It's New Year's Day as I'm typing this, although you won't get to read it until about the 3rd or 4th, when we return from the wilds of Internet-free Dorset.
I'm watching the televised version of the Doctor Who prom, recorded last summer at the Royal Albert Hall.
It's a very weird sensation; outside the conservatory it's about one degree centigrade, a typically bleak grey January day. Yet when I listened to the radio recording last summer, it was a scorchingly hot August Sunday. Our dog Chloe had just died, and this was about the first day when we were actually able to take pleasure in the world. So if I shut my eyes, I can hearken back to a blazing hot Sunday morning, reading Andrew Marr's History of Modern Britain, sipping cold drinks, while Alice --our other dog-- lay in the shade.
But by keeping my eyes open, I can now watch Cybermen, Judoon and Sontarrans stomping through the audience of the Royal Albert Hall to the delight of the parents, and the mixed terror and glee of the children; plus the Doctor talking through a space-time portal, while a Graske wanders through the orchestra, committing mayhem. These were the visual treats to accompany the soundtrack to the series -- The Doctor Forever, Rose and Martha, and the Music of Destruction.
But the downside is that to squeeze the original transmission into an hour's worth of highlights, a lot was omitted. I really hope that one day I'll get to hear that original transmission again, and hear once again the classical extracts that were dropped, as well as the interview with Justina Robson.
Oh, and stop press; the new Doctor Who is novice actor Matt Smith, at 26 the youngest ever actor to be cast as the Doctor, although he's already played Sally Lockhart's sidekick in The Ruby in the Smoke.
Happy New Year!
Colin