As the experiment neared its conclusion, our thoughts turned to what we might do together once it was over.
Like so many others who watched the London Olympics, Sue has been inspired to become an Olympian herself. She says it would be something we could tell our grandchildren when we’re older, as if sitting through every episode of Doctor Who in public wouldn’t be worth bragging about. Sue’s first choice of sport – tennis – was ruled out because we are much too old, while mine – walking – was vetoed on account of it looking too silly. Then Sue had a brainwave. How about archery? She played darts for the county and appeared on Bullseye in 1989, and as darts had yet to be recognised as an Olympic sport, archery was the next best thing. Archery is not usually thought of as the poor relation of darts and I had to explain to Sue that you don’t go for a double top in archery. But she seems adamant. Don’t rule us out for 2016.
We are both hopelessly addicted to the internet, and the last two and a half years haven’t exactly helped. Having said that, the only time Sue wasn’t checking her phone for incoming messages, or browsing the web for ‘doer-uppers in France’, was when we sat down to watch Doctor Who together. When this is all over, I will probably never talk to my wife again, not unless she goes cold turkey and logs off for a while. No phone. No email. No Facebook. No French immobilier websites. Sue will have to quit her job if we go through with this, but that’s OK because it’s her turn, and she won’t be able to read any online reviews of this book either, which is also a definite plus.
Sue is vigorously pursuing this dream right now, and to be fair she does have some form when it comes to developing television formats. In the early 1990s she came up with an idea for a programme where a panel of venture capitalists would give their money away for a share in someone’s business. She called the show The Entrepreneurs and I didn’t waste any time in telling her that it was the worst idea I had ever heard. No one would be interested in watching smug millionaires doling out cash to hapless inventors and failed businessmen, I told her. Unfortunately, for once she listened to me. Sue likes to bring this up quite a lot.
At present Sue is developing a Top Secret idea about which she is understandably cagey. All she will tell me is that it involves John Barrowman, a coachload of people and a trip to the Australian Outback. It doesn’t sound very promising to me, but don’t be surprised if a programme called Barrowman’s Big Boomerang Charabanc appears on BBC Three next year.
I am more than willing to accompany Sue on this jaunt, as long as she understands that its purpose is the decommissioning or ‘retirement’ of Michael Bublé, with a well-aimed poison dart if necessary.
Sue refuses to see the funny side of assassinating Michael Bublé.
I would quite like to do this and have considered several possible candidates – Blake’s 7, Star Trek, even All Creatures Great and Small. The only exception is Doctor Who since its comeback. I wouldn’t want to commit myself to a blog that theoretically might never end and would probably result in something that looked like this:
Sue: David Tennant is very easy on the eye. I would definitely run away in the TARDIS with this Doctor.
Me: That puts the website’s ‘I fancy David Tennant’ counter at 583. And we’re only on his fourth story.
And yet, for more than two years, visitors to the blog kept begging us to extend the experiment and do the new series as well. For all those people, and for anyone interested in Sue’s theory about the Doctor’s real name, I have included a very special treat in the epilogue to this book. The only possible thing that could persuade us to tackle Eccleston, Tennant and Smith in full – or as Sue calls them the Hard Guy, My Third Husband and the Pipsqueak – is a series of record-breaking pledges on Kickstarter. Actually, that’s not a bad idea …