Saved by a Whisker.

The First Question?

I do not know the answer to that but I have off late gave some thought to answering another question which has surely crossed the mind of any long term fan of the television series Doctor who;Who On Earth Is Tom Baker? And like the first question perhaps it is best left unanswered. Why take the Baker out of Baker anymore than the Who out of Who. Except to the rational mind it might occur that one is a fictional character whilst the other is a Liverpudlian actor of infinite charm. Tom baker's biography Who On Earth Is Tom Baker attempts to answer that very question and what a bitter sweet series of possible answers are given to this Galifreyan riddle. It is a wonderful book. One of the most honest and rewarding autobiographys I have ever read. It is really quite unlike any other I have ever read and I suspect it will always remain so. No one else would ever be so tough on themselves. If you are so inclined treat yourself to a copy of Tom baker reading his own book. It is laugh out loud funny in places and completely heartbreaking in others. The writer so reveals himself to be utterly human after all. Not an alien at all. Mister Baker's editors must have had a few eye popping moments the first time they read through the original text. It is a joy and you will love him all the more when you get to the end and the darkly playful coda that draws a conclusion to the book.
               Found this old comic strip from back in the day. From an old Shiver and Shake annual(there is no credit for the writer or artist or I would mention them accordingly). This was from a time when you only had to pop on a floppy old hat and a long scarf and everyone in the world knew who you were pretending to be. Such was the cultural impact of Tom Baker's Doctor in the UK. An almost instant cultural icon. I had a go myself with a mix of old clothes our neighbours were kind enough to donate to the Coney kids jumble. Such was the genorosity of the times and the random nature of second hand clothes. I did not have a sonic screwdriver but I did have an old cake whisk which I liberated from a bin in Etna Drive alleyway. I never even had to mimic the sound of the sonic in action, the whisk turn key on the side did that. I never opened a door with it but I did diffuse a Silurian Viral Bomb in the grounds of the old egg factory.
                Saved the world I did.
                As an adult human being it is not something I indulge in much. I do believe I have quite lost the knack of it. Although I am still quite a dab hand with a whisk.
                Its all in the wrist action you know.

Bloody Musical.

Was feeling a little down in the dumps the other night(post Halloween blues.) so I put on Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street to cheer myself up and it worked a bloody treat. One of the great Burton/Depp collaborations, I wish more people would give it a shot. Johnny has never looked better; so haunted and heart broken( although I will always have a soft spot for his Mad Hatter. I am convinced that Top Hat of his was a Tardis which had a functioning chameleon circuit.) And although it does not exactly have a happy ending Sweeney does get his revenge on those who wronged him;in sprays of arterial blood inbetween seventies Bowie Impersonations. Helena Bonham Carter makes a great Mrs Lovett The Human Pie maker. She just about gets the best exit in a musical ever. It is eye-poppingly gruesome.
               Enthused; I dug out a few other bits and pieces related to the dark tale of Sweeney Todd. My house is a bit like Steptoe and Sons. You just never know what you are going to find. I was not even aware I was so keen on the story of The Demon Barber and its various incarnations. Amongst some other bits and pieces I found a dvd copy of the stage play, with Angela Lansbury(yep, Old Jessica Fletcher herself). To me Landsbury will forever be The truly sweet and truly doomed tragic figure Sybil Vane in the film The Picture Of Dorian Gray. I also found a version of Todds tale starring Freddie Francis in a totally bonkers Hogarthian nightmare version for a seventies horror show Mystery And Imagination. Each version dipped in blood and its own originality. Bringing something different to the table to be served with gravy.
                I even found a replica cut throat razor blade as the one used in Depp's version which I store in a drawstring red satin pouch. What gentleman does not carry one of those?
                Now all I need is someone who trusts me enough to give them a really close shave.
                And to think my favorite musical as a child was Oliver. FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD!There is just something about the cobble streets of Olde Englande that lends itself to musical fantasy. Maybe it is time I finished my Jack The Ripper musical The Scarlet Fandango.
                Wonder if Ryan Kwanten can sing and dance.
                 He can walk on his hands.
                 Which is pretty close.
                 OH FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD!
               

Olivers Back.

Here is a doodle I did to celebrate the return of the most perfectly formed back on television; none other than Stephen Amell on Arrow!Season two has just started and will no doubt hit the spot.Let us see Ryan Kwanten As Barry Allen The Flash.Please.Or as Hal Jordan The Green Lantern.Oh yeah that would be good. Or as Ralph Dibney The Eloganted Man. Oh boy he would be all bendy and pliable and stretchy. Or as J'on J'onnz the Martian Manhunter, Seven feet tall,Green and Australian. Oh Christmas!

The Ghost In My Pocket.

You just never know what you are going to find in the most unlikely of places.Early one Friday morning I had been down at Saint Georges Market hoping to pick up a winter coat, around the second hand cloths stalls. Back when second hand clothes were actually second hand clothes and not "vintage"as they have been re-branded by the terminally middle class. Anyway, whilst poking around in an old cyprus banana box I came across a very attractive old leather wallet which really caught my eye.It was a quite fancy looking old thing with broad stitching around the edges and what appeared to be a Celtic design carved into it. It was basically brown colored with gradations running through it that gave it a richly textured aspect. I had no idea what the design or symbol meant but it gave the wallet an ancient quality which made it attractive. I thought it was lovely and asked the woman who owned the stall how much she wanted for it and she only asked for the princely sum of a pound coin. Only a pound! A bargain I thought. She even old me she thought it had been hand made by an interned political prisoner back at the height of the troubles. Hmmm. What a heart warming story I thought. I had an impression of the heart broken and slightly mental cobbler imprisoned in the Bastille in Charles Dickens a Tale Of Two Cities. 

It was not until I got home and opened it I discovered the name Malachy carved into he leather of the inside. I could barely believe my own eyes. I have never seen my name on anything and now I find it cut into a leather wallet I had found in such a random fashion. I thought THIS IS THE WALLET FOR ME! This is a magic wallet. I thought if I keep money in this it will multiply, like the magic buckets in Micky Mouse's The Magician's Apprentice. A fabulous new life was about to begin for me with this magic wallet and I knew anything connected to its use will become imbued with magical properties and their value increased tenfold. I was very pleased to put it on display on the mantle of our fireplace. 

My ma, who was partially sighted at that time, threw it on the fire and burnt it. When one of my sisters had explained to her what she had laid hands on and was told the unlikely story of how I had come across it, just by chance finding a personalized wallet, she came to the decision I would be better off without it. She thought no good could come from an object found in such a way. She was like that, my ma. In her world there was magic everywhere and not all of it good. I was gutted but it was burnt and no amount of whining was going to un-burn it.

Maybe she was right. I will never know. Maybe thanks to her canniness I dodged a bullet.

A magic bullet.

p.s. Happy Halloween. From myself and Lil' Micheal Myers.

Going Underground.

I am still pinching myself, this is such a dream-like fugue state for a Doctor Who fan to find themselves in. Two Second Doctor Patrick Troughton stories recovered from storage in Nigeria; a complete Enemy Of The World and an almost complete...Web of fear. Oh my giddy aunt. it is almost as unlikely as a complete Tomb of The Cybermen being found in Japan. Oh wait, did'nt that actually happen?
               Was watching a feature on The One Show on Friday night on this historic find. And there it was, a scene from a story I have never believed I would get a chance to see. Scenes which had only played out in the run down theater of my mind were suddenly unfolding on the television in my living room. Yeti in the London Underground. The return of The Great Intelligence and the first appearance of one of the Doctor's very best friends Alistair Lethbridge Stewart. A crackling alien web spreading across an abandoned capitol city suffocating anyone it rolled over. Patrick Troughton at the height of his powers and on top of his game with Jamie and Victoria ably assisting him. Did I mention Yeti in the London Underground? Oh Boy, the Hartnell and Troughton eras of the Doctor's life have a mythic resonance for someone like me who came on board with Pertwee. A quality that still gives me goose-bumps whenever I am lucky enough to be treated to one of their stories on DVD. No matter how creaky it might appear. I am altogether quite creaky myself these days. I still cannot help but think about how the world probably was beyond the viewers front door whilst watching these stories on the original night of transmission. Was the world truly all black and white and mad all over? I first gained a proper awareness and knowledge of this three-faced hero through one of the first books I ever owned. The Making Of Doctor Who by Malcolm Hulke. My Rossetta Stone to a subject not a single other person, child or adult, knew or cared about the history of. Then came the greatest single publication I have ever owned and read(for the seismic impact it had upon my empty brain); The Radio Times Doctor Who Tenth anniversary Special. My poor Ma and Da never had a spare penny to spend on treats for themselves or us so I can only imagine the job I must have had to convince them to buy me a copy. They did though and it has turned out to be a gift for life.
                   Hats off to the man who went out there into the unknown and brought these treasures back. The Raider Of The Lost Tapes.
                  Philip Morris I love you.
                  The Web Of Fear would have been more than enough,thank you, but to also bring back The Enemy Of The World! A swinging sixties future retro epic with a double whammy turn by Troughton as the Doctor and the evil Salamander. I cannot help but think this story will suprise everyone with a fabulous glimpse into a period of the show no one ever expected to have the chance to see. Oh Happy days.

A Haunted Bookshelf.

NO LIVE ORGANISM CAN CONTINUE FOR LONG TO EXIST SANELY UNDER CONDITIONS OF ABSOLUTE REALITY; EVEN LARKS AND KATYKIDS ARE SUPPOSED, BY SOME, TO DREAM. HILL HOUSE, NOT SANE, STOOD BY ITSELF AGAINST ITS HILLS,HOLDING DARKNESS WITHIN; IT HAD STOOD SO FOR EIGHTY YEARS AND MIGHT STAND FOR EIGHTY MORE.WITHIN WALLS CONTINUED UPRIGHT, BRICKS MET NEATLY, FLOORS WERE FIRM, AND DOORS WERE SENSIBLY SHUT.; SILENCE LAY STEADILY AGAINST THE WOOD AND STONE OF HILL HOUSE, AND WHATEVER WALKED THERE WALKED ALONE.
                     So begins chapter one of The Haunting Of Hill house by Shirley Jackson. After reading this how could anyone possibly not wish to read further. A classic novel tracing the supernatural experiences of a team of ghost hunters in a house that was just plain born bad.It is quite a subtle novel given its subject matter; one that has been turned into a movie adaption twice. Once quite honorably, the other less so. I remember seeing the first as an impressionable child and then watching it again as an impressionable adult. Both times it quite gave me the willies. Whatever it is that stalks the halls of Hill House is a thing without empathy or mercy but possessed of a cool calculation that devours the unwary. It is a remorselessly evil entity that obeys no known laws that make sense of the flukey randomness of existence.It is very old and very wiley and very much should not be.
                     There are some wonderful books out there that explore that dark territory, monstrously cruel things rooted in bricks and mortar; it is a rich vein of horror which is enjoying something of a revival in literature, television and cinema.What about Hell House by Richard Matheson orThe Turn Of The Screw by Henry James. Books reprinted many times by many generations of readers. Both contemporary at time of publication, each successfully moving from decade to decade gaining appreciation as the years pass. And for the sheer joy of a tale about the power of tales what about The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow by Washinton Irving. Ichabod Crane is a timeless literary creation, one who captures the spirit of this time of year as no other.
                     Just setting the mood for the beginning of a journey into the heart of the October Country.
                     The only maps being the ones we write ourselves.