Channeling Dr Who

Oxford Street is as crowded as it ever was at this time of year. Shoulder to shoulder with the silent and self-involved London masses I fought up the broken escalator at Bond Street and out into the lights. It is the evening before International Pretend You’re an American Day. Over there right now they are munching turkey to celebrate their takeover. Tomorrow they will buy it all. And we will as well because everything seems to creep over to us eventually, even the crap like Black Friday.

I was there to see the dress rehearsal of the Doctor Who : Time Fracture Immersive show. I missed it the first time around and it has just reopened. I really hope it can play for a while now, as it’s giving employment to lots of my friends and it’s good. I’m not especially a fan of Doctor Who – I enjoy it, and have watched loads of it but nothing close to all of it. I’m not aware of the nuances. Still, I enjoyed myself very much. There are lots of very skillful actors in long term employment, working their socks off. There’s a mixture of sandbox semi improv stuff, and staged set pieces. Various doctors and ex doctors talk to us through screens. It’s cleverly placed out of time, so it can’t really disrupt what is known as the canon. And it’s fun. It’s clear, weird, energetic fun. I had a great evening. But for some reason they were all mispronouncing the word “temporal”. They did it to rhyme with “French oral”. Maybe to line up with the Americans… Still, it was a lovely break.

I needed one too. My kitchen pipes have chosen today to block. Plunging it achieved nothing despite much sweat and swearing, but thankfully I’ve got a syphon and a load of buckets from the fish tank. I was able to do a load of washing ahead of Jersey by syphoning the drainage water from my sink every time the washing machine discharged and carrying it by bucket to the loo. I’ve booked the usual bunch of cowboys to come with their chain and get whatever is down there out before I leave. It’s a frequent issue, living in this very old mansion block. The outflow pipes are tiny. Nobody expected washing machines in the 1870’s. The cowboys quoted me a pre VAT price on the phone which is always an alarm bell, but needs must when the devil drives. I’ll be spending £150 quid. That’s the Chelsea premium. I told them I’d done everything I could, and so long as they fix it deep then it’s money well spent.

It seems everything is ganging up to stop me from being able to relax before Jersey. TNT is giving me the runaround with passport delivery, my plumbing is fighting me, and it’s getting colder and colder. It’s all gonna be fine though. Me and a bunch of strangers just saved the world, apparently. Watching the actors working though I remembered how much work it is doing immersive theatre. They’ll be knackered at the end of it, I’m sure, but you can see how well they know each other and play with each other when they get a moment.

Tomorrow I’m off to see my mum’s boyfriend at half past two. But I’ll have to cancel if TNT haven’t delivered my passport by then. In the morning the plumber is gonna show up. And around all of that I’m going to put the things I managed to wash into a suitcase when they’ve dried. It’s all gonna be fine… If I can save the world just by walking around a bit and listening to people work, then I guess I can do anything.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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