Tin's Head Revisited
So here I am watching the new Doctor Who and it's teleporting me back to the early 80s when I was still convinced that I'd grow up to be a journalist and novelist in London. My favourite shows were viewed through a veil of television snow on Asheville's PBS station ('cos the local PBS had no British shows in the 80s). Saturdays were dedicated to Doctor Who (Tom Baker's and Peter Davison's mostly, but there were some Jon Pertwee's thrown in there for good measure) from 12 PM 'til 4 then, at 8 PM, came All Creatures Great and Small. During the week there was Fawlty Towers either at 9 PM or 11 PM. In 1983, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy edged in on a little of the good Doctor's time, being featured from 3 'til 4 each week until the series ran out.
Those were some of my happier and more hopeful days. I was still a dreamer then, and I still had faith in myself and my fellow humans. There seemed to be an innocence I associate with those shows and that era in my life, a freshness that can never be recaptured.
But it can almost be.
When I heard that theme song, that glorious theme song for Doctor Who, all modernised and enriched with orchestrations, my heart fluttered and I was 15 years old again. I'm hoping to at least visit London soon and I've written a book, albeit one that still needs a godawful amount of work. Truth be told, I'm probably more like Basil Fawlty now than the Doctor, Zaphod or Trillian, or James the veterinarian, but that's okay. I am who I am. And it makes me smile that I can still feel that thrill of newness and the well-known unknown.
Now I need to go find pictures of Anthony Andrews from the Sebastian Flyte years.
Those were some of my happier and more hopeful days. I was still a dreamer then, and I still had faith in myself and my fellow humans. There seemed to be an innocence I associate with those shows and that era in my life, a freshness that can never be recaptured.
But it can almost be.
When I heard that theme song, that glorious theme song for Doctor Who, all modernised and enriched with orchestrations, my heart fluttered and I was 15 years old again. I'm hoping to at least visit London soon and I've written a book, albeit one that still needs a godawful amount of work. Truth be told, I'm probably more like Basil Fawlty now than the Doctor, Zaphod or Trillian, or James the veterinarian, but that's okay. I am who I am. And it makes me smile that I can still feel that thrill of newness and the well-known unknown.
Now I need to go find pictures of Anthony Andrews from the Sebastian Flyte years.