Hello and Welcome…

...to this little blog of mine. My name’s Ion and I’m a Doctor Who fan (a Who’er if you like, although that does sound rather dodgy if you say it in a Newcastle accent) - that’s Ion as in Chesterton, by the way, not Ion as in rocket (you know, like the one Professor Eldred secretly cobbled together in the shed at the bottom of his garden). Having said that, most people seem incapable of getting their heads around the fact that Ion can’t be spelt without an ‘a’ - so sometimes it’s Ion and others it’s Ian. Take your pick. Either’s better than ‘Oi, bollock features’ (or somesuch!)

I’m a child of the late sixties, which means I grew up in the 1970s. This was the most amazing time. Yes, okay, the fashions were unforgivable (knitwear featured quite highly, I seem to remember) and, as we’ve recently discovered, there was a very dark undercurrent that ran throughout the entire decade. But for me, they were halcyon days...days when television was a treat, to be watched sparingly. One show in particular caught my attention. It was Saturday 26th January 1974 and on BBC1 a funny looking bloke with a Margaret Rutherford hairdo and a woman in a hideous tank-top and lapels wider than a pterodactyl's wingspan were being menaced in a warehouse by a lump of snot green foam rubber masquerading as a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Yes, it was Part Three of Invasion of the Dinosaurs, the series (what else but) Doctor Who, and life...well, that would never be the same again. Ever since, I’ve loved the show with a passion. Well, okay. It’s not all been plain sailing. We fell out during the mid-eighties in quite a big way (a heady cocktail of Bonnie Langford - who, I'd just like to point out, I now adore, Pip n’ Jane Baker and a move to “giddy” London - and my consequent discovery of the other pleasures life had to offer *blushes* - saw me off) and it wasn’t until the advent of the Virgin New Adventures in the early nineties that relations were gradually re-established. Nevertheless, by the time the TV movie had winged its way across the Atlantic we were back on speaking terms and about to enter a loving relationship which hasn’t wavered to this day.

For some of you, this blog might seem a little familiar. I originally began it back in the early 2010s but, as is so often the case, life got in the way and I sort of fell out of keeping it up to date around the time I got to The Celestial Toymaker (which is quite understandable on reflection, as it's shit). For this redux version, I’ve completely updated and revamped the content (in other words, I've started watching the show from the beginning - again!), otherwise it’s pretty much the same. But why ‘Adventures in Space and Wine’ I hear you all ask (well…the couple of you who are still feigning some degree of interest and haven’t moved on to googling porn)? Because there’s nothing better than sitting down with an episode of Doctor Who and, sometimes, not always, Doctor Who and a big stiff one (a sentence which perfectly encapsulates the tone of what is to come! And on hearing this, some of you may want to change your mind and pop off to google ‘big stiff one’ instead). You might seriously, for example, want to have a couple of bottles in the wine rack handy for The Keys of Marinus. Think of this as the kind of programme guide Jean-Marc Lofficier might’ve written had he possessed a surfeit of sarcasm and a well-stocked drinks cabinet. Oh, and those of a sensitive disposition should also note that sometimes rude words might will most definitely be used. Often. You have been warned!

Please feel free to comment, criticise, or ask me out on a date (look, I’m not getting any younger and where I live eligible men are about as rare as a spark of originality in a Terry Nation script).

Welcome aboard...