How often does a television show change the way you feel, the way you see the world, even if the sensation is a momentary flame whose echo of heat will follow you to the corners of your life? I’ve mentioned before that I’m watching Doctor Who from the start, I’m now at season two, and about to see episode 13; Army of Ghosts. I’ve witnessed the regeneration of the Doctor and the obliteration of several great evils but I’m not sure I’m emotionally stable to survive this one and talk properly.
I sure as hell wasn’t prepared for this series, never dreamed how it would affect me, the way it make me want to dream and wander. I’m overwhelmed by David Tennant. Christopher Eccleston was fantastic – you’ll never hear me say otherwise – but David has that extra ‘oompf’. Rose. Oh sweet custard, Rose is a storm. I love them, I love the energy and the zest, that bursting spark of living they ignite in me. The gains and the losses, the lessons leaned the hard way, of the path that is straight and narrow.
To think I have roughly five more seasons to delve into, oh dear. To uninitiated and the disinterested, don’t you dare tell me that it’s just a show. This is imagination, such a tangible manifestation, so powerful it encourages bravery in my soul. I’m more exposed to the mysteries of the great beyond, more so than any NASA release could ever inspire me. I’m aware that Moffat isn’t the only one writing these, and as much as he can be evil, he’s brilliant.
I think I might hold off until tomorrow. A cup of tea (and is seems to appear I’m out of cocoa) and some shut eye will do me some good. When they say television is dangerous, they’re right. It’s as almost terrifying as the power of books. Both make you think … if you look at it in the right light.
G’night or good morning to you lot.