Androids Of Tara.

Blimey, was not expecting this. Began what I thought would be a straight forward enough adaption of what i remember from the television series and within a couple of pages there was mention of feudal slavery, apocalyptic diseases decimating the population of Tara and even mention of terrifing coersive bed hopping and death by being buried alive. Told at a jaunty angle, as though to say "get a load of this medieval lot". Even as a thinly read Belfastian like my fourteen year old self, as I was in 1978 when this story was first transmitted, could tell this was a pastiche of some similar materia ( the Prisoner Of Zenda and possibly Herges King Ottaker's Sceptre. Probably because it felt so familiar in a BBC classic adaption sort of way, I barely considered Tara to be an alien planet , more a faux-Latveria filled with swah bucking high adventure and low paranoid robomania. Tara is a pecuiar city state stretched planet wide (as sci-fi stories tend to portray when visiting other worlds, one planet, one race, one weather system,one political and social system. its a long standing trope that has never made much sense but readers mostly go along with it without realising how odd this actually is.) The villan of the piece, Count Grendel of Gracht,as played by fantastic character actor Peter Jeffreys, pops up in proceedings as a worthy, if moustache-swirlingly swarthy, adversary for The Doctor. He plays a wicked counterpoint to our child-like but brilliant hero. Grendel is a selfish bully, born to the purple. Yet he is very much a product of the society he inhabits where he the percieved "good guys" operate around a very aggresive class bound system (They even threaten to murder The Doctor because he does not immediately sucumb to their demands!) The class system on Tara is feudal and just about as undemocratic as Doctor Doom's Latveria. Social mobility is an impossible dream on this world and The Doctor and Romanna do absolutely nothing to change this. Passing through as they do "on little cat feet" like the fog in the poem by Carl Sanburg. The Count Grendel, as the name would imply, is a Wrong 'un, and it comes through even stronger in David Fisher's clever and exciting little novelization. The second of two recently released and botyh have proved to be a hugely enjoyable addition to the Doctor Who library. It even ends with a golden age of Hollywood sword fight between The Count and The Doctor, playing out across the villan's castle lair. Yes, very enjoyable with cheeky and unexpected liberties taken with the expanded text which add to the fun.

Lord Of The Flies.

My brother Barney used to share an attic room in Etna drive with our brother Michael. It was a very sparten room, neither boy interested in cluttering it with brac-a-brac.But Barney had a box of possessions which used to intrigue me and I used to ask to see inside it, which he would let me do but only when he was there to supervise. It had his stuff in it, bits and pieces like a penknife, some marbles ("Marlies"), a spud gun, some throwing jacks and one battered paperback. A copy of The Lord Of The Flies by William Golding. It was the only book I remember him showing any interest in as a boy. When he was an adult he asked me if I would keep my open for a copy only he mistakenly asked for Lord Of The Rings, which I got him a copy off. A week or so later he gave me it back saying it was the wrong book "The one I want is about all these wee mad bastards on an island. This ones all about wee men with big feet chasing a bogeyman, or somethin'" he said rolling his eyes. Tolkien would blush. I just reread the book on his behalf and it really is about a load of feral kids running amok on an island. It is probably saying so much more than that. Dealing with complex issues such as nature versus nurture and just how close we reamain all our lives to our original primal state. But I do much prefer my brother's description.

The Canine and The Pussy Cat.

The lovely Joanne/Catwoman lending support to the Guide Dogs For The Blind while cosplaying at an event in Dublin. Its a cause so close to my heart and its lovely to see her playfully drawing attention to it. And boy did she draw attention to it. All done in the best possible taste off course.

The Stones Of Blood.

One of the latest in a recent wave of novelizations based on episodes classic and moern era. The Stones Of Blood was the third story in the Key To Time season, the ambitous season long story arc that had The Doctor, Romanna and K9 back and forward bouncing back and forward through the Cosmos on a quest for a pleasingly elegant and easily explained Cosmic Maguffin (We are talkingInfinity Stones power levels here. On a BBC budget, off course.) Following the hugely overcomplicated Pirate Planet its a return to deceptively familiar territory with a story set against a backdrop of standing stones, ancient Goddesses and two looney justice machines. I say that last bit with a degree of casuality that would imply justice machines are not uncommon. Not forgetting some genuinely unsettling silicon based blood devouring moveable beasts; The OgriJust a few weirdly shaped balls being juggled by a creative team hellbent on testing the elasticity of the Doctor Who format. A touch of Nigel Kneale and Quatermass, a touch of MR James and A Warning To The Curious, jumping with a witty lightness of touch of theme upon theme. Its all quite ridiculous, off course, and all the more magnificent for that. There is nothing even remotely like it on television these days.Nope, not anymore. This delightful and imaginatively enriching televisual experience has pretty much disapeared. The generation who leant it wings moving on to other dreaming pastures, where England is always dreaming. Looking for another segment of the Key To Time, The Tardis team lands in modern day, ahem, Cornwall, next to a standing stone circle , ahem, named The Nine Travelers, the intrepid, (yes, they surely are.) soon encounter the delightful and dotty Professor Emelia Rumford and her "companion, a big loud ahem here, Vivien Fey and quicker than it takes to say "Would you like a jelly baby?" they find themselves almost sacrificed by Calliech Cultists or crushed and drained of blood by the ominous and unrelenting Ogri. Hyperspace and justice machines are involvedbefore too long. With supposed supernatural events merging with hyperspacial ones in ways that feel as though someone had found a script for an unproduced Hammer Horror movie written by Douglas Adams. Atmospheric location shooting and memorable and engaging protagonists, its Doctor Who at its most barmy. Although it can feel as though the Good doctor has been around forever, at the time of airing the show had been on the air for fifteen years, Years filled with great story telling, joy and invention. With fear and laughter, tears of joy and tears of sadness. In many ways the years now passed have been even kinder to a show that feels like a comforting and familiar endless scarf..

Amazing Heroes.

I was very surprised recently by being approached by a collector asking me to sign a copy of Amazing Heroes for him. "Sure" i replied, but then asked why, mystified. "Because you have a piece of art published in it", he replied. And it turns out I did. From way back in 1990. another century, blimey.Although I did not remember it. That old broken brain off mine. So sign it I did, thanking him for restoring a little of my past to me. Twas a Southern Gentleman too and I especially liked the idea of that comic magazine traveling. Art is everywhere.Heres the piece of art;

Bernard Cribbins.

Well there goes another very special man. Dear Bernard Cribbins has passed out of this world. With a career spawning decades and touching greatness with a life full of beloved characterizations, this man was as unique as its possible to be. People of all ages, of alll walks of life loved this man and what he brought to the cultural zeitgeist, whatever thats worth these days. A culture, like a person is built on the sum of its shared memoris, it helps define how we see ourselves in a chaotic universe, so the mirror Bernard Cribbins showed us to our face was one that made us smile and brought out the best in us.

Spider Plant.

It started off as just one cutting bought from a girl guide three years ago and all these came from it. Big things have small beginnings. As insane genocidal robot David once said.

Missy In The Upside Down.

That darn Missy, she gets everywhere and always where and when you least expect it. Here she is turning the upside down a whole lot upside downier! And dont even get me started on what she got up to on board the Enterprise! Infinite Diversity in infinite Combination used to be a by-word for Federation Policy. Missy left it Infinitely Messed Up.

(Thanks as always to Chameleonic Joanne.)

White Rabbit.

(From my sketchbook.)

Eaters Of Light.

I grew up reading the many, many Doctor who novelizations of episodes. In the pre-home video recording machines it was the closest one could get to seeing the stories once more. They were, in most instances, so much more though than just translations of scripts. They had a shelf life all their own and owning a pile of them felt much like traveling with that beloved madman in a box. This is one of the first I have picked up and read , for a very long time. A novelization of a very enjoyable Peter Capaldi story, with Celts and Romans and interdimensional devourers of light. Just look at that cover, how it took me back to the days of yore when Chris Achileous was bringing a whole new charge of energy to a series of books that very quickly had a hungry audience crying for more.This novelization does more and does less than the eposode as transmitted. Which signifies this stand alone tale is more than just a storyboard for the screenplay. Another good reason to pick it up.Although the threat, the monsters, the Eaters Of Light do remain a bit enogmatic, but isnt that the nature of Doctor Who. I am all for putting the Who back into Doctor Who. This is episode is still relatively fresh in my memory and I do think its a little sad that such quality television viewing is already receeding.There is literally nothing occupying that special niche that the Good Doctor filled so comfortably. i love the ambition of this series. Theres nothing else even comes close.Its got one of my favourite Tardis Teams too, The Doctor, Nardol and Bill... Mind you, they are all my favourites.

The Improbable Cat.

Found this lovely wee book on a recent book trawl. Being a largely shallow person , I judged it by its charmong cover. The sight of a comfortable looking cat peering into the heat of a naked fireplace, with a toasty clow playing about its fur,recreating an increasingly unseen view. Its not the sight of a cat in front of a comfortable heat source I refer to. Instead I ask how few people burn fuel so openly these days? As a read it so reminded me of those genuinely spooky tales of yesteryear that could be found in children's anthologies such as Alfred Hitchcock's Ghostly Gallery or some such collection with a fine line glimpse of some nocturnal terror.That is me sound biting by the way, trying to encourage the casually interested in a spooky wee tale that will linger in ones imagination long after finishing. If the Children Of One End Street had a cat it would not have been a cat like this. Although the book does have the feel of a cut from the mould of classic children's literature. Rigt down to that moodily atmospheric cover art that sets the tone for the story to follow. The interior illustrations by Peter Bailey continue this moody disosonance. A family take in a limping little kitten, opening their door to the unknowable, both in terms of where the kitten came from and what it potentially may grow into. a kitten can only become a cat after all, in the normal way of things. Strange behaviour and even stranger events begin to manifest as that kitten grows at a fantastic and "improbable" rate. The only member of the family who is alarmed by this series of bizarre developments is the boy David , also the only member of the family who has not as yet...oops, that would be telling. Beware the cat that walks alone.

David Warner.

So sorry to hear of the passing of David Warner. A charismatic and hugely talented performer, who I imagine was a real presence in live theatre. I can only imagine it, off course, as I never had the opportunity to see him live on stage. I have off late very much enjoyed his take on a a version of The Doctor, for Big Finish. Sarky and funny, distant but wryly affectionate, he made the character his own in some lovely box sets starring Lisa Bowerman as Beniece Summerfield. They made for a lovely "Tardis Team" bouncing off each other in the way good actors can. He did so many other great things over the years and even at eighty he was capable of more. Good night sweet prince.

Mary Shelley's Child.

Was tidying my bookroom and found myself distracted once again by the otherworldly genius of Mary Shelley. Probably a good reason for book collectors to get other people to tidy up for them. But then one would miss precious moments of reconnection with texts one had read and shelved. Its the closest thing to "keeping it real" a reader can get. Two hundred years and counting. This remarkable book still resonates today.Rewatching Alien Covenant and Prometheus I saw parrellels in the text, about notions of creation and how much responsibility the creator must take on board for the actions of his creation. Is the murderous rampage the Being goes on as much his creator's fault as its own. Are the gun maker and the gun seller as culpable as the gun user? A horrible question born out of horrible events, is it too much to wish for a less horrible answer?