Publicity Shots From Hell No.124

Oh dear, it looks like Nicola Bryant has read my last post.

 

Thank goodness she has someone mature and level-headed at hand in this shot to lend a sympathetic ear...

Publicity Shots from Hell No.72

A week of steadily worsening toothache and stockpiling of painkillers.

It sounds mean-spirited to connect this to the sudden unannounced appearance last weekend of a small fish tank here in Monoid HQ, but the shrill, piercing noise of (what I consider to be a cheap and malfunctioning) filtration system isn't doing my nerves any favours.

 

But even more disturbing than the prospect of impending dental work is the thought of Colin Baker attempting to emulate that infamous Katy Manning photo shoot...

While remaining fully clothed so as not to give any passing children nightmares is certainly a good thing, the Rehearsal Crocs do leave a lot to be desired.

 

Not that it bothers the Dalek, as we will recall when we resurrect an old joke and crack open our scan of the 1965 "Dalek World" book...

Publicity Shots from Hell No.59

Oh look, Season 24!

Something tells me that there may be a radical reappraisal of the Seventh Doctor due around here sometime soon.

The McCoy era had always been regarded in these parts as something of a coda to the main event, but reading the "About Time" volume covering those years a while back, I found myself eagerly awaiting their arrival in the viewing schedule.

Because over the years, I have slowly realised that all the things I instinctively balked at with McCoy have been shown to be merely the tip of an unwelcome fanwank iceberg since the launch of the Welsh programme.

So, here's to water under the bridge, and happier times and places.

And a totally unrelated picture of Colin Baker picking his nose.

After listening to various convention anecdotes regarding the shooting of this scene, I sincerely hope this was taken when his hands weren't covered in dog excrement...

Publicity Shots from Hell No.55

Quite busy of late, and nothing much to show for it.

 

In the temporary lulls between showers, thoughts have been turning towards finally doing something about the Security Kitchen garden. (Differences of opinion have caused the project to languish for many years, but now that I have maneuvered the chickens out of the equation, I feel much more inclined to proceed).

 

So after many tantrums (not mine) and changes of mind (same), things actually look ready to start. Which is of great interest to all, I am sure.

 

(Well, it's of interest to me. Today I have been digging up and moving ferns which I am desperate to keep for sentimental reasons. These are the same ferns that doubled as the forests on the Endor moon when I used to play at this very house as a child. Even earlier, I remember my father carrying me up the street on his shoulders, so proud of his infant son but never saying so. This house holds so many ghosts now, it's no wonder I'm crying all the time).

 

Anyway, none of that has any bearing whatsoever on Season 22, which I finished viewing yesterday.

 

Now, Season 22 was the first season of yer Proper Doctor Who that I recorded onto VHS for endless repeated domestic viewing, and the AGFA E-180 cassettes used are now burned into my memory forever more.

And after all this time, I'm still somewhat underwhelmed by Colin Baker's portrayal of the Doctor. Which was a quite fashionable position to hold at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight it seems somewhat churlish.

 

From what I have seen of him in interviews and media appearances, I am almost apologetically desperate to like Colin Baker as a person. He seems a genuinely nice chap. But his tenure as the Doctor just doesn't cut it for me.

 

As I have mentioned before, having your first story portray you as an unstable lunatic is not a great help, especially when you have the best part of a year to have that image linger in the public mind before you get your first stab at settling down.

 

(In other words, I spent rather a long time thinking I didn't like the Sixth Doctor before I was allowed to officially not like him much for real).

 

Also, the sudden (almost arbitrary) adoption of 45-minute episodes (or epizodes, if you prefer) seemed to cause an unwelcome proliferation of lengthy scenes with Colin shouting at Nicola Bryant at the TARDIS console. (One of the few triumphs of "Revelation of the Daleks" is that the TARDIS arrives on Necros with no tiresome interior preambles. And despite being one of the most promising of the 1980's companion actresses, Ms Bryant was never allowed to reach her full potential. Put up against so much bullshit and bluster in a character, anyone could be excused for coming across as a timid whinger).

 

Anyway, let's raise a glass to Colin Baker for giving it a damn good try in circumstances where it appears any man was bound to fail.

Still, there's no excuse for this, though...

Publicity Shots from Hell No.37

Whilst the world awaits Thursday's press conference to announce which (and how many) hitherto-lost episodes of yer Proper Doctor Who have been rediscovered, it's back in the old routine here in the Security Kitchen.

 

So what do you do after an enforced hiatus? Hold an hilarious, rib-tickling photo-call, of course!

 

  

Oh, Colin. Those heady days of adulation and optimism were to prove to be so short-lived...