I tuned in with excitement to last week’s episode of Dr Who, as it was filmed in Gosport. I was ready to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at the stunning scenery and regale family members with stories of how many times I’d stood in that exact spot.
I think there was a tense atmosphere during filming as it had been announced that Jodie Whittaker was taking the mantle and anticipation was high.
Crowds roamed the seafront looking for any sign of action, but it turned out that all the filming was at Little Woodham – the 17th century village which squats quietly out of the way in a little enclave in the woods.
Therefore, no one could really see anything.
The show started with a note saying it was Lancashire, which was a shame.
But the episode concentrated on aliens that turned into mud and then reanimated women’s bodies in the most zombie-esque fashion, with twisted hands and rivulets of a seeping black mess.
Not exactly the image you want for your home town.
But what’s really interesting about this series, particularly the Dr being a woman, is the reflective yet fun way in which her femininity was dealt with.
The comment which went something along the lines of ‘we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I was still a man’ was so on the mark.
It’s great to see comments like this being shared in general conversation during prime time viewing for families.
These are comments that can be talked about, mulled over and learnt from.
The whole series has felt moralistic which is always tricky and I’m not sure that we would have that with a male Dr Who.
It is like the writers are being very careful with what they say and how they say it – obviously writing in perhaps a feminist style rather than the Dr Who was incidentally reincarnated into a female body.
But as long as there aren’t any mud monsters living in the Alver Valley or hanging around Gosport’s street corners, I am more than happy with the latest series and Jodie Whittaker’s performance.
Enter supermarkets with caution, pie pushers are back
Mince pie season is finally upon us but beware of the pie pushers in supermarkets.
I tasted one which was practically a lump in a cup and wasn’t impressed.
There was too much pastry for my liking and it sucked the moisture out of my mouth. What my taste buds hadn’t realised was that this particular mince pie had been featured on national TV as the best of the season.
The pie pusher took it almost personally when I said it wasn’t for me and then informed me I was the only one all day who hadn’t liked it – as if I was being difficult.
But the simple fact of the matter is that my mum’s have been, and always will be, the best mince pies – I don’t care what national TV says.
I’m A Celebrity is gross, but I finally know the contestants
’m A Celebrity is the most disgusting programme ever.
The presenters are surely embarrassed by the level of degradation and revulsion that they put the poor contestants through.
Well, how could they not be? Because year on year the levels of grossness are ratcheted up.
One of my daughters flicked it on and started questioning who the celebrities were and for once, I could answer. This was the first time where I’ve been actively able to recognise people on a celebrity show.
Even though watching them drink turkey-testicle smoothie turned my stomach, at least I knew who was drinking it.
Especially because it was Noel Edmonds, who I’ve never quite forgiven for Mr Blobby.