If
I could pinpoint one television show that has made the biggest impact on me, I
would one hundred percent say Doctor Who.
The day this show entered my life properly was a very good day indeed,
because I have never, ever looked back. Doctor
Who is my TV show, the one I will
resort back to again and again, and I don’t think that attitude will ever stop
for me. I just really, really love Doctor
Who. It breaks my heart, cues emotional breakdowns and makes me laugh like
no other show will and I’m honestly surprised that I’ve never thought to
project that love into words.
After
the recent series nine finale, I’d decided to watch all the episodes again from
2005 onwards, to fulfil that gaping hole that’s left when your favourite show
goes back on hiatus. That meant raking through my endless DVD collection for
series one and rewatching the first episode since the reboot again – Rose. But first, I’m going to tell you
how my love for this ridiculous TV show actually began.
To
the surprise of quite a lot of people who know me well, I didn’t actually begin
as a fan. In fact, I was mostly the opposite. Back in 2005 when the show came
back, I was only about seven or eight, and I utterly hated it. I remember distinctly that the first episode I actually
came across – a year later – was Rise of
the Cybermen and The Age of Steel, where
the monotonous pounding of steel literally haunted my dreams and I couldn’t sleep
for a week. That didn’t mean I gave up, though, oh no – I persisted with The Idiot’s Lantern, but the first time
one of the faces disappeared I was straight behind the sofa with a chilling
image in my head. The Impossible Planet was
possibly the last straw. The minute Tobias Zed turned round with those red eyes
and symbols scrawled over his face I stopped watching it. For four years.
Admittedly,
that was a serious error on my behalf. Those four years were an absolute Golden
Age for NewWho. Looking back now, I wish I had seen it through and persisted –
but at eight years old I could not comprehend the beautiful relationships, the
stunning cinematography and heartbreaking storylines as I can as an eighteen
year old. All I saw were faceless people and heard chilling whispers of don’t turn around.
I
guess Doctor Who fulfilled its
purpose for me. A kid, sat behind the sofa, squealing at any given moment. That’s
the kind of image I see whenever anyone describes watching Classic Who as a
child. The thing was I got so scared that my parents wouldn’t let me watch it again
and I gradually lost interest.
But,
for some reason back in 2010, I decided to start again. And I am so glad that I
did.
The
first episode I properly watched from start to finish was Matt Smith’s first
entrance as the Doctor in The Eleventh
Hour. I was about thirteen and for the first time, I didn’t see Doctor Who as a show that was just scary
anymore. I watched Doctor Who as a
show about a madman with a blue police box, travelling through time and space
with a companion or two and saving planets and defeating villains and it just
being truly magical. Up until that
moment, where I sat and watched the Doctor and Amy run around a hospital whilst
some wacky alien thing was trying to conquer them, I hadn’t found my show. And
as soon as the credits rolled, I had.
Now,
it’s 2016. Six years I’ve been ridiculously addicted to this show: I’ve been to
a cinema screening of the 50th anniversary, watched the regeneration
of the eleventh into the twelfth, seen the loss of the Ponds as well as Clara
Oswald, went back and cried profusely over Doomsday
and collected a very nerdy selection of action figures. I’ve come to the
conclusion that David Tennant is most definitely my Doctor and that I just can’t pick a favourite companion no
matter how many times I change my mind.
I
am probably a bit late on the Doctor Who bandwagon.
But with a show as long-running and highly regarded as Who, I don’t think there’s a time where it’s too late to be a fan.
All I know is that I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving this ludicrous show and
it’s even more ludicrous characters, and even though there are moments where I
almost lose my faith it always manages to win me back.
So,
here’s to another six years of being a fanatic, I guess. Probably more than
that. Because when you run with the Doctor, it feels like it’ll never end.
