The fag hag has never really got the whole Dr Who thing. Perhaps that’s because watching RSC actors with croaky alien voices and too much make-up unable to make it up stairs is hardly a treat for me as it was a daily event in my childhood. Or perhaps it’s because my days of believing that a polystyrene lever painted grey by the BBC props department could destroy the entire world were probably over the day I got my first mortgage approved. But I always say try everything once (except sex with a Welshman), so this weekend I decided to join the 10 million other people watching the finale and see what all the fuss was about. And do you know I think I might have come over to the dark side. I found skinny old pasty old David T a little hot. I managed to watch Billie Piper without wanting to stab her in the face. And when Catherine Tate got packed off home and the man from the Railway Children had tears spilling out of his slightly thyroidy eyes I even shed a little fag hag salt water myself.
Dr Who is actually quite darling you know, in a little regional sci-fi way…just keep me away from any creepy grown men that like it though as I like my entrails in my body and not spread across a serial killer’s lair thank you muchly.