Doctor Who, like the crack in Amelia Pond’s wall, has been with me for a very long time, almost since I was born. I grew up with the Doctor in various forms fighting against the vast range of of alien baddies on these things called “VHS” tapes.
And from here I learned about the murderous Daleks and Davros in Death to the Daleks and Resurrection of the Daleks, the chilling Zygons,and then there was this man draining the life out of Victorian women in The Talons of Weng-Chiang. And then there was the brilliance of the Master and the ruthless Cybermen and FIVE Doctors (arguably four) in The Five Doctors, bringing a dose of the decadence and corruption of the Time Lords. Along with that I witnessed a wonderful range of brilliant and loyal friends, from Sarah-Jane Smith to Tegan Jovanka and Turlough, and even Dr. Grace Holloway (yes guys, The Movie and Paul McGann are canon! Somewhat).
In 2003, I heard that Doctor Who was coming back. It didn’t occur to me that it was gone. And then I saw a picture of Christopher Eccleston with long hair and a beard, so I decided I didn’t like him. How wrong I was.
From then on, Doctor Who has become so much more important to me, with Chris, David Tennant (the Doctor I love) and now Matt Smith (the ultimate best friend) continuing the role to new depths of story-telling and making me cry more than is deemed socially acceptable. Because while the song may have ended [in 1989], Russell T Davies and Steven Moffat have shown that the story never ends.
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