Hi,

For some reason when I follow people it does it from the blog or some complicated shit like that. But this is my old blog, so thats silly.
www.danvine.tumblr.com is my new blog, coz I came up with a truly award winning title for a blog and started again so I could try and keep it regular.
Follow that one, this one is pointless.

*Title actually won no awards and has been described as “I bet you think that’s clever don’t you”-Dan’s Mum

The village green was lovely and well…green. On the green was a team of Morris dancers practicing for the first of May. A rival group had challenged them to a Morris Dance-off. The competition was in two weeks, but this group of Morris Dancers – called the Deevshan Morris Dancers, because the village in question is called Deevshan and the writer is a bit lazy – had been practicing for months because Brian Alderbloom who was their leader was extremely competitive and wanted everything to be just perfect. HE was going to win that pathetically small trophy at the village fair and nobody else was – certainly not David Sloman. He demanded perfection and he demanded that every single last one of his dancers attend every practice session. But one man had stopped attending, one of the best Morris dancers in this beautiful village – no, the best dancer in this almost perfect village of Deevshan. His name was Piers Atherton.
Brian barely looked at the dancers while they tried to learn the moves, except to shout the occasional “Do better!” “That’s awful!” or “You call that banging a stick into another stick!? I’ve seen children and working class people do better than that!!” Instead Brian stared with evil, angry intent at the window of the thatched cottage on the edge of the green. In which Piers sat at his laptop smacking keys to form words and putting the finishing touches to his script. Lazy Old Sod, Brian thought about him, Never done an honest day’s work.That wasn’t quite true, Piers had worked in the village bakery, Kate’s Cakes, run by two nice old ladies who never had a bad word to say about anyone – not to their faces at least. Piers helped with deliveries and often helped carry things around the shop and tinker with the machinery when it played up. Piers was a middle aged man and the only jobs he had ever had his entire life were low-paid, low-skilled temporary jobs. People like Brian Alderbloom thought he was lazy, but actually he was an aspiring writer. He had been published in some small writing magazines and had written regular stories for the Deevshan parish magazine, but this latest project was the one with which he would make his fortune. He was sure of it. He put the finishing touches to his slightly too nice generic ITV murder mystery script.

“What I’m looking for,” said Malcolm Finch the head of ITV drama, “is something that’s sponsored by Toyota.”
“Ok,” said his assistant Lorraine, “anything else?”
“Well, I think it’s important that we at ITV push back the boundaries…” he said.
“Good.”
“…and we really have to do something totally different to any other network…”
“Yes,” Lorraine agreed.
“…and the one thing that would set us apart, must be to make a drama series exactly the same as every other detective show we’ve ever made.”
“Pushing back the boundaries by doing the same thing we’ve done hundreds of times before?”
“Exactly! By seeing just how much more of it the viewers can take, we will be pushing them to breaking point.”
“But sir, what about the competition from the BBC?”
“THE BBC!!” Malcolm was enraged, “DON’T MENTION THE BBC TO ME!! With their ‘wide range of programming’ to ‘appeal to all sorts of people,’” he mocked. “Some of their programs aren’t even murder mysteries, it’s disgusting. Everything should and must always be the same.”
Lorraine was taken aback by his sudden anti-BBC rage, the like of which she hadn’t seen since the time she read the Mail On Sunday.
“So,” he asked, “what have you got for me in the way of stereo-typical murder mysteries?”
“Well,” Lorraine told him, “there is a man called Piers coming in to see you later, who has an idea for a murder mystery series set in a sweet little English village.”
“Ah, good. With cricket and Morris Dancing on the lawn, like all real life villages?” he asked.
“Yes sir, it’s very realistic in that way,” said Lorraine, emphasising realistic. Nobody working in higher offices at ITV knew that this hadn’t been true of any village green since the 1950s.
“Excellent. I look forward to meeting this Piers,” he said.

Cricket was being played on the lawn as Piers left his house carrying the final print out of his script in a folder in a bag slung over his shoulder. He got onto this rickety old fashioned bike and rode to the end of his garden path. When he got to the end of the path he turned and shut his gate. By the time he turned back around, Brian had strode angrily towards him.
“I notice you weren’t at rehearsals today,” said Brian angrily, “and you haven’t been at any rehearsals for the last month,” he said, more angrily. “For God’s sake Brian! You were the best. I need you in my team. Nobody is as good at Morris Dancing as you! But they say David’s got a new man who Morris Danced across the whole of America! How could you let me down!!” said Brain, extremely angrily. “North or south America?” asked Piers.
“Both.”
“Well I’m sorry Brian, it’s just that I don’t care too much about Morris dancing. Writing is my first love and it always will be.”
“Don’t care too much about Morris dancing?”
“Sorry,” said Piers.
“WHAT?!?!?” screamed Brian, and he screamed it angrily.
“Sorry Brian, must be going. Got this script for a murder mystery series to take to ITV,” he rode off, leaving Brian standing burning with fury. He was shaking so tensely with rage that he snapped his Morris dancing stick.

Piers rode through the village, across a field and out into the woods that led into the town. Then, frustratingly long into the story and after a lot of dull tedium about Morris dancers and bakery staff and a bits of anger to suggest something might soon kick off, at the end of all that and after everyone was starting to get bored, finally there was a murder. A metal pipe was held high in the air and struck Piers on the back of his head as he rode past the tree. He fell onto the floor and his bicycle lay there with it’s wheel still spinning. A gloved hand reached into his bag and took the script he had written for an ITV murder mystery drama.
His body and bike lay in a pile of Moss with his bag left open. And just as it looked like there was something exciting finally happening, there was a commercial break and an advert for the new Toyota car that sponsored this murder and you have to go away and make a cup of tea and wait for the next bit to find out what happened, and for the detectives who are the only regular characters and the only reason you really watch it to turn up – making the whole first bit ultimately disappointing.

To Be Continued…

After all my moaning about people who moan about the BBC it has finally happened: the BBC has finally managed to offend me.

I was reading an interview with Peter Purves (60s Blue Peter presenter and Doctor Who companion) the other day about working at the BBC in the good ol’ days. He neatly summed up what made these ol’ days good as, “The pill had been invented, there was no AIDS, great rock music was happening,” the lack of AIDS apparently a bigger factor in making the 60s great than the birth of rock music as we know it. All those crazy parties, all that drug taking in celebration of the fact that they didn’t have AIDS.

Anyway, new paragraph because I got distracted and started going on about AIDS…why does that always happen to me?

I was reading an interview with Peter Purves the other day about working at the BBC in the good ol’ days. “The BBC was THE place to work…I don’t think people respect the BBC in quite the same way now.” And he’s got a point, that’s how I always saw the BBC. Basically at some point in year 9 someone told me I was funny and then other people kept saying this too and as a raving ego-maniac I decided in my head that this meant I should be a world famous comedian. I do realise that the same people who encourage a teenage boy with “oh you should be on the telly” are either being far too nice, far too naive about exactly how good you’d need to be to do that, or the type of well meaning people who encourage friends to go on X-Factor even though they’ll embarrass themselves and it’s probably these kinds of people that convinced that girl on Britain’s Got Talent that her dog really did sound like the Crazy Frog. No really, it does. Go for it. I suspect in this case, and when people have said it to me “you should be on the telly” means “so I can switch over to Casualty and not have to listen to you trying to make me laugh.”

But anyway being slightly unhinged and egocentric I thought, “you know what, one day I will! One day I’ll be guest hosting Have I Got News For You.”
“Err…Dan….”
“No, you’ve already been far too kind, don’t tell me I can do better than that.”
“Actually I was just going to say, Don’t get your hopes…”
“Awww, you’re so kind.”
“Are you even listening to me anymore?”
“Of course you can come to my dressing room and have Paul Merton’s autograph, I’ll get it for you when we holiday together in my Barbados villa with my best pal Paul.”
“I wish I’d never mentioned it now, Hello, what can your dog do? Wow! That dog is so cool! You should go on the telly with that.”

A search party has been sent out for the point of all this and will be reporting back soon.
The point is that I want to be a comedian and the ultimate goal would be to work for the BBC. Just because the BBC is THE place to work, it has a reputation and history and all of the greatest acts ever have passed through there – Morecambe and Wise, The Two Ronnies, Monty Python, Tony Hancock, Have I Got News For You, Doctor Who, The Young Ones, Cash In The Celebrity Attic, The News – some of the very best.

The problem is with all this brilliance and reputation is that people are scared of it. Particularly newspapers. The BBC brings news into your house 24 hours a day free of charge, causing the Daily Mail to shit itself and then sadly it then goes and fills it’s pages with this shit. The BBC absolutely dominates them.

TheN one day, Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand made an offensive phone call to Andrew Sachs about how Russell Brand fucked his daughter, luckily Andrew didn’t understand what was being said as he is from Barcelona. Whether or not Sachsgate was an insignificant joke that went wrong or the worst thing that’s ever happened in the world and has Jim Davison saying “it’s not funny and it’s just offensive,” that’s not the issue. The point is that the Daily Mail stirred up most of the bile and anger about the story. Then eight months later the very same newspaper complained that the Mark Thompson, the director general of the BBCs expenses revealed he took a flight from his holiday he cut short in Sicily (very nice) to come home and deal with the situation, but he only had to do that in the first place because of the Daily Mail.

Anyway this blog is not about why the Daily Mail is a massive cock (that leans very far to the right) because frankly if I posted all the reasons the Mail is a cock the internet would have to close because it is too full. This blog is about why the BBC is being a prick at the moment. Basically what the BBC needs to do is grow a pair of bollocks and stand up for the people it employs. I don’t like Jonathan Ross, and two years ago if you told me Jonathan Ross had been fired I’d have organised a street party and have all my neighbours hiding inside whispering “who does that these days?” But when he actually left the BBC a couple of weeks ago, I felt sad that the Mail had won. Essentially the man was just bullied out of his job, because everything he said was being scrutinised and attacked. BBC ENGULFED IN A DECENSY ROW SAYS THANK YOU AFTER BLESS YOU KILLING FAIRY.
BBC SWITCHBOARD GOES INTO MELTDOWN AFTER ROSS SEEN WITH HAIR OUT OF PLACE.
For the record, it takes 14 calls for the BBC switchboard to go into meltdown.

But it’s no longer in the BBCs interest to defend it’s talent, Frankie Boyle left because the BBC was telling him what he as a comedian could and couldn’t say. The BBC has strict rules about this, but they use them to crush creativity. If you don’t like Frankie Boyle watch another channel while he’s on. I am almost physically ill at the sight of Piers Morgan, luckily I still have nice clean carpets because I’ve discovered that QI or Heroes is usually on at the same time on another channel. I will say this for the BBC, however much they may be behaving like pricks at the moment at least they haven’t employed that man. There are many reasons not to like ITV but employing a man whose job seems to be purely to make people cry is a biggy.

Recently a new series called The Bubble started on BBC2 hosted by David Mitchell. If you haven’t watched it do it’s very funny. But during the week that they were actually making episode one, the BBC sent a message to all news staff telling them not to be involved in the making any of the fake clips for the show. Because we all know that the BBC can never fake anything, since the Mail’s whole, the Queen was not storming angrily out of the room, she was storming angrily into the room, how dare the trailer mislead us!! Well how dare your adverts mislead us by suggesting there might be news contained on your pages? David Mitchell’s response was to say “any footage in the fake stories comes courtesy of our friends at ITV and Sky, thank you! Apparently it would undermine BBC news because if they turned on, saw something ridiculous with ‘The Bubble’ in the corner, they would think, this is some BBC News story. We’ve had to modify our plans, it’s a boring production issue, couple of researchers have killed themselves. No, no, no, the BBC doesn’t act like an entity it acts like a warring federation. You all look lovely in the pictures they chose to illustrate my professional hell!” Why are the BBC putting their employees through professional hell? They’re too concerned about watching their own backs and making sure that nobody can complain – because they will, seeing the show or knowing about it needn’t be important just write in. “Dear BBC, the Doctor said that he wasn’t ginger and this was very offensive and bullying ginger people,” actually why not do some research before complaining and you’ll know the Doctor wants to be ginger probably to blend in with his companion from series 4 who was or his companion from series 5 who will be!

The point is the BBC will get a lot of complaints for almost everything they do at the moment, but they need to learn to defend themselves rather than backing down. The public have been convinced by the papers that the license fee isn’t worth it. Recently I bought ‘True Blood’ on DVD, it’s 12 episodes which is roughly 12 hours of TV. It cost me £35. For a year’s worth of TV the BBC charge £139 and it’s more like 6 years worth of TV when you take into account all the channels they offer. I know DVDs tend to be overpriced these days, but even so, I think I got a much better deal out of the license fee.

But the BBC in a desperate bid to save money on the license fee is now being forced into making itself more efficient. This means cuts. One of the planned cuts is BBC 6 Music. I quite like 6 Music. 6 Music plays music that you wouldn’t find anywhere else. Radio 1s ‘if it aint shite yet popular we don’t want it’ policy means that new bands will never get played on their station. Radio 2s policy is ‘if it isn’t Alison Moyet, we don’t want it’ means that nothing that isn’t dull and doesn’t blend nicely into the background won’t get played. Radio 3 rarely play anything that was written after 1835. I’m sure most of you have never listened to 6 Music in your life, and that’s fine. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the other radio stations (my moaning reflects my bad taste not theirs I suspect, Radio 2 and Radio 1 are two of the most listened to radio stations), but it’s that 6 Music offers new bands and unusual bands the opportunity to get their stuff heard which they wouldn’t get anywhere else, certainly not from a commercial station, because it doesn’t get enough listeners. The BBC though shouldn’t be aiming to make the most money possible, it should be providing the best possibly service. BBC Asian Network is a good example, it’s also being considered for being cut and I’ve never listened to it in my life and never will, but it’s something set up purely to appeal to a minority of people in British society, that’s what the BBC should be doing. It should fill every possible gap that commercial broadcasting can’t and be doing the stuff commercial broadcasting does in a much better way.

Of course there are still wastes of the license fee. My Life As An Animal where people live with animals for the week on BBC3 is unquestionably shit and the BBC should be trying to come up with something better than that. Though ‘The Turd On A Stick Hour with Paul Daniels’ would be better than that. And I’m not sure I disagree with the BBCs plans to cut BBC Switch. A section aimed at teenagers on BBC2 12pm on a Saturday, what teenager is up at that time or day on Saturday, and if they are up why do they wanna watch presenters trying desperately to be cool.

All that said, I still think the BBC is the best broadcaster around, but really instead of backing down, Director General Mark Thompson needs to be standing on the roof of television centre shouting “FUCK YOU! WE ARE THE BEST! OH YEAH! KISS MY OVERWEIGHT OVERPAID SEXY ASS ITV!” And they should be trying to offend people sometimes. The most inoffensive thing ever on TV is The One Show and I hate it because it’s just so boring. Why do people react like being offended is a bad thing. It doesn’t hurt and it makes life more interesting. And if Mark Thompson doesn’t shout that from the roof I might change my mind about wanting to work for them and go over to ITV and join their excellent entertainment like this

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2ODomg_fs0

Ok, maybe not.

Awful chain letter. My comments are in bold.

A girl meets a boy on her yahoo messenger:


crazy1 86: hey baby!!!
Right ‘crazy1 86’ if that is your real name! I’m guessing it’s not. Which is fine. If you’re an internet rapey murdery type person (I haven’t read ahead and if I am wrong I am very sorry sir) a fake name is a good idea, but Crazy1 is a bit of a giveaway. You may as well just call yourself ‘IBuryThemUnderThePatio 71’

h0tNsPiCy91: who is this???
Right. Already I am not on your side. I stand by my description of ‘crazy1 86’ as rapey and murderry and think he’s likely to rape and/or murder you, but aNyOnE wHo WrItEs LiKe ThIs DeSeRvEs It.


crazy1 86: ur secret admirer!!!!!


h0tNsPiCy91: oh really…. quit lyin! (low self esteem) who is this???


crazy1 86: i loved u the first time a stared in your eyes…


crazy1 86: i think about u everyday… you are my dream come true. You and Cliches are the only think that’s good in my life.


crazy1 86: we met once! i dont think u remember tho.


crazy1 86: i cut myself because the pain takes away my feelings of u. Very Emo, you can tell I found this on myspace can’t you.


crazy1 86: u will see me sometime tonight….
hOtNsPiCy91: Can you be more specific? Before or after midnight? It’s just I’m rather busy tonight. I’ve come up with a new screen name and it takes bloody ages to type it out the way I do.


h0tNsPiCy91: ..WHO IS THIS!?!?!?


crazy1 86:dont worry…. ill take very good care of you…


crazy1 86 had signed off.

The girl was so scared she locked all her doors and windows. I hate it when you’re that scared you just have to lock the house before bed. She made sure her room was secured. She wasn’t sure if it was a joke or for real. She didn’t know when he was going to come. The girl was so frightened she decided to sleep with her little sister. Wa-hey! Get in there! Ooh-la-la etc. The girl dozed off quickly. Hang on. She made sure her room was secured and then went to sleep with her sister. Did she secure it from the outside by accident. What a fool

Then she heard a knock on the window. The girl slowly walked to the window. It started knocking louder. Because she was taking bloody ages walking to the window, in fairness this could be because she dozed off and at no point has she woken up. She’s sleepwalking! The girl looked through the windows and saw nothing… just some of the tree branches. She was curious as to why there was no tree trunk there holding it up but thought she’d investigate it in the morning…a morning she almost certainly wouldn’t see. The girl went back to bed with her sister. Wa-Hey! Sexay! Oh girls etc. The bed was wet and so was she….(how far can you push an incest lesbian joke till it becomes wrong?) and had a pretty horrid smell (as far as the comment I just thought to make here). Maybe her sister wet the bed… the girl checked and found blood everywhere. The girl panicked. She didn’t know what to do. They hadn’t been taught about this at school yet and she’d panic every month until they did. She ran and hid in the closet in case the killer was there for her. While looking through the cracks of the closet the girl saw a shadow. Duh! It was night! It was dark, so she couldn’t figure out who it was. She started to get more frightened. Just started, didn’t actually carry on with it, calmed down again pretty soon. The shadow crept closer to the closet. The girl closed her eyes as if it was a dream. Because closing your eyes makes dreams go away! That’s exactly how it works. Then suddenly he opened the closet door and pulled her out.

Her parents found her dead the next morning. And were yet more perplexed by the random tree branch caught in some over head cabling outside her sisters bedroom window. She was completely skinned and hanging in her sister’s closet. The younger sister was also found skinned and dead.

And now time for a commercial break…This gruesome murder story is sponsored by Vanish. Great for removing blood. Anyway now:

PART 2…

Two years after the Smith sisters deaths Whose? Oh theirs, it is so important to give characters names isn’t it?, the parents had a baby boy. The girl’s room became a guest room and the little sister’s room where the murder took place became the baby’s room. The baby grew up to be a successful kid. The End.

One night he was on the computer and received an instant messege.


h0tNsPiCy91: Hey lil bro!!! Spooky


2seXay4u: Who the eff is this?
A boy wrote his screen name like that? I think he’s definitely 2 Sexay 4 girls.


h0tNsPiCy91: It’s your big sis.


2seXay4u: I never had a sister. I’m an only child.


2seXay4u: This is some kinda joke, huh?


h0tNsPiCy91: Mom and dad never told you?


h0tNsPiCy91: I died 15 years ago with your other older sister.


h0tNsPiCy91: We were murdered in your room which was once my little sister’s room. She was killed in bed when I was sleeping. I was killed in the closet and skinned to death.
2seXay4u: Oh yeah. I think I read something about that on Myspace – which 15 years later is still popular!! – I thought it was just bollocks.


2seXay4u: Quit lying. I never had a sister. If I did my parents would have told me. Whatever. Your stupid.
hOtNsPiCy91: Actually it’s You’re not your so you’re the stupid one fuck wit.


h0tNsPiCy91: You don’t believe me? Well if you wanna look in your closet floor. I keep messaging my parents to tell them to pick up the bodies, but you know what they’re like. Never check their bloody yahoo messenger.


h0tNsPiCy91: I carved my name and the time and date I was being murdered. Then I carved my little sister’s name.

FLASHBACK: hOtNsPiCy91: (Scream of agony) Oh my fucking God, ouch! Fuck! Shit! Cunt! Bloo*y He*l! O**h! AAAAAA*AAAAAAHHHHH! Look can you please skin me more gently I’m trying to carve something here!
Crazy1 86: Oh for fucks sake none of the other victims were this much of a pain in the arse. “Stop shaking me. Get me something to carve with! Can I have a glass of water? Before I die can you explain the tree branch hanging outside my window!”
hOtNsPiCy91: Ok! Ok! Oh fuck, shit, please it hurts so much, just tell me one thing…what time is it?


h0tNsPiCy91: If you don’t believe me little brother check the internet. Google on ”Smith sisters murdered anonymously”. Because let’s face it. With a name as rare as that it cant be anyone else.


h0tNsPiCy91: I gtg little brother. I love you and mom and dad soo much. I can’t believe they kept us a secret from you. They should burn in hell.


The boy checked the closet. He saw the carvings. Was it true? He surfed the internet and information was there about the anonymous murder in the house. The next morning the boy went downstairs. It was so quiet. Maybe his parents were sleeping. Hours later the boy found his parents in their closet skinned and hanged. Then he found more carvings on the ground. They said ”I TOLD YOU I WASN’T LYING LITTLE BROTHER, I LOVED MOM AND DAD…. BUT THEY KEPT ME A SECRET. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. WELL I’M FREE FROM THIS COLD WORLD, shoulda just turned the heating on, no need to skin ya parents to make coats. I WON’T HURT YOU LIKE I HURT THEM. I LOVE YOU!”

- LISA SMITH

This is a death chain letter. At this stage it’s important to point out that this is a ‘death chain letter’ in case you thought it was off of BBC News or something. If you don’t repost this in the next hour, the parents will kill you at night. They will kill you! Ha! Don’t have yahoo messenger bitches, so I am safe!


DONT BELEIVE ME? LOOK IT UP IN GOOGLE! Don’t advise this when the first site that comes up is Smith Sisters Murdered Anonymously: Urban Legend. And the second is Dan Vine’s blog.

DISCLAIMER: Due to court action Mr Vine would like to formally apologise for calling Crazy1 86 a rapist. This is untrue and unfair and I would never wish to cause offense to him.

Jimmy got through his door just before his shopping bag ripped under the weight of all the snow that had got into it, spilling all his canned foods for the winter, in case he was snowed in, all over the floor. The downpour of snow flew in through the door and onto the mat. Jimmy pushed it, but the wind blew it back open blowing snow into his face. He pushed it until it was shut properly and pulled down his hood as an avalanche of snow fell off it onto the carpet. He walked to the kitchen – at least he assumed that’s what was happening, the kitchen was getting closer but as he could no longer feel his toes he had no idea what his feet were doing.

He unloaded the cans of food into the cupboard and put the frozen stuff into the freezer, warming his hands on the freezer door because it was warmer than it was outside. He poured himself a hot drink and trudged to the living room. He sat on the sofa and turned the TV on.

BBC Breaking News reported that it was snowing. “Ya, don’t fucking say,” said Jimmy. He turned to ITV news who were reporting that due to the snow people were having trouble getting into work – it was just an empty chair behind the desk and in front of a backdrop of London covered in snow. He switched back to the BBC.

“And schools right across the country have been forced to close because people just cant make it in today exams. The Eurostar train has failed again, it is unsure whether this is because of the snow or the French seeing a lot of foreigners coming towards their country and surrendered instantly,” said Huw Edwards.

“The BBC faces another decency row after a newsreaders script was replaced with a racist joke about the French. Snow continues to be a problem on the roads as the motorways have ground to a halt and fears have been expressed that there will not be enough salt to put on the road. Apparently gallons of salt have been wasted because every time the council pours salt over a road, they throw a tonne of it over their shoulder for good luck. In other news Gordon is a moron, Dave is one of the lads isn’t he, he’s been seen out in the snow wearing a hoodie, a spokesman said ‘we in the Tory party think this is the kind of fashionable hip thing that the kids are wearing these days’ and Nick Clegg has had a biscuit and a cup of tea to keep warm in the snow.

“And now the weather with Daniel Corbett. Daniel I assume the advice is to wrap up warm. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” laughed Huw, journalists spend the first nine months of their training learning to laugh hysterically at their own bits of banter that aren’t even jokes. Contrary to what the press reported at the time, Moira Stuart was not fired for being old, a woman or black but because she once introduced the weather forecaster with something ever so slightly amusing. It is standard practice for the weatherman to laugh along even though he too, realises the joke is crap.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” continued Huw, but Daniel Corbett did not laugh. He was fuming.

“You bastard,” he growled.

Since this was not funny, Huw assumed it was part of the amusing banter and laughed. “Well I think you’ll find my father is still very much alive,” was his ‘witty’ response, but Daniel was crying.

“You utter bastard! I wanted to report the snow. Weather is my job!! Do you hear me telling people about Iraq? No! So just….fuck off!”

“Well I’m sorry Dan,” said Huw, “but just get on with it would you, these people are only tuned in because the One Show is on next. I’m really very sorry.”

“That’s alright Huw,” cried Daniel, “Just enjoy your coffee.”

“Thanks,” said Huw, “Actually it’s a mocha…”

“Don’t care Huw!” said Daniel, “Now the weather today is it’s snowing. So instead of a map we’re just going to show some pictures you sent in of snow. This one of a big field full of snow in….well that could be anywhere really, was sent to us by Joe in Derby. This one of a young lady lying in the snow making a snow angel was sent in by Lucy from South Hampton. And this one of a young lady lying in the snow was sent in by Detective constable Thomas Bramble, who says anyone who saw anything, it would be most helpful, she’s been dead for sometime now. Looking ahead to tomorrow-“

He was cut off by a groan of pain as Huw Edwards staggered across the screen, pulling down the blue screen. “What have you done?” he struggled.

“Poisoned the coffee,” said Daniel, “nobody fucks with a weatherman.”

“Actually it’s a mocha…”

“Don’t care Huw,” said Daniel.

“And now,” struggled Huw, “over to James Munro with the sports news to avenge my death.”

“Yeah,” said James as Huw’s lifeless face hit the floor, “you fucking weathermen! Telling people it’s gonna be hard to get to the footy whenever it snows. That’s my job.” The camera struggled to keep up with them as James smacked Daniel around the studio while reporting on the latest Millwall game. Nobody was that offended by the violence as they assumed it was just a enactment of the crowd at The Den.

Jimmy wrote an angry letter to the Daily Mail about the amount of violence on the BBC – he wrote “I watched Big Top with Amanda Holden the other day and feel that everyone involved in the making of this program should be the victim of much more violence” – and then turned over to ITV.

“This is Chris Ship, in Oxfordshire signing off,” said the senior political correspondent as his face fell into the snow and his cold dead eyes froze over. Before ITV weather presenter Sian Lloyd stamped on his head. The perfect kill. She’d imagined doing it to Lembit Opik many times since he had run off with the cheeky girls. “Back to you in the studio,” she said to the camera rather confidently, and why not? As she herself had reported the roads were gridlocked because of the snow and the cops would never get to her.

It cut back to the studio as Sir Trevor McDonald, soaked in blood arrived at his desk, “Sorry,” he said, “someone cut the breaks of my car. In the news today,” he continued trying to recover, but weather girl Becky Heald was dropping heavy metallic objects onto his head making an incredible noise as he spoke, it sounded like his. DONG “Snow continues to grip most of the country and salt supplies run low.” DONG “Education secretary Ed Balls had warned that many exams may have to postponed, possibly until the summer.” DONG “BBC in decency scandal after anti-French comment on BBC news.” DONG “Tories say they will cut NHS queues in half by making people stand closer together.” The theme tune played and was ended by another DONG which killed Trevor McDonald.

Jimmy switched over to BBC3, whose 60 seconds news program was on. As the line across the top got ever shorter as the program went on, Jimmy realised it was attached to a bomb.

Channel 4 issued an urgent warning to their presenters asking them not to mention the weather for fear of being murdered, however when John Snow introduced himself there was a moment of confusion during which he was murdered. “Yeah…we’re sorry about that,” said a Met Office Spokesman.

The next day all the newsreaders were dead and there was no one to report that fact except Natasha Kapplinski, she had gone to Channel Five some years ago and as a result everyone had forgotten she ever existed, it’s what’s known as the Channel 5 effect.

Right. Yes. Hello. I’ve decided to do a blog starting now. And this is it. This is partly due to recently deleting my old Myspace page on which I wrote a blog many years ago, and at the time reread all these and thought “didn’t I write some bollocks when I was 14, I bet I could do better now.” I was also inspired in part by an excellent note that my friend Owen Edwards composed speaking of the importance of the nativity story. So seeing that Facebook lists my religion as Doctor Who Fan (or Whovian if you are as pathetic and geeky as me) I thought, on this important day in Doctor Who history I would try to explain why Doctor Who is so important to me. Then I thought, “sod it, I’m tired and Gavin and Stacey is on, I’ll do it after the repeat on Sunday.” Now on Wednesday morning, I’ve actually botherred to sit down and do it. So this I hope explains why and how a reasonably well balanced person can develop an unhealthy obsession and love with a strange man in a phone box, without the need for alcohol. – They wont all be this long and geeky by the way, don’t worry.

A question you may well start with is “Who is this David Tennant of whom you speak?” as he has only appeared in a stupidly low 75 programs on the BBC this Christmas (including Doctor Who, QI, Never Mind The Buzzcocks, CBeebies Bedtime Stories, Hamlet, BBC Learning Zone) I suggest he should get himself a new publicist.

David Tennant took over the role of The Doctor in the 2005 Christmas special, but the show had been going for a long time before that. In 1963 Doctor Who first hit the airwaves, (Whovians often point out that this was the day after president Kennedy was assassinated as if these two things are in some way connected. The second gunman was never found but eye witnesses accounts talk of a tall metal man with handles coming out of his head hiding behind the grassy knoll), and I have to say being over two decades away from being born, I didn’t notice it much at first.

But then on 31st October 1989, I was born. It seemed only fair, I had been causing my mother enough hassle kicking about inside her womb for nine months, I felt it was about time I got out and saw some more of the world. One and a half months later on 6th December 1989 Doctor Who was cancelled. Naturally I was devastated. My parents recall how I would sometimes cry for no apparent reason in the middle of the night waking them up, I would even cry (proper screaming this is) during the day even when out and when other people might see. I was inconsolable. No amount of reason would make me stop crying (although a rattle I was particularly fond of did take the edge off it). This crying continued though out my years as a baby. They usually put this down to wanting to be fed or the fact that (being rather uncouth at that age) I’d shat myself again. But I think deep down it was knowledge that Doctor Who had ended and worse than that, had ended on an episode as shit as ‘Survival.’

So for many years Doctor Who was an unloved show cast off into the wilderness, but that was fine, I was OK with it, I had Playdays, Zzzap! Wizardora and Bodger and Badger to enjoy, and not forgetting of course SMTV:Live. Now at this point it becomes hard to argue that I like Doctor Who because I have good taste when I’m also admitting to liking a show with a sketch Wikipedia describes as “THE VICAR OF DRIBLEY: A Parody Of The Vicar Of Dibley. All the gags were based on dribbling water over the characters.” But it was thanks to SMTV:Live that I got into Doctor Who (perhaps ironically given that BBC alternative Live and Kicking was hosted by up and coming musical star John Barrowman – where is he now?). Having failed to get up early for school from Monday-Friday I would invariably get up far too early on a Saturday morning to see the latest instalment of Chums, or Wonkey Donkey. And – though I can’t actually remember exactly how or when it happened – it was probably this that led me to Doctor Who.

With the BBC abandoning Doctor Who, UK Gold (before it became just GOLD because UK Gold was too much to remember) showed repeats of the old serials in the prime time highly sought after six in the morning slot. This was not the easiest way in to Doctor Who but for a while I was quite the expert on the very end of Doctor Who stories. Before long I caught a few repeats on at a reasonable time of day and came to quite like it.

Of course at this stage it was very much the love that dared not speak its name. If people at school knew how enthusiastic about this old odd sci-fi show I’d be bullied and attacked for being uncool, odd, not really fitting in, a geek, and old fashioned and out of touch with all things current and cool. So I told no one I was growing to quite like Doctor Who. And was bullied for being uncool, odd, not really fitting in, a geek, old fashioned and out of touch with all things current and new, and having messy hair.

At this stage I wasn’t really too fussed about Doctor Who, if I wasn’t up in time to watch it then I’d just miss it, it didn’t bother me too much and Pokemon was often on the other side. But a distinct liking grew in me with every episode I saw and an attachment was forming for this old show. Oh and by the way, before someone says it: I know! Ok? We all know! The special effects are shit! I’ve never got why people feel the need to point this out whenever we Whovians talk about the classic show. We’re not stupid, we’ve noticed that the special effects could do with a bit of improvement. I am painfully aware that in Robot (1975) the tank the Brigadier calls in to help is a toy being pushed along by a finger just off camera and the wheels don’t do round properly and I am torturously aware that in The Web Planet (1965) that the Menoptera, a giant bee, is a man in a stripy jumper and an amusing headpiece with antennae that’s about as convincing as when Gordon Brown smiles.



In 2004 it was announced that Doctor Who was coming back, with Russell T Davies in charge and Christopher Eccleston (you may have seen him as the invisible man in Heroes) playing The Doctor. Naturally this produced a lot of grumblers “oh it’ll never be as good as the old days. They’ll try to make it too cool and it’ll be rubbish,” I know because I was one of them, because I was then (and always will be) a dickhead. I grumbled and complained (mainly to myself) until about two minutes in when The Doctor grabs Rose’s hand and says “Run!” Then I liked it. And I watched most of the first series going out, but would miss the odd episode or go out before it got to the end and not bother catching up when it was repeated.

Then at Christmas 2005 along came the man who changed my world and who is the title of this blog even though I haven’t spoken about him for ages now: David Tennant. Playing a new Doctor, who was – in his own words: “rude and not ginger,” (“Am I ginger?” “No just sort of brown.” “Arh! I wanted to be ginger, I’ve never been ginger!”). In his first 40 minutes as the Doctor he spent 35 unconscious, there are few people who could spend more than half their a show unconscious and still steal the show (though I think it’s worth a try Piers Morgan). In the last 20 minutes though he was awake (thanks to a good cup of tea, that’s all he needed) and stepped in to save the day in style. He Grabs hold of the whip that reduced two other people to skeletons, chucks it away and says “Careful! You’ll have someone’s eye out with that.”

From that, his first proper BIG scene, he is powerful, a little bit mad and extremely funny. His response to the threat to destroy the world:
“Well yeah, yeah you could do that, of course you could. But look at these people, these human beings. Consider their potential. From the day they arrive on the planet and blinking step into the sun, there is more to see than can ever be seen, more to do…no hang on………….sorry that’s The Lion King, but the point still stands. Leave them Alone!”
From that moment, I wasn’t just a casual fan, I’d become…a geek! That’s not always a bad thing, not all geeks are the type of frankly weird people who sit on internet forums saying “well scene 8 of series 3 episode 2 (which should be referred to as series 29 anyway, God damn you Russell T Davies) contradicts continuity going back as far as Series 17 episode 6 and as such is technically worse than Hitler, I am never ever watching this show again.” Since 25th December 2005, I have missed a grand total of 1 episode first time around, this is a testament to three things, 1) How good David Tennant is. 2) How thoroughly useful Sky+ is. 3) How bad the episode Love and Monsters is. (I wasn’t greatly impressed, besides which is contradicted the events of series 14 episode 8 and was therefore worse than Heather Mills.)

I still enjoyed Love And Monsters though, there are lots of bits of it that are truely very good, it’s just most of it’s a bit naff. Same with Survival which early I described as a shit episode, there’s always something brilliant in every Doctor Who episode, usually most of the it’s good, but sometimes you have to look carefully.

David Tennant got the Doctor spot-on and sums up what Doctor Who is and why I like it. (“Oh I think he’s getting near the point of the blog for the first time in 10 paragraphs.” “Wha -? Sorry I stopped reading at all the JFK shit.”) Doctor Who is about fun. It’s about exciting brilliant stories and very clever writing and brilliant acting. The Doctor doesn’t have super powers, isn’t invincible and sometimes isn’t even strong. He travels around time and space for fun, “Trouble’s just the bits in between,” and is out to have a laugh. What a great idea. Of course then he comes up against trouble and has to save the day, but he never uses a gun. He refuses to kill except in exceptionally exceptional circumstances. Even when he meets the last Dalek in existence, he refuses to kill it: “Dalek Caan. Your entire species has been wiped out, and now the Cult of Skaro has been eradicated, leaving only you. Right now, you’re facing the only man in the universe who might show you some compassion because I’ve just seen one genocide, I won’t cause another. Caan, let me help you. What do you say?” Basically he’s the nicest guy in the universe (except maybe Bernard Cribbins, more about him later).

Unlike most TV drama writers, Russell T Davies gets that life is never all doom and gloom and even in the darkest moments there is great comedy. As Martha threatens to use the Osterhagen key to destroy Earth the Doctors reaction is “What?! Who invented that? Well someone called Osterhagen presumably.” Even at the grimmest moments Doctor Who has great comedy, even when The Master has taken over the world and everything is going to shit and it looks like the world will end very soon and The Doctor is going to be dead by the end of the episode, there’s still time for what the Doctor calls the “Worst. Rescue. Ever.” As he’s strapped to a table being pushed down stairs because there isn’t time to untie him. It’s absurd and it’s ridiculous. As a lot of Doctor Who is, not just the jokes. But that’s the point. It comes back to the fact that it’s just about having fun.

“But I fear, laughing on purpose at the darkness.”

But what’s really interesting about the Doctor is that for all the happy-go-lucky, optimistic, joking, never carrying a gun stuff. He’s still a murderer. A mass murderer! The bastard I’m never watching it again it’s a disgrace and they think it’s ok to show this man to kids. The man has a fair few genocides on his hand, at least into double figures by now. He’s even wiped out his own species. This makes him one of the most interesting characters on TV ever. The man who loves life so much is forced to deal with the consequences of having to kill so often, and killing his own kind. He’s lost almost everyone he’s ever loved in the process of saving the world. Having turned Donna from a useless person who managed to miss just about every alien invasion since 2005, she travelled with him and became the most brilliant person she could, he then had to turn her back in order to stop her head from exploding. And that’s why Doctor Who is brilliant and easily kicks the arse of almost all over sci-fi shows, it comes down to basically being about love (stop sniggering) and how the Doctor effects the lives of those around him and how they affect him. At its heart Doctor Who has always been about relationships, and since 1964 when the Doctor bids farewell to his granddaughter, “One day I will come back for you. Yes, I will come back. Until then simply go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine,” to his more recent goodbyes to Donna and Rose. The best bits of the big finale to series 4 weren’t the fleet of Dalek ships, the big explosions, the angry German women, they were Harriet Jones bravely sacrificing herself to save the Doctor, Davros showing the Doctor the effect he has on people and all the people who have died fighting for him, the jubilant companions saving the day together and the Doctor explaining to Donna’s mother and grandfather (Bernard Cribbins again) that she can never go back to being brilliant, “I just want you to know that there are worlds out there, safe in the sky because of her. That there are people living in the light and singing songs of Donna Noble, a thousand million light years away. They will never forget her, while she can never remember. And for one moment, one shining moment, Donna Noble was the most important woman in the whole of creation.”

The best scenes of the big finale, The End Of Time, are where The Doctor and Wilf are on their own (Although NO ONE should EVER have to see the voice of the Wombles crying), the Timelords are coming back but, unlike most sci-fi (or indeed a lot of drama) Doctor Who is all about the brilliant little things and ultimately about people. It’s why *MASSIVE SPOILER: IF YOU HAVENT SEEN IT SKIP TO THE NEXT PARAGRAPH* The tenth Doctor dies not saving the universe, the universe is already safe when he dies, he dies to save one man! His friend Wilf.



So David Tennant is the best Doctor Who, in my opinion, because he gives a totally real performance, as a nice, brave man who cares, who is incredibly fun and optimistic yet living in almost constant pain. He’s a man who doesn’t just accept things, he makes a stand even when no one else will. AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, he said that Lion King line, which was fantastic. And what other sci-fi hero would say to an alien threatening to cut up his friend “You’re my favourite you are, you are the best! You know why? Coz you’re so thick! You’re Mr Thick Thick Thickedy Thick Face from Thick Town, Thickania….and so’s your dad!”

It’s odd to think that back in 2005 a lot of people were saying he’d be awful and he could never follow Christopher Eccleston and he was too young and they were never going to watch the show again because it was crap and he didn’t look quite right! Sound familiar? Bet it does to Matt Smith.

Doctor Who may not be a religion, but fundamentally it’s about friendship, adventure, entusiasm, accepting the weird and crazy people and things in life and standing up for what is right against all the odds even when no one else will. And that’s a good enough set of beliefs for me.

He’s easily my favourite Doctor, he got the part spot on and can make you laugh and cry at the simplest of things, best actor we have around today (or ever?). I’ll be watching a new Doctor in the spring, and that’s great, the main character has changed, and the show is going to be new and different and fresh and exciting in ways I can’t even imagine yet, but he wont be David Tennant, no ones that good (I’m perfectly willing to be very pleasantly surprised by anyone but don’t think I will be), he was spot on and perfect. So I’m sorry William, Patrick, Jon, Tom, Peter, Colin, Sylvester, Paul, Christopher and Matt you’re all very good but David Tennant, you were MY Doctor.