January 2008 - Holiday Memories
January 2008 - Holiday Memories
I'll take a few less holiday memories, thanks.
I mean, let's face it-- the last few Christmases I've been through haven't exactly gone like a picture postcard. It's not that I'm not used to being a bit of a trouble magnet, since that's been a constant state of being ever since I got myself the TARDIS. I suppose it's just that I'd gotten really attached to the idea of that time of the year being all about peace and goodwill and the turning of the year and reflecting back on the year past and looking forward to the new year and it's all very pleasant a holiday to have.
But then KA-ZAM, some melodramatic alien race or other decides that it's the perfect time to start messing about with the people of the world, and ruins it for everyone! I suppose they've got a bit of a point, what with most people figuring that nothing unhappy's going to happen on the holidays and they can relax and let their guard down. From a tactical standpoint, I guess I can see where the baddies might be coming from: so much of the Earth has been rendered incapacitated by spiked eggnog or tryptophan or just general good cheer that you lot are easy pickings.
Christmas wasn't always like this for me, either. They were pretty quiet. And then right after my last regeneration (wouldn't you know it-- unexpected company always drops in when you're in your bathrobe, right?), a bunch of would-be conquerors all hopped up on whatever their version of testosterone might be decided to pick. The Sycorax, they called themselves, and not only were they particularly aggressive, they had a twisted sense of humour, too.
Can you imagine walking down the street when a bunch of Father Christmases decide to start blowing up Portobello Road with their band instruments? Or sitting in your flat, watching something sentimental and pretty on the television when your Christmas tree starts spinning like a top and attacking like a buzzsaw?
Stopped them, though. Satsuma. A sight to see, I tell you.
Flash forward another year. A particularly nasty piece of work, the Empress of a near-dead race called the Racnoss, decided it was time to bring her people back in the worst and most inconvenient way possible-- right through the people of Earth. Took care of that one, too, though I swapped the produce for a few exploding Christmas tree ornaments. Oh, yes, she not only repeated the killer tree, but the murderous Santas, too. The good folk of London got to watch her great big crystal star-shaped vessel climb high over the city then get shot to pieces.
This last time, some nutter decided it would be a good business move to take his whopping big luxury spaceliner, kit it out like an antique ocean cruiser and call it Titanic, all just so he could crash the whole thing into the planet Earth and make himself a bundle of money. I spent most of that Christmas caught in a low-orbit version of The Poseidon Adventure, running for my life from a bunch of lethal robotic angels. Yeah, I said angels. I had the extra displeasure this last time of watching some very nice people die because of it, too.
I think I may curl myself into a very small sphere and hide in the corner of the TARDIS from 23 December until about 3 January this year. Or not. But if the tinsel tries to strangle me or the pudding gains sentience, I've had it.
(597)
The Tenth Doctor
'Doctor Who'
Please reply here.
I'll take a few less holiday memories, thanks.
I mean, let's face it-- the last few Christmases I've been through haven't exactly gone like a picture postcard. It's not that I'm not used to being a bit of a trouble magnet, since that's been a constant state of being ever since I got myself the TARDIS. I suppose it's just that I'd gotten really attached to the idea of that time of the year being all about peace and goodwill and the turning of the year and reflecting back on the year past and looking forward to the new year and it's all very pleasant a holiday to have.
But then KA-ZAM, some melodramatic alien race or other decides that it's the perfect time to start messing about with the people of the world, and ruins it for everyone! I suppose they've got a bit of a point, what with most people figuring that nothing unhappy's going to happen on the holidays and they can relax and let their guard down. From a tactical standpoint, I guess I can see where the baddies might be coming from: so much of the Earth has been rendered incapacitated by spiked eggnog or tryptophan or just general good cheer that you lot are easy pickings.
Christmas wasn't always like this for me, either. They were pretty quiet. And then right after my last regeneration (wouldn't you know it-- unexpected company always drops in when you're in your bathrobe, right?), a bunch of would-be conquerors all hopped up on whatever their version of testosterone might be decided to pick. The Sycorax, they called themselves, and not only were they particularly aggressive, they had a twisted sense of humour, too.
Can you imagine walking down the street when a bunch of Father Christmases decide to start blowing up Portobello Road with their band instruments? Or sitting in your flat, watching something sentimental and pretty on the television when your Christmas tree starts spinning like a top and attacking like a buzzsaw?
Stopped them, though. Satsuma. A sight to see, I tell you.
Flash forward another year. A particularly nasty piece of work, the Empress of a near-dead race called the Racnoss, decided it was time to bring her people back in the worst and most inconvenient way possible-- right through the people of Earth. Took care of that one, too, though I swapped the produce for a few exploding Christmas tree ornaments. Oh, yes, she not only repeated the killer tree, but the murderous Santas, too. The good folk of London got to watch her great big crystal star-shaped vessel climb high over the city then get shot to pieces.
This last time, some nutter decided it would be a good business move to take his whopping big luxury spaceliner, kit it out like an antique ocean cruiser and call it Titanic, all just so he could crash the whole thing into the planet Earth and make himself a bundle of money. I spent most of that Christmas caught in a low-orbit version of The Poseidon Adventure, running for my life from a bunch of lethal robotic angels. Yeah, I said angels. I had the extra displeasure this last time of watching some very nice people die because of it, too.
I think I may curl myself into a very small sphere and hide in the corner of the TARDIS from 23 December until about 3 January this year. Or not. But if the tinsel tries to strangle me or the pudding gains sentience, I've had it.
(597)
The Tenth Doctor
'Doctor Who'
Please reply here.