonded as stepfather and stepdaughter! I started watching Doctor Who when I was Nicol’s age and it had never done me any harm, possibly. The Doctor had been a wonderful role model. He taught me to oppose violence (when he wasn’t committing genocide) and to embrace justice, equality, curiosity and compassion. In fact, I decided, I would be neglecting my duties as a responsible parent if I didn’t show these stories to Nicol. When I met her, Nicol was destined to grow up without a Doctor to call her own. But I could fix that. With my help, Nicol would grow up with seven Doctors to call her own – and I would just grow up.

  Sue put up some shelves.

  *

  Although I didn’t bring that many possessions with me when I moved into Christopher Street, I did have plenty of baggage, the sort of baggage that made it difficult for me to adjust to my new role as a responsible stepfather.

  I was too strict with Nicol, for a start. My own parents weren’t exactly draconian, but they did have some very clear ideas when it came to boundaries and discipline. As far as I could tell, Nicol was allowed to do anything she liked, whenever she liked. I’m not saying she was spoiled – she wasn’t demanding as such – but she did have a ridiculous amount of freedom when it came to what she ate for dinner, what time she went to bed, and, most importantly of all, what she watched on TV.

  One night Nicol and I had an argument about something or other – I forget the details now but it probably had something to do with her not eating her vegetables – and in a spectacularly childish move I removed the plug from her television set to teach her a lesson. Sue wasn’t very happy with me when she came home to find her daughter in tears because she couldn’t watch her favourite movies all night. Sorry, Nic.

  However, let’s take a look at Nicol’s videos when I moved in, shall we? The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Pretty in Pink and Weird Science. Yes, Nicol was a John Hughes junkie – and there’s nothing wrong with that – I just didn’t think these movies were suitable for a four-year-old child.

  Me: Have you actually seen The Breakfast Club, Susan? Everyone takes drugs in it. Ferris Bueller glorifies truancy, for God’s sake. Is this really the kind of film that Nicol should be watching at this impressionable age? I’m just relieved that she hasn’t got a copy of She’s Having a Baby.

  Sue: She has. She’s lent it to next-door.

  Me: Look, Nicol shouldn’t be watching television at this hour. She should be asleep. And if she is going to watch something, it should something more appropriate. She’s four, not fourteen. Weird Science is not for kids.

  Sue: So what do you suggest? Wait … Don’t tell me. One of your Doctor Who videos, I suppose?

  Me: Why not? There’s never any teenage pregnancies in Doctor Who. And you never see anyone taking drugs.

  (This isn’t strictly true. In ‘The Talons of Weng-Chiang’ one of the story’s villains chases the dragon in an opium den; in ‘Nightmare of Eden’, the aliens turn out to be an addictive narcotic; and in ‘Snakedance’, the Fifth Doctor enjoys a hallucinatory trip after being bitten on the wrist by a snake. Also, the Sixth Doctor’s hideous multicoloured frock coat can only have been dreamed up by someone on drugs. Ketamine, probably.)

  While Sue was busy rewir
ing Nicol’s television, I studied my VHS tape collection for the perfect story to show her daughter. With Sue calling me upstairs, I instinctively grabbed ‘Day of the Daleks’. This was the tape that Nicol waved at me the day I moved in with her. I took this for a sign and hoped for the best.

  Sue and her daughter were cuddling each other on Nicol’s bed when I joined them. Simple Minds were belting out ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’.

  Sue: Listen, Nicol. Neil has something he wants to share with you. He thought it would be nice if you watched something together for a change. Something you haven’t seen before.

  I dropped the VHS tape into Nicol’s lap.

  Me: It’s ‘Day of the Daleks’. It’s very good.

  Nicol: I’m watching The Breakfast Club.

  Me: The Breakfast Club has finished. Look, it’s the credits.

  Nicol: I want to watch it again.

  Sue: Why don’t you watch something else with Neil? You never know, it might be fun.

  Nicol: But I want to watch The Breakfast Club.

  Me: It’s OK. Forget it. It doesn’t matter.

  I headed for the bedroom door.

  Sue: I know! Why don’t you watch The Breakfast Club together instead?

  *

  The next day, Nicol sidled up to me while I was chopping potatoes in the kitchen. When she tugged at my sleeve, I almost sliced my index finger off.

  Nicol: Can I watch Doctor Who with you tonight, Neil?

  Me: Your mum sent you in here to ask me that, didn’t she?

  Nicol: Yes.

  Me: You don’t have to do this, Nicol. Honestly, you don’t.

  Nicol: What is Doctor Who anyway?

  Me: You really want to know?

  Nicol: Yes. Tell me.

  Me: Well, it’s about a man – well, alien – who can travel through space and time. He’s called the Doctor …

  Nicol: Doctor Who.

  Me: No, Doctor Who is the name of the programme. Nobody knows what the Doctor’s real name is.

  Nicol: (giggling) Don’t be silly. What’s his name? Tell me.

  Me: I honestly don’t know. It’s a mystery.

  Nicol: Do you find out at the end?

  Me: At the end of this story? No.

  Nicol: Can we watch the one where we do find out?

  Me: I haven’t got that one. Anyway, the Doctor has a spaceship called the TARDIS, which stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. It looks like a police telephone box …

  Nicol: What’s a police telephone box?

  Me: It’s a telephone box that only policemen can use.

  Nicol: Like a post box?

  Me: No, it’s a lot bigger than a post box and it’s blue. Look, it doesn’t matter. The TARDIS exterior isn’t even in this one.

  Nicol: I want to see it.

  Me: Look, why don’t we just watch this story first. Trust me, it’s great.

  I pressed Play on her top-loading VCR and Nicol crossed her arms and waited for ‘Day of the Daleks’ to impress her.

  Nicol: Who’s that?

  Me: That’s the Doctor.

  She shouted with laughter.

  Nicol: Big nose!

  Me: Don’t you think he looks like your grandma? Please don’t tell her I said that.

  The episode begins with a terrorist from the future attempting to assassinate a political figure from the past.

  Nicol: Who’s that?

  Me: That’s a guerrilla.

  Nicol: Don’t be silly! That’s a man! A gorilla is a big monkey. Who’s he?

  Me: That’s a politician.

  Nicol: What does that mean?

  Me: It doesn’t matter. Look, this is the Brigadier …

  Nicol: That’s a silly name.

  Three minutes in and she’s already beginning to fidget.

  Nicol: I’m bored. Nothing’s happening.

  Me: Look, the Doctor is trying to fix a bit of the TARDIS.

  Nicol: Why is it broken?

  Me: Well, it’s complicated. You see, the Doctor comes from a planet called Gallifrey and he’s been a very naughty boy, so his parents took his toy away from him because he wouldn’t listen to his betters and do as he was told. Ring any bells? Anyway, they basically took the plug off his TARDIS and now he can’t go anywhere.

  Nicol: That’s boring.

  Me: Not really. Lots of monsters come to Earth, so he doesn’t really need his TARDIS any more.

  Nicol: So why is he fixing it?

  I quickly change the subject:

  Me: That’s Jo Grant. Isn’t she lovely?

  *

  I knew it was hopeless when Nicol started to kick the covers off her bed, a sure sign she was restless. Another sign was she had stopped asking questions. She didn’t even ask me if the ape-like Ogrons were gorillas.

  Maybe Nicol was too young to appreciate Doctor Who after all. And it was very late; she was probably tired. I told myself that it wouldn’t have mattered what we were watching that night, she would have reacted exactly the same way. She just needed a good night’s sleep. And besides, Nicol shouldn’t be watching television at this hour anyway.

  I’d really hoped to see Nicol’s eyes light up with wonder and joy that night – the same wonder and joy I experienced when I encountered Doctor Who for the first time. What I wasn’t expecting was she’d have that joyful look on her face when I offered to switch Doctor Who off. We were only ten minutes into the first episode; she didn’t even get to see a Dalek.

  I offered to read The Little Mermaid to her but Nicol declined. As I headed downstairs again to join Sue, I heard The Breakfast Club rewinding in her VCR. She was still watching it when I went to bed an hour later.

  *

  Once the shelves were up, my video cassettes became part of the furniture, but my girlfriend proved as adept as her daughter at ignoring Doctor Who and my clumsy attempts to insinuate it into our unmarried life. Whenever I’d suggest it might be fun to watch, say, ‘The Seeds of Death’ or ‘The Ambassadors of Death’ or ‘The Robots of Death’ or even the comparatively light-hearted ‘City of Death’ together, the answer was always ‘no’.

  Occasionally I would ask her for her memories of the programme.

  Sue: We didn’t watch the BBC when I was growing up. I lived in an ITV house. Sport was the only exception.

  Me: So you never watched Doctor Who?

  Sue: Oh, I knew what Doctor Who was. Everybody did. One of the Doctors had a scarf.

  Me: What about Jon Pertwee?

  Sue: Oh, I definitely remember him. He was Worzel Gummidge. The scarecrow.

  Me: You don’t remember Jon Pertwee in Doctor Who?

  Sue: I know Jon Pertwee was one of the Doctor Whos, but I didn’t watch it. How many more times do I have to tell you this?

  Me: You were fourteen when Tom Baker took over.

  Sue: You won’t let this go, will you? Tom Baker was the one with the scarf. I’m not completely stupid.

  Me: Can you name any of the actors who played the Doctor before Tom Baker?

  Sue: I don’t know. Jon Pertwee? How many other Doctors were there?

  Me: Two.

  Sue: Hold on. The old feller with the white hair … Peter Cushing. And whatshisname, that little feller … (triumphantly) Charlie Drake!

  Me: Patrick Troughton!

  Sue: Well, he looked like Charlie Drake.

  Seriously, what was the point in going out with an older woman if she couldn’t remember ‘The Web of Fear’ – and even if she did remember it, thought the lead actor battling Yeti on the London Underground was Charlie Drake?

  Eventually, Sue gave in and agreed to watch one of the all-time classic Doctor Who adventures with me, the gritty and intelligent ‘Genesis of the Daleks’.

  Sue: It’s really good, this. Proper scary. I can almost understand why you like this programme. Are all the Tom Baker stories as good as this one?

  It would be another eighteen years before she found out. In the meantime, my new female housemates and I soon settled in
to a domestic routine which suited all of us. I kept watching, reading about and obsessing over every tiny detail of Doctor Who. And they left me to it.

  Hiatus 2: This Time It’s Personal

  I would like to reassure Doctor Who devotees that there are no plans to axe Doctor Who. There may be a little longer between this series and the next than usual, but I very much hope that it will continue to be as successful in the 90s as it has been for the last twenty-six years.

  Peter Cregeen, BBC Head of Series, 1989

  The BBC first tried to axe Doctor Who in 1985. Back then, the outcry from fans and the popular press – not to mention ‘Doctor in Distress’, a terrible protest record featuring Bobby G from Bucks Fizz; ‘Listener in Distress’ would have been more accurate – forced the BBC to capitulate, and what had originally been intended as an irreversible cancellation was instead converted to an ‘eighteen-month hiatus’, which is where I first heard that deathly word.

  So when, in 1989, the BBC decided to cancel the show again, they did it quietly. There was nothing to worry about, they told us. Doctor Who wasn’t dead, it was just resting. This was the line repeatedly trotted out by the perfidious Peter Cregeen, the BBC’s Head of Series, when he was asked about the show’s future. His words are etched on my memory like a Dear John letter from an ex-girlfriend.

  In truth, this hiatus was intended to be an indefinite one, the sort of hiatus from which no Time Lord returns. There was no official cancellation announcement this time. There were no protests, no petitions and, mercifully, no one contacted Bobby G. The tabloids weren’t interested in headlines about a TV show that was having some time off, and the viewing public didn’t seem to care that the only time they saw Doctor Who these days was via a clip on an episode of Telly Addicts.