We’re All Stories In The End. Just Make It A Good One, Huh?

Growing up in the 90s, it took me an awful lot of time to realise that there were more Doctor Who fans in the world than just me. For most of my childhood, Doctor Who was an entirely solitary pursuit. Any friends from Primary School I tested it on failed to be interested and by Secondary School most simply laughed at it (although one lad did remark on the Doctor Who and the Silurians repeat in 2000 that the monster faces sported “really good graphics”). Doctor Who was a lonesome business then but not a lonely one: the Doctor never made me feel alone.

In 1993, for one day only, my dad took me to Manopticon at the Town Hall in Manchester. There, I met Jon Pertwee who said a total of five words to me: “Who’s it to?” and “To John.” He asked my dad if it was with or without the h and gave us a mildly disappointed autograph with a tut. Colin Baker was much more affable. He asked where I came from down to the specifics: “Whereabouts in Oldham?” and told me of his early work at the Curtain Theatre in Rochdale and the Shaw Playhouse. Later, I became members of both places on his advice and still work there very happily to do this day. The Collectors’ Stalls were exciting and I particularly loved finding a host of sculpted character heads on display – much too expensive for my Dad! I spent the rest of the day in the video room, watching tantalising, old episodes: The Ambassadors of Death (IN COLOUR!) was a VHS recording from UK Gold but I didn’t care. It was amazing. The biggest joy of the convention, however, was – perhaps embarrassingly - getting to see The Happiness Patrol in its entirety again, a story I’d had taped a few years ago but which I’d sadly lost. A couple of years for a child is a long time and I couldn’t wait to see it again!

What I’d missed, I note in hindsight, were the panels. You know, the one bit that a convention is all about! I attended Battlefield IV in Coventry and Panopticon 2000 at Manchester’s Palace Hotel when I was 15 and couldn’t believe what I’d missed out on: these panels were so much fun! I heard stories about the making of the stories I’d never been privy to before. I saw Tom talk for an hour about flytraps and champagne: Bliss. I saw Anthony Ainley slapping his own arse in appreciation of a new diet he’d discovered. I saw Jon Culshaw take off all the Doctors, in front of two of them. I saw Peter Purves bemoaning his missing episodes whilst Michael Sheard proudly noted that he had never been deleted. What I didn’t realise was that a lot of what I was seeing was actually old hat. Nicholas Courtney had refused to tell the eyepatch story on account of it being so ancient. Sylvester and Sophie wanted to talk about Death Comes to Time. Big Finish and these shiny new things called DVDs were the new kids on the block. One fan very excitedly told me he’d just found out that the next DVD release was to be the TV Movie. “Right. Yeah. I’ve seen it.”

I wish I had been new to the game when these old stories had been doing the rounds originally though, when the actors, designers and producers were new to relating them. I remember telling a mate about how I’d laughed watching such-and-such a DVD when Terrance Dicks imparted such-and-such a thing. His response? “Oh, have you not heard that one before?” These tales now form as much a parcel of a Doctor Who adventure as the adventure itself. Who can watch Ambassadors without hearing, “Well Terrance, you were doing your job and I was doing mine?” Who could watch Planet of the Spiders without intoning “His hair got more and more bouffant as the years went by, you see?” Who could watch Planet of Evil without knowing that the jungle set ended up on the BBC’s in-house designers’ manual? Who could watch Battlefield without knowing that Sylvester saved Sophie’s life? Who could watch Nightmare of Eden without thinking Tom vs Bromly? Who could watch Silver Nemesis without knowing that “that gap is just too wide?” Who could watch Pyramids without knowing it’s Mick Jagger’s house or Mind Robber without chickenpox or Pirate Planet without the sausage dog story? The list goes on and on and on. And I love, love, love those anecdotes.

I’ve tried valiantly to poetrycise them. Here goes:

We only had three Daleks;
The day Sylvester saved my life;
Marshminnows were actually peaches;
Morgaine was Jon’s first wife.

A dog had asked Tom for sausages;
His collar bone broke that day;
Levene was dressed as a Yeti
Jon’s wage Shaun just wouldn’t pay.

She ran up to the vic in her knickers;
Daryl Joyce was filming off-set;
It was so cold I got hypothermia;
The fans Christened him “the wet vet.”

John wanted something totally tasteless;
Jon said, “You gonna do it like that?”
We nearly lost Liz on that underground lake;
Sophie Aldred’s allergic to cat.

“Dalek 1, move to your left”;
Lou wanted her eyes back to blue;
For that set Roger used mirrors;
Gary said, “Let’s make magic now, crew.”

Mr Grade was a pompous, old arsehole;
Mr Powell didn’t return calls;
I nudged Patrick right in his ribs and said;
“Look at the size of those balls!”

“The Daemons was always my favourite;”
The vehicles got stuck in the clay;
K9 was a right bitch to work with;
Chief Clown’s teeth still hurt to this day.

Nick always had to have his three pints’ worth;
Those costumes were terribly hot;
“I was just about to go on leave
When the high-ups said, ‘No Jon, you’re not.’”

I’m off. This is it. I’ll do Dreamwatch.”
Katy had the map upside-down;
The horse it set off through the woodwork;
And the whole thing came tumbling down.

Ark In Space got thirteen million
And we knew we would still be a hit.
We wanted Victorian London
So we caked his Ferrari in shit.

JH