Doctor Who: The Stolen Earth

45 minutes of fairly elaborate water-treading and five minutes of OH MY GOOD GOD.

Still laughing at the thought of Rose crossing the entire universe with the thought of a bit of rumpy pumpy with DT (after they save the world, naturally) and she doesn't get so much as a snog before he turns into... (Doctor) WHO? Girl, I feel your pain.

Of course, the key to saving the world could be the key that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES MUST BE USED EVER, which means that it will certainly be used by the end of the next episode. I have a sneaky suspicion that the spare hand might come in - ah - handy, too.

Meanwhile bees, check (anyone else shouting THE BEES, THE BEES at the screen while they slowly figured it out?). Shadow proclamation, check. Medusa Cascade, check. Every character RTD has ever dreamt up, pretty much check, though mostly just saying "so this is it, we're all going to die" a la Arthur Dent. Harriet Jones being cool as, check (welcome back Harriet!) Torchwood still looking like a tinpot organisation run by an ever-decreasing team of utter incompetents, check. Daleks of many colours, check. Exterminate exterminate, check. Davros, check. Donna checking out - not quite check (mate) yet.

Despite the opening sentence of this post, I'd absolutely bloody love it if the Doctor did regenerate next week into someone that the BBC has managed to keep totally quiet, even throwing in some misdirection on the set of next year's Christmas Special. There are not enough total surprises left in television. It does seem unlikely though. Maybe there will be a rescue plan of utter genius. Maybe all we're going to get is the equivalent of Donna getting out of the shower and it was all a dream. RTD, it's over to you.

New Crush, Please

I do not like sport. That is the official line. I do not like playing it and I do not like watching it.

Lately, though, that has become less true. A few months ago I took up swimming on a regular basis (after staying in a hotel with a pool in Canada - oh how I love Canada.) I now go swimming up to four times a week, and have been taking lessons (we are currently working on my Butterfly.) I love the way swimming makes me feel, both physically and emotionally - it's a great way to get rid of stress, and I've been getting that endorphin high I've heard all about but never before experienced. When I was at school, there was no endorphin high. When I was at school, all exercise meant was pain, humiliation and embarrassment.

And now there is Wimbledon. I have watched sport before and even pretended to enjoy it. Football can be gripping, but only really if you care who wins. I've had some exciting nights cheering on Arsenal or France or even England, but there has always been long stretches of play when they were just kicking the ball around in the middle of the pitch and the only way I could figure out who was playing well or who was playing badly was by whether the person standing next to me looked happy or not.

Tennis, though, is different. You can know absolutely nothing about tennis and still be able to follow the game shot by shot, point by point, game by game, and know precisely who is playing well and who is playing badly down to the second. It's psychological, it's emotional, it's unbelievably intense. Also, and this is no small point, they keep the camera in one place so you can see exactly what is going on at all times. I have loved watching tennis as long as I can remember. Indeed one of my earliest memories is of watching McEnroe beat Borg in the Wimbledon final for the first time (1981: I was five). I watched Wimbledon religiously right through to the Sampras era, and then stopped. I'd love to say it was because ball and racquet technology meant that the game got too fast to enjoy, but actually it's because I got a job and couldn't follow the tournament in real time. (I don't like highlights; all the tension is lost.) Anyway, I forgot about tennis and lost track of the players.

Today, after Home and Away, I switched over the BBC2 just to see what was going on. Two and three quarter hours later, I was still glued to my seat, unable to even go to the loo for fear of missing a second of the phenomenal Ancic v Ferrer game. I had never heard of either of these players, but another great thing about tennis is that it can be so beautiful and athletically brilliant - as it was in this game - that it's perfectly easy to enjoy a good game without caring who wins. The winner, as they say, is tennis itself.

Well, I say that, but in practice, within thirty seconds of switching on any men's tennis game, I have always chosen the one I want to win, and it tends to be the one I'd most like to shag. Surely this is human nature. In this case, my heart, and less mentionable bits, went straight to Mario Ancic. God, he is lovely. Tall and thin, just the way I like them, with the most beautiful dark eyes. Not to mention the kind of muscle tone that suggests he could do about six hundred one-handed press-ups. I was completely smitten, and when it looked as though he might lose the fourth set and have to play to a fifth, I was absolutely beside myself. He did me proud, though, and won it in four.

About halfway through that last set, my best friend turned up to have dinner with me. Fortunately she soon became just as engrossed - and just as smitten - as I was. Anyway, about ten minutes after she got here, she turned to me and said: "He looks like that Doctor Who guy doesn't he?" (Not for nothing is she my best friend. She doesn't have a great memory for names, though.)

Well. I couldn't possibly comment. But commenting is what *you* do best:


I am left thinking: could a Croatian tennis-playing David Tennant who has a body suggesting six hundred one-handed press-ups be (gasp) an improvement on the original?

Heresy! Don't even consider it!

And yet I find myself inexorably drawn back to the tennis next week...

Definition Of Stupidity No.3

Managing to burn your other hand on the iron approximately 30 seconds later.

Definition Of Stupidity No.2

Trying to pick up your iron by the hot side.

Definition Of Stupidity No.1

Leaving your handbag behind after a meeting to discuss sensible financial planning.

Reasons To Be Cheerful

plus



plus



All thanks to this lovely person.

Do not read this while you eat.

You have been warned.

I really hate to mention this, but it is so remarkable, not to mention revolting, that I just have to share to see if this is a freak occurrence or if anyone else has experience of the same.

Over the last four days I have seen THREE abandoned *used* sanitary towels. One in the street on the final Capital Ring leg between Hackney Wick and Woolwich. One in the changing room at the Ironmonger Row swimming baths. And one on the walk to the tube station from my house this morning. It is certainly giving my gag reflex a good workout.

Is there an epidemic of these things? Some kind of arch-anarcho-feminist flashmobbing? I actually had a nightmare about it last night.

Advance apology

Due to a ridiculous accumulation of work, admin and life stress (why did I think it would be sensible to release my paperback and do my tax return in the same month?) I fear the blog may go a bit quiet over the next few days. Usually when I say that, I immediately think of seventeen interesting things to blog about, but in a way I hope that I don't, because if I am writing anything - and I'm not writing anything - I really should be writing my novel. Anyway, please bear with me.

Doctor Who: Turn Left

A world without David Tennant would be a terrible place. But apparently not as bad as a world without the Doctor. In this episode we finally found out what Donna has on her back: a novelty scarab-beetle-shaped backpack with the power to change destiny. Put that one on my Christmas list. Anyway, due to its interference, we got to have a run-down on what Doctor Who would be like without the Doctor part - just one long grizzly session of Who is that destroying my planet? Miserable stuff, although not quite as bad as when the Master was in charge (not part of the flashback because with the Doctor dead - "happened too fast for him to regenerate", plot polyfilla fans (er - what?) - there was nobody there to wake him up.) Once we got the idea, it was a reasonably predictable run-through of past episodes with the endings changed to unhappy, which would have been decently crafted, functional, but not terribly interesting, were it not for the presence of Rose.

Rose! Welcome back, Rose. Tell me something, did you always talk as if you have your mouth full? Doesn't matter, doesn't matter, it's good to see you all the same. Quite aside from anything I had forgotten all about that incredible smile. You're less fun (a) without the Doctor and (b) when every universe in history is about to end, but that's understandable. At least you're facing Armageddon with one of your trademark bomber jackets, that must be some comfort, also warm. You made the whole thing creepier, harder to anticipate and a lot more intriguing, and the Bad Wolf ending was phenomenal. And I can't wait for you to see the Doctor again.

So, two weeks to go (poor Donna - make the most of it, love) and the trailer at the end of this one promises one of two outcomes. (a) Russell T going out in a blaze of glory, taking the whole place down with him, every single last possible thing that he has done in four seasons + Torchwood coming out to take a curtain call, essentially a cross between a graduation ceremony, a nuclear explosion and a MySpace-advertised teenage party while the parents are away, and then disappearing, leaving poor Stevie Moffatt with an almighty mountain of clearing up to do; or (b), the above, only really, really shit. Only time will tell...

The Living Dead Writes...

A good night in Luton. Big, friendly, interested crowd, mostly from bookgroups who had read my book, so lots to talk about. And of mixed ages...

Right now I am doing my taxes. It's kind of like being dead, but more boring, and not lying down.

Gods Behaving Flirtatiously

Doing oodles of publicity for Gods Behaving Badly at the moment (including tonight's talk in Luton, Wigmore Library, please come, both over- and under-60s welcome). Yesterday I was in Foyles in St Pancras signing some books. (Foyles is what I would call my favourite chain bookshop if it were a chain bookshop, but apparently it is an independent, despite having a number of branches. This only serves to highlight my confusion over what constitutes a chain and what is an indie. I think of independent bookshops as being small, neighbourhood shops with everything hand-chosen by the small number of staff and the owner-manager, whereas a chain is brightly lit, high street, with stickers. I suppose I should start talking about "local" shops and "high street" shops instead. In which case Foyles, which is brightly lit and uses stickers, is my favourite high street bookseller, because they don't see stickers and intelligence as mutually incompatible, plus - and this is really what nails it - the Foyles cafe on Charing Cross Road is my favourite place to get a sandwich in central London.) ANYWAY. Signed a bunch of copies, £7 only, bargain-hunters, and as I was doing so, the very nice shop assistant told me that her colleague had been reading GBB in the park and a girl had gone and chatted him up because she, too, had read the book! Hurrah! My novel is helping people find love! Sadly, history does not record whether said chat-up attempt was successful, but given that the kind of person who would chat up someone in a park because they were reading GBB might also be the kind of person who would google me and find this blog, I am moderately optimistic of one of the pair leaving me a little comment (anonymous if you prefer) letting me know how things panned out...

Divine Accessory

Help! I have just had an e-mail from a German journalist saying that he would like to take my photograph with a "divine accessory". I don't think I have any divine accessories. Any suggestions? (I don't think he means a pair of Louboutin shoes.)

P'Talbot

Are the people of Wales nicer than everybody else, or is it just an aural illusion because they have such beautiful, kind-sounding accents? In any case, the folk at P'Talbot were lovely. No religious nutjobs either, I did get one question about religion, but it was an interesting, relevant one, not a ten minute lecture on the Truth of the Resurrection. And they laid out a great spread too. In fact, if it hadn't been for the evil trains delaying me each way so that I spent over seven hours travelling yesterday, it would have been perfect.

One thing I did notice though was that almost everyone who came was over sixty. (Kymz, I would have spotted you immediately.) Not that there's anything wrong with being over sixty, I hope to be over sixty myself someday, but it did make me feel quite sad. Do the under sixties not read? Do they not go to book events? Or do they just not use libraries? in which case what will happen to libraries in a few decades once the current batch of over sixties no longer have any need for them? (That was a tactful way of putting it, wasn't it?) Maybe it doesn't matter - maybe there will just be a new bunch of over-sixties to read, go to events and use libraries. And I will be one of them.

In other news, I had my ears microsuctioned. I can't believe how loud the clacking of my computer keys sounds now. Microsuctioning is exactly as it sounds, they put a mini-hoover in your ear and suck out all the wax. It is incredibly loud and you can feel all the wax unsticking and zooming out. If you are a fan of faintly disgusting things, like squeezing your spots and cleaning mud off wellington boots - and I am - you will love it.

She Talks! (But She Doesn't Listen.)

Just a reminder that I'll be giving talks at Port Neath Library, Port Talbot, at 6.30 tomorrow, and Wigmore Library, Luton, at 7pm on Thursday. I'll be doing both half deaf and with earache, so if you come along and I seem befuddled, that'll be why. Said ear problem is making me slightly grumpy, so if I get the usual coterie of religious extremists lecturing me on the true meaning of Christianity / Judaism / other, they will be getting an earful, pun intended, from me. (Never write a book with God in the title.) It might be worth turning up just for that. But the rest of you lovely people will get a warm welcome, even if I get your name wrong / misunderstand your question / have to wear an ear trumpet throughout.

Doctor Who: Midnight

Well, I have to say, this one surprised me. A slow start, not particularly promising set-up, and the lack of Donna had me thinking that this was going to be another average-to-boring episode. Even the extended knock-knock period (what, nobody said "Doctor Who?") only had me mildly intrigued. But once the evil consciousness had got hold of Mrs Silvestry, and the rest of the hitherto unremarkable passengers started to gang up against the Doctor, I started to get freaked out, and by the end I was completely gripped. It was genuinely nasty, genuinely dark, brilliantly claustrophobic, with precious little redemption to go around, even after it was all over. This has to be one of the most downbeat episodes I've seen, which made it all the better. DT was on top form, and I'm awarding extra marks for an absolutely fantastic, and really quite scary, performance from Lesley Sharp. All in all I was hooked. Nice to see RTD knocking a six before he leaves the team. And next week... Rose!

(Apologies for shorter-than-usual review, I'm a bit poorly.)

Say Anything

I was watching Say Anything again last night - you remember the one - Ione Skye's brainiac falls for John Cusack's slacker, but her fraudster dad John Mahoney stands in their way. It is such a good film, as you might expect from Cameron Crowe* (his debut as writer-director). Instead of heading down all the predictable paths of cliche, great acting, a sharp script and actual believable characterisation (Mahoney, for example, is far from the monster you might imagine) make it a surprising and genuinely touching story. It's one of the only teen movies I've ever seen where I utterly buy into the love story and imagine it enduring past the closing credits and right on into old age. And - praise the Lord! - the beautiful but ultra-square Ione is never made to endure a makeover in order to prove that she is deserving of love. No why-Miss-Skye-you're-beautiful moments in this film. She gets to be herself from start to dreadfully-hatted finish. Warms the cockles of your heart.

In fact, watching Say Anything I started to wonder if it might be the best teen movie ever made. It certainly has the best sex scene of any film ever: you only see the aftermath as they hold each other on the back seat of the car, but John Cusack is so emotional he can't stop trembling (and at that point I started to cry a little.) It also has best romantic moment: Cusack outside Skye's house holding up a ghetto blaster playing the song they were listening to the first time the slept together: Peter Gabriel's 'In Your Eyes' (had to head straight upstairs after the film and download it.) And the supporting cast are phenomenal: Lily Taylor, Eric Stoltz, Joan Cusack (as John's sister), all putting in top-of-the-range turns.

All very convincing arguments. But then again, what about Ferris Bueller's Day Off? The Breakfast Club? Clueless? Grease?

Over to you: what is the greatest teen movie ever made?

*He is not foolproof. Jerry Maguire might be the film I hate most in the world. Certainly my flatmate had to put me to bed with a cup of tea afterwards, I was so incensed by the vile, reactionary sexism of it. See also: Forrest Gump.

Things That Do Not Mix Well:

- Wine

and

- The Ryanair Winter Flights Sale

Marie Phillips' Lonely Hearts Club Band

I have long been an avid reader of Lonely Hearts advertisments - I even answered one once. (He was looking for an Amelie type, I left him a message, he didn't call. Perhaps should have scattered torn up photographs of me dressed as Zorro instead?) Anyway, the great thing is, with the advent of internet dating, most of the sane people have long since gone online, leaving a higher concentration of the eccentric and strange to the old-skool print version where there is no need to post a photo and you can hide behind descriptions like "late 30s" (40s), "stocky" (fat) etc.

Things may have changed online, but back in print, wishful thinking as ever plays a large part in the Lonely Hearts world:

Corny fairytale! Grumpy, warty toad, 50, urgently needs princess, 30-45, to kiss and discover Prince Charming!

Because that's what all 30-year-old women want. All 45-year-old women too, come to think of it.

My favourites, though, are people who are very specific about themselves or their needs:

Owner of a lonely heart, male, n/s, peaceful and loving, late 40s, very friendly, loves classic rock of the late 60s / early 70s, seeks bohemian / hippy chick of similar persuasion. (To be fair, in this ad I think late 60s and early 70s really does mean that and not, say, early 80s but wearing foundation.)

Or indeed:

Compliant white male escapologist, 48, medium build, seeks slim sexy white F for fun and friendship.

Could "escapologist" be slang for "commitment-phobe"?

And what about:

Post gay guy, 40s, fed up with shallow gay relationships, seeks woman, with artistic and musical background, for good times and artistic endeavours over the summer.

Hmm. This is my new boyfriend. He is post gay.

It's not only men who do precision:

German / Swiss professional, male, 35-42, wanted by Southern European female, 32, for skiing, trekking, and driving in the Alps. Also for art and cinema.

In fact some of the women sound downright scary:

Busty blonde, 48, looking for soulmate to enjoy life and make a commitment. I need to find you, I know you're out there.

Do you think she recently split up with compliant white male escapologist, 48? If not, perhaps we should introduce them.

Of course, the most promising potential couple has to be:

Author, tall, slim, confident, eloquent, seeks charmer, glamorous, dangerous, clever and fun

who has to be just right for

Doctor, good looks, sincere, romantic, genuine, gsoh, affluent, wltm attractive lady

don't you reckon?

(All these are from this week's Time Out. And if you like this kind of thing, I cannot recommend highly enough the completely hilarious collection of LRB personals They Call Me Naughty Lola, first chapter to be found here.

Bargains galore

Flicking through the Amazon sale site, I found it astonishing the merchandise that they thought it necessary to reduce in price. It is impossible to believe that this marketing gimic didn't help Dirty Dancing fly right off the shelf. And as for this film, with a title and synopsis like that, how could it have failed to reach an audience? Mind you, they are only reducing the price by 2p, so maybe it doesn't quite have that must-have-bargain status of a really good sales find.

Doctor Who: The Forest of the Dead

So, in answer to my questions from last week:

What the hell is going on?
In this episode, mostly an awful lot of explaining.

How can the library be inside that little girl's head?
Apparently, it's largely there for her entertainment.

What's happened to Donna?
She's in a very boring suburban game of Wii.

Who is Dr River Moon?
There is no such person as Dr River Moon, but Professor River Song is someone that the Doctor is going to get to shag at some point in the future in a rather kinky way involving handcuffs.

How are they going to get away from the scary walking skeleton in the spacesuit?
In a break from tradition, they are going to run.

Seriously, what is the business with the library being inside the girl's head?
She is the computer. It's really rather heartwarming, or at least I think it's supposed to be.

How are they going to fight against the shadows?
They're actually quite reasonable man-eating shadows who respond well to logical argument and are happy to give the Doctor 24 hours to save the people that they want to eat.

How are they going to rescue Donna from whatever the hell it is that's happened her?
Just ask the computer nicely, and fry Alex Kingston's brains.

How does Dr River Moon know the Doctor and is there going to be nookie?
See above. She's a hot companion from the future. It's nice to know that the Doctor finds true love eventually. Also, opening a book on what the Doctor's real name is. I will start the bidding with 'Trevor'.

Is Dr River Moon is the same person as Dr Moon the psychiatrist, and if so, is there going to be three-way Doctor-Doctor-Doctor nookie in which two of the Doctors are in fact one oscillating shape-shifting hermaphrodite?
Astonishingly, no to all of the above.

Should I have a cold shower and a lie down?
Almost certainly.

Was Donna jealous of Dr River Moon?
Almost certainly.

Does it matter, now that she's a face on a stick?
Not when she's just had a ten-second, seven-year relationship with sexy stammer man who loses her tragically because he can't call her name. It would be more tragic if I had spent more than ten seconds with him, but I do like the fact that his very existence either makes it OK that Donna dies at the end if she does, as she has experienced proper life and the true womanly fulfillment of having babies, even fake clone babies, or gives her a possible alternative fate of tracking him down and riding off into the sunset with him if she doesn't die.

How is the little girl with the library in her head going to rescue them?
She doesn't really. Basically, there's a flurry of science.

Oh, and WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?
As it turns out, quite a bit less than I'd hoped.

Still, another spawning-planet storyline, pattern-watchers.

Home and Away Chefs

I know nobody else watches it because you are all at work, but I can't keep this to myself any longer. WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEMONIC CHEFS THAT TOP AND TAIL HOME AND AWAY ON UK TV AT THE MOMENT????? I refuse to name the product they are advertising in case it is any encouragement to the company that produces the adverts, or to Channel Five for screening them. They are worse than evil. If I even catch one second of their ads I want to smash my television. And Alan Dale is surely not so desperate for cash that he had to take the voiceover gig. He is in EVERYTHING.

PLEASE, MAKE THE MADNESS STOP.

On the other hand, I did enjoy the whole Martha / Jack / Sam storyline, so Home and Away is not entirely in my bad books at the moment.

Sunny Day

Advantages: can write in garden, wearing large straw hat left over from Cowboys and Indians party held by the DC Diarist. It has a label inside which says "This is a fancy dress accessory for adults. It is not a toy."

Disadvantages: constant smell of bacon from the cafe across the way. Bacon. Delicious bacon. If half new novel ends up being about bacon, you know why.

A Natural Cement

Speaking of advertising, which I think we were at some point, I have noticed a couple of bizarre examples lately. Firstly there's that one I keep seeing on bus stops, for yet another subgenre of Elvive, which asks: "Has your hair lost strength, a natural cement?" I don't know about the rest of you but cement is not a word I wish to associate with my hair. I mean, I know what cement means in a more general sense, but even so. I think they had it a little bit closer with the "Satin shine, cashmere touch" slogan. "Cement shine, concrete touch": no. (As it happens I once was idly reading the back of a different version of Elvive and noticed that it contained extract of potato, which they were on that occasion sensible enough not to flag up of the front. Hardly orange blossom and jojoba is it?)

I think I will have to put the use of "cement" down to poor translation out of whatever language Elvive originates in. (French? Spanish? American?) However, there is no excuse for the habit my local Costcutter have got into of photocopying articles about how expensive food is getting and sticking them up in their window. I'm not sure what they are trying to say with this. "Food is expensive, but not here, shop here"? I doubt it, because the prices in Costcutter have been heading swiftly upwards of late. "Food is expensive, including here, but it's not just us" is more likely. But the overrall effect is to say "If you come in here you're going to spend a fortune. Best not. But if you absolutely must, buy as little and as cheaply as possible." Which I am not sure is the best business tactic I have ever come across.

Since we are definitely speaking of advertising, a quick one of my own. I've got a couple of readings coming up: on Tuesday, I'm going to be in Port Talbot, at the Taibach library from 6.30pm. And then on Thursday I will be in Luton, at the Wigmore library, at 7.30pm. Hope to see some of you there.

(And PS: the competition to win a signed copy of GBB is still open until tomorrow.)

Kdyz Bohove Delaji Prusery

Or, Gods Behaving Badly in Czech! My copies just arrived, much to my surprise, seeing as I was told it wouldn't be coming out until Summer 2009. If you have a magnifying glass handy you might just about be able to see that I am credited as "Marie Phillipsova", which is my favourite thing about the book. My second favourite thing about it is sentences in the blurb like "Apollon se chce uchytit v televizni reality show a krasna Afrodita, bohyne lasky?" And my third favourite thing about it is that it names this very blog in my biog. Welcome, Czech readers.

Scratch all that - my favourite thing about this book is that it exists. Hurrah for Kdyz Bohove Delaji Prusery!

Here it is!

In situ at Piccadilly Circus. Thanks to Adam Bowie for the pic.

The Magic of Advertising

I saw one! At Bond St, Central Line, eastbound platform. There was a bloke standing next to me, studying it most intently. He had headphones in or I would have told him that I'd read the book and it was excellent and he should go and buy one - or indeed two - right now. The whole experience was dead exciting. I wasn't quick enough to get a picture as the tube came in, so you will have to wait til next time. As luck would have it, I am about to go out and get on the tube right now...

Still waiting to see someone actually reading the book...

Maybe It's Because I'm A Londoner...

If you're commuting by tube over the next couple of weeks, keep your eyes peeled at the following stations:

Bank, Moorgate, St Paul's, Chancery Lane, Euston, King's Cross, Warren St, Hillingdon, Earl's Court, South Kensington, Waterloo, Baker St, Bond St, Charing Cross, Embankment, Green Park, Leicester Square, Marble Arch, Marylebone, Oxford Circus, Paddington, Piccadilly Circus, Tottenham Court Road, and Victoria.

Let me know if you see anything of interest....

Doctor Who: Silence in the Library

Now THAT'S how to do a two-parter.

What the hell is going on? How can the library be inside that little girl's head? What's happened to Donna? Who is Dr River Moon? How are they going to get away from the scary walking skeleton in the spacesuit? Seriously, what is the business with the library being inside the girl's head? How are they going to fight against the shadows? How are they going to rescue Donna from whatever the hell it is that's happened her? How does Dr River Moon know the Doctor and is there going to be nookie? Is Dr River Moon is the same person as Dr Moon the psychiatrist, and if so, is there going to be three-way Doctor-Doctor-Doctor nookie in which two of the Doctors are in fact one oscillating shape-shifting hermaphrodite? Should I have a cold shower and a lie down? Was Donna jealous of Dr River Moon? Does it matter, now that she's a face on a stick? How is the little girl with the library in her head going to rescue them? Oh, and WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

I always like a Who where I don't know every single thing that's going to happen long in advance of it taking place. It was nasty and creepy and uncanny, and the acting was excellent, and the Doctor wore his glasses which is a Brucie bonus. There was more intimation that Donna is going to die, which I have suspected since the Christmas Special which she wasn't even in, and am therefore feeling quite smug about, and will continue feeling smug about until it doesn't happen.* Suspense a-plenty, in case you hadn't got that. And so I am really looking forward to the second half, which is all you want at this stage.

Predictions for the second half? I have very few. The only thing I can say is that I don't think that the Doctor is going to have a relationship with Dr River Moon across time and space. She could be a future companion, but the implied love story makes me doubt that it's a plotline that the current incarnation of Doctor Who would follow, and she seemed pretty familiar with DT's Doctor, so she can't be from that far in the future. So I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that something is going to happen to change the future and indeed the past so that none of it will take place, and all the Doctor will have to remember River Moon by is a book of memories of events that haven't happened and never will. Therefore, just in case, I will have a box of tissues standing by for the second half.**

* It is fair to say that not all my predictions come true.
** See *

UPDATE: It's River Song isn't it? Not Moon. I thought that seemed weird. I worry about my subconscious, but have left it in because it's funnier that way, even if at my expense.