Saving The Globe, one witch at a time

So here we are, beginnings and endings. The last ever, ever, ever, EVER episode of ‘Life On Mars’ will be broadcast in Blighty in just a few days, promising to be a TV event of millions n’ hundreds proportions, audience-wise. Can’t wait. Do you reckon he’s really in a coma, then? Do you reckon he’s really in 1973? Does he even want to go home, still? I clocked his face at the end of episode seven, when the replacement DCI told him he’d find a way to ‘bring him home’. Was that a face of horror, due to realising that the bugger knew about Sam wanting to get home and in effect, being in on it? Or horror cos he realised that praps he dunt want to leave 1973 after all? I mean, come on, Mya’s gone. Apparently. And Annie’s much nicer, I reckon. Do you reckon he’ll stay where he is, even if it means living on ‘life support’ or whatever his fevered brain’s been telling him? Go back to the normal, mundane, familiar 2006? Hmm… Tough decision. I don’t what I’d do. I might be tempted to stay – the feeling of superiority that comes from knowing ‘the future’, the fun and games of working wi the lads an’ lasses in the dingy, diffuser-free lighting, the freedom to drink and smoke whenever you want – at work… I don’t know. Tough. After having lived amongst them and having all that, would you really leave it behind? For Blair and Virgin mobiles, Vauxhall Omega force cars and McDonald’s? PC thinking and government censorship? Tough, definitely tough. Could you really walk away from all that? And Annie?

But that’s an ending – save the US remake that we’ll cough at, shuffle our feet over and politely ignore as only English people can, thank you very much. I won’t go on, I just think it’s wrong. Hey, here’s a tip, fellas – we know the ending! However, re-writes and remakes are hotbeds of quirks, surprises and different endings. We can hope. Although, judging by the level of imagination used in certain other remakes, I’m not holding out much hope.

Alright, alright, stop right there! I’m being negative and peevish. And anyway, I should be on about beginnings now, right? I should be happy and pretending to be a well-adjusted member of society again, right?



There we are ~ much more like it! So, apart from boogying round danger like a sold gold dancer, what else was the Doctor up to, in last night’s episode two of the new series three? Hmm…

I have done my best not to include spoilers, and there won’t be any about the actual episode, but maybe a few about the characters…

It struck me quite early on that the Doctor’s not interested in finding out about his ‘one trip and then home’ charge, Martha. As they’re walking down a street and she has to remind him of the fact that she’s “not exactly white”, he kinda looks at her like he’s only just noticed, in true Doctor fashion. It’s not that it dunt matter, it’s that he never saw it int first place. In a very Mickey Smith kinda way, he’s not bothered. And even when there could have been a very awkward moment, when they find out there’s only one bed int room they’ve been given, still all he can talk about is how Rose would have stated the obvious and the problem would have been solved. Martha, of course, is one step away from rolling her eyes, realising he’s less than a foot away and already looking very comfortable on an Elizabethan bed. But come off it – this is the Doctor, and that’s not what he’s about. She just doesn’t know it yet. He actually states quite clearly that another character’s feminine whiles definitely won’t work on him, and to cut it out. Nice one, Doctor – he’s back to normal, then. Well, as normal as you can be after your best playmate int all the worlds has been taken away from you, and you’re left to play on your own. Cos that’s all he’s really in it for, int it? It’s just one bit of fun to the next – and sometimes, the dangerous bits get in between. But that’s alright, cos he is the cleverest being in the known universe. Or is he?

I liked this episode for the fact that the brown suit was back – yay! – and they’d stopped arsing around wi his hair. All back to normal. (And we even got a few GBS as he leaned over the TARDIS controls, using his foot to knock the far buttons. Bloody marvellous.) And for his admission that, ok, maybe he isn’t the cleverest being int all the worlds, and for the whole “I’ve only got one heart working – how do you people cope?” scene, and the moment he quoted Shakespeare and the bard realised it were his work, and of course, Dean Lennox Kelly as Shakespeare is fab. An excellent choice.

I’m really struggling now – not cos of the episode, but cos I’ve been dying of food poisoning fert last 24 hours. Sleeping on and off while I’m not spewing from either end fert last 18 hours has not helped, so I thought I’d get up and do summat worthwhile. I just can’t keep the monitor still to see what I’ve written, so apologies if some of these sentences don’t make sense.

And on that note, I’m going to watch gratuitous amounts of ‘Firefly’ to amuse me and make me forget I’m aching all over.

‘Night.

Tags:
Life On Mars ~ Gene Hunt ~ Sam Tyler ~ BBC ~ Doctor Who ~ David Tennant ~ Freema Agyeman ~ Martha Jones ~ Dean Lennox Kelly ~ Shakespeare ~ food poisoning