DIY Sheep versus Doctor Who and everybody else

"Even the Queen needs to shit"

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DIY Sheep


The sheep who likes the colour yellow quite a bit



Meeting your childhood hero – should you do it?


If you had a dinner party and you could invite anyone you admired whom would you invite: Hunter S Thompson, Hitler, Tom Cruise, Jesus?


If you asked me, I’d say none of the above. One because they are all a bunch of right nutters and two, because meeting your hero very rarely lives up to your expectations.


A journalist friend was upset when she couldn’t score an interview with the band Grinspoon at a recent gig because they were too ‘tired and emotional’. And yeah – they were very ‘tired and emotional’. I didn’t realize anyone could get that ‘tired and emotional’ without passing out.


Still, they made a nice contrast from all the nice Drink Smart people who were extolling the virtues of not putting yourself into orbit on a regular basis as your kidneys might implode and you become a storyline on ER.


Although they made nice music, to me they were basically nasty grotty little stoned wankers. Not really someone I would invite to my next dinner party or even give the time to in the street. But my friend really wanted to meet them because she idolized them. If she had it, just judging by the backstage screaming and yelling, would have killed her. Perhaps idols should be admired from afar.   


I am a Doctor Who fan. Tragic, but there you go. We all have sad little secrets. I wanted to meet at least one Doctor before they snuffed it. Two of them were coming to Australia for ‘An Evening With Doctor Who’ and one was ‘my’ Doctor. I wanted to meet him.


So I wangle a ticket and pop up to Brisbane. Here fate kicks in: by sheer good luck my large impressive testosterone inducing 4wd ended up with a flat battery and was locked in a closed car park. The only person I knew in Brisbane had conveniently gone to Vietnam.


But, I thought - I am going to meet my Doctor Who idol - and when else am I going to ever do that? So, I forget my problems and had to endure Tim the toothbrush total wanker trying to attempt to be funny and witty. Oh yeah baby – The dud from DAAS. Some blind deaf idiot had decided to make him the compare of the evening.


15 minutes into the show and the audience are mentally thinking 'get off you stupid pratt bastard'. The only good thing was that every time Toothbrush Boy turned to look at me I kept mouthing wanker at him. Sad, but it amused me slightly and quite frankly he wasn't – amusing me that is. The only good thing about Tim was that.... give me a minute here - no - he was just awful. That man really does have the charisma of a toothbrush (apologies to his wife).


Then after Tim, came the fun of the queue to actually meet your idol... I spent most of the time chatting with some guy who was much more forgiving about the first three installments of Star Wars than I.


The queuing part of the evening took a while. The highlight was when my Doctor Who idol wandered past announcing to the entire foyer (including a bunch of bewildered advertising executives finishing up a black tie junket dinner) that even 'the Queen needs to shit’ and then wandering around in small circles until I showed him where the gents was. Now that is classy.


We got to the end of the queue at about midnight. By this time my Doctor was so pooped I could have given him a dead chicken to sign and he would have done it. I was also so god awfully tired by this stage that I also just didn't give a damn. For 17 years I have thought he was the coolest Time Lord on Earth (that doesn't make sense, but you get my drift). However by this point, he could have been the Pope and I wouldn't have cared and he couldn't even see straight.


I know I am being selfish here, but for me this was meant to be a big thing. I vaguely remember Colin Baker, the Sixth Doctor, and me exchanging ‘let’s get the hell out heres’ before I remembered I couldn't go home. 200 miles from home. Car - flat battery. Car park closed... oh joy.


So I pop round to the nearest hotel. To be fair, they were quite nice. Considering if a hot cranky, irritable, shirty, disappointed, tired person walks into your hotel at 1 AM in the morning, looks at you slightly psychotically and sort of demands a room most people would look at you twice. Not so this hotel - although I think that is actually because the combined intellect of their staff would roughly add up to my shoe size (and I am only five feet). But they had the prerequisites - a bed and a mini bar.


And you thought it gets better from here.... Putting it simply: NO: The hotel was renovating... At six in the morning I get woken by the dulcet sounds of power tools. If there is one thing I loathe the most in the world it is power tools. So - I was in hell. A very expensive hell. What annoyed me most was that I can get power tools going off at ungodly hours of the morning at home for free... But, oh yes: I couldn't get home.


Fortunately, I called the RACQ (accompanied to the frenzied sounds of hammering from the hotel in the background) and they came and let me out of my car park prison. After that it is relatively tame. Just a minor incident involving someone's shrubbery, my 4wd Landcrusher Unnecessary and a jail.


You may or may not be pleased to know that some twenty-four hours later I arrived relatively safely home and collapsed - vowing to swear off Doctor Who forever and to find and punish all those responsible for all eternity.


But the best part of the 'outing' was the lovely RACQ man who fixed my car was so concerned he checked my oil and water so I wouldn't have any problems on the drive back. He may not save universes, but to me he is a bigger hero than the Doctor could ever be.


And he is real.