Leaves.

(From my sketch book.) The council do not seem to have collected the fallen leaves so much this year. They gathered, dried, blew around and are now turning to slippy messes. One feels seasonably melancholy. Until one falls on ones hoop. It feels like the debris of twenty three, seasons come and go, we pop up and think none of it would make sense without us to see it. is that hubris or just self-awareness? Either way, its slippery.

The Metatemporal Detective

The Multiverse unfolds in this thrilling collection of pulpy detective yarns, eleven great stories with glorious titles, such as "The Case Of The Nazi Canary" and The Pleasure Garden Of Felipe Sagitatarius". They might be short stories but they bulge with a creative heft. More of a Moorcockverse than a multiverse, a much overused description in the current shared cultural zeitgeist. There are familiar situations and pulp tropes that lean in a swarthier direction than might first appear, more British pulp than American. I do not suggest that in an adversorial fashion, merely pointing out the tonal differences. Its all good after all, the observation is not intended as a qualification of quality. What would I know,after all. Genres ripple with Overton Windows, the unspoken and the outspoken, the obvious brushing shoulders with the not so obvious. With the unfathomably talented Michael Moorcock setting the tone rather than following someone elses. His avatar Seaton Begg, crosses into worlds where scientific progress has taken different paths, and proceeded at different rates, creating societies that mirror each other in cracked actor stylee. In some there are electric cars, Oh how sci-fi, (as if that could ever happen in the real world."It will never happen, they will never catch on-" Coppernicus Magillicutty, 1666) in others there are airships filling the sky in retro steampunk fashion. The Court Of The Faerie Queene persists, illuminating and alchemically enriching. Empires that gloriously fell in our world, remain stubbornly intact. There are familiar faces from his own extended multiverse, as much as our own pantheon of riches. Elric of Melnibone reappears in the dastardly form Count Zenith. As does Una Persson and Lady Rose of Von Bek ( A character I am not too familiar with. But that will come in time. )The adventures in this book ripple out in kalidiscopic waves. Resulting in a colourful collection of densely formed tales which feel just perfect for these dark months. The dark months which can feel endless in this part of Northern Ireland. Life on the slow path, eh? Might as well make it as artistically fulfilled as it is possible for ape descendants to enjoy. I'm felling pretty Metatemporal myself tonight.

Happy Ninetieth birthday Tom Baker.

The Doctor walks in eternity and so does Tom's iteration of Our Hero. Happy Birthday to the greatest time-Lord of them all.

Very Merry Ncutti.

The Church On Ruby Road is on Christmas Day, signalling the return of a beautiful yuletide-centric ( Very Christmassey in other words.)tradition and also truly signalling the beginning proper of a whole new era of Doctor Who. Something new built out of something old.I have always been traveling in Tom Baker's Tardis, so to speak, so everything we have got since has just been delicous gravy to me and this year it looks like we are about to get a double helping of sauce. Ugh, Not sure why I went all foodieholic there but eating is also something I really enjoy. Got a chance to read an interview with Ncutti Gatwa and I was very impressed with what this smart young man had to say. His personal insights were right on the money, beautifully explaining why the character of the Doctor has such a broad appeal. Particularly to those who grow feeling socially awkward, those who spend their time being chased by the pack rather than running with it. I am not one to get emotional reading interviews but one of the things he had to say really connected on a personal level. A terrifically understated reasoning about a very complex set of emotional variables. One of those life lessons you can tell he lived through rather than got out of a book. Bravo Ncutti, you got a wise old head on those young shoulders. Russel T Davis really gets to work with some of the most talented and unique individuals. And what a fine fellow Ncutti seems to be. Bursting with energy and a warm vulnerability. I was wondering how Russel T Davis finds them as he has a way of wringing career bests from the people he works with. I suspect they seek him out given his remarkable presence in the world of television and creative writing in general.He is a writer and producer whos always on top of his game. He is like a jolly Welsh Wizard, a Gandalf figure constantly changing and evolving his fellowship. Taking us all with him on his adventures. Off course, it could all be talk, a good actor can make us believe anything (Really! Its a special ability a few individuals possess.) but my sense of it is he is all that he appears to be, inside and out. And boy is he out! A beautiful human being who is about to materialise in our living rooms. Light a wee candle to guide him home.

The Giggle.

Dreaded this mini-season of Doctor Who coming to a close. True, it was three more episodes than I expected to see but I was so wrapped up in them I wanted every Saturday night to be like this. As it was, for oh so many years. Thats the thing about magical joy bringing eras, you dont always know you are in one. So here we are, the episode where we expected to see The Doctor/Donna pairing be torn ascunder once more. Only it was'nt. Joy to the world, our hero did not have to die to make room for the next iteration, he got to live. He got to walk away in his own shoes, with his own feet. Actually, that last line might not make much sense if you are not a long term fan. It has context, a bit wibbly wobbly context, but context all the same. See the End Of Time part one and you will understand what I am referring to; One of the saddest lines delivered by The Doctor in the history of the traveler. The Giggle begins in London 1925 in one of the most striking toy shops I ever laid eyeballs on. Honestly, the level of design in this show is just lovely. I once looked around an old toyshop in Spain many years ago and got a similar vibe. It is there we meet stooky Bill and a carefully woven trap is set. I entered the room at my house where I watch television and from the opening to the end I never sat down once. I did not even really notice I was standing in front of the telly the whole time. I was well beyond the edge of the seat. Fast paced, exciting, a thrill ride in great company with some old faces and some new ones. The Doctor has never seemed more heroic and yet vulnerable, worn down by lifetimes of emotional trauma, unresolved, always building, crushing him down, carrying a painful weight that only his very best friend, Donna, could see him struggling with. And how beautifully portrayed by the gifted David Tennent. The "This old face" question having an unexpectedly poignant payoff. Fortunately, just waiting in the wings, or perhaps next to The Doctor's kidneys, is Ncutti Gatwa. And I use the present tense with precision, he is The Doctor now. Helping save the day in his underpants! Its more than a giggle, its a belly laugh from deep down! He hit the ground running, perfectly formed and ready for adventure. I am glad that almost the first words he hears are Mel's, telling him how beautiful he is, in character from the first words. And his race is just beginning. Run you clever boy!

Wild Blue Yonder.

Well, that was a wild ride for half six on a saturday evening, on a dark December day in twenty twenty three.From its delightful opening with Sir Issac Newton, who was lucky to get away with just an apple landing on his head after the way both Donna and The Doctor were gushing over him, to a slowly, literally, unfolding nightmare in space. The elasticity of this lovely shows format being stretched from a field in England in 1666 to the very edges of existance and the terrible nothing that might wait there. The chemistry between the two leads was Alchemical, with a precisely used capital A. Russel T Davis script was one of his best ever and thats a pretty high bar as it is. And as for the appearence of Bernard Cribbens at the end, it quite unmanned me. Whatever that means anymore. That lovely old face of his and that voice. Oh Wilfred Mott, we love you. Two episodes in and one to go. It hurts and it makes me want to sing. Count yer blessings, you really would not want to hear the results. This current iteration of Doctor Who; A thing of beauty and a joy forever.

The Star Beast.

"Knock,Knock." "Whos There" "Its Me." "Me Who?" "You Know Who." And by jingo, we do. A New Doctor with a familiar face. A lovely familiar old face. And hes not alone. Some old friends have reappeared to join him, to help him, and him to help them. The heroes journey begins once more. Well, you know how it goes. There is even a new Rose. Whos also got a lovely face and a heroic journey of her own to go on. And The Star Beast gets the on screen outing it already seemed to have in the theatre of my mind. Thats how powerful the old Doctor Who Weekly stories were. They may have been told in a different medium, a sister medium, so to speak, but their power persists after decades. Blooming well hats off to Pat Mills, John Wagner and Dave Gibbons. Absolute Genius, each one. And thanks to Russel T Davis millions got to discover this too. As before The Doctor and Doctor charisma leapt off the television screen. How on Earth do they manage to go from making you laugh to making you cry in just moments? Its some power certain actors possess. Its unearthly. An unearthly charm? Dark Saturday nights with Doctor Who. What a beautiful thing.