DIY Sheep versus Doctor Who and everybody else














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Let me tell you the story of my little man. He is a very special little man and even now, after many many years he can make me smile simply by falling unceremoniously off the table and on to his head.

My little man is an action figure type toy of Sylvester McCoy that I bought fifteen years ago. He is about five inches high, wears green trousers, spats, a question mark jumper, a grey jacket and a panama hat - odd that.

Back then I thought Sylvester rocked big time and I saved up all my money to fork out the horrific amount of money it cost (about ten dollars) to buy him. But in those days I was young and impetuous and no amount of 'what bleedin good is a six inch high action man going to do you' would dissuade me - Ahh! To be thirty four again.

I got him home and I looked at him. There he was encased in his packaging. He looked grand, and he even came with his own umbrella. e HBut I could not open him. I had been told that the worst thing you could do was to open the packaging of your collectable. And he was a collectable. This little fellow was going to be worth a mint one day. So I put him away in a drawer and thought about how lucky I was going to be.

But I am just not that sort of person and as time passed I got curious. So I carefully cut open the packaging and checked him out.

I worked out his little legs moved and that you had to be real careful about his umbrella or sure as god made little apples that would get lost - and knowing my luck this was bound to happen.

But back in a drawer he went.

For 12 years he stayed in a box, in a drawer, in another box - in his packaging - being pristine and collectable.

Then one day I was going through my boxes and I, much older and wiser came across him. I remembered my fondness for things Doctor Who and laughed at my salad days: How Sebastian, Julia and myself had whiled away the merry hours of youth watching Sylvester play the spoons while saving the universe.

Should I succumb to being a real grown up and throw him out? I pondered this and looked at his little face. I was swayed. He looked so happy and, my, weren't his eyebrows impressive. So somehow he avoided the rubbish bin and ended up in the bathroom, guarding my toothpaste from any Daleks that might have plans to take over my sink and use it in some evil plot for universe domination.

A little later I moved and moved again. This is what one does in the course of your life and I dutifully packed, repacked and unpacked. About six months after the last move something began to niggle inside my brain and I had a thought. Where was my little man? Had I in a moment of sensibleness thrown him out or was he still nestled somewhere in a box?

Even though I like to pretend I am grown up I am not. I try and try to spend my time worrying about taxes, politics and the state of the world, but somehow my attention always gets drawn back to the silly little enjoyable things that give me pleasure.

Many hours of searching later I found him, in a box, stuffed head first next to a wooden horse and my gas mask - and by some miracle I found his umbrella nearby.

'No more boxes for you my little man' I said as I smiled down at him. 'From now on you can see the world.'

I carefully tied his umbrella to his neck by a small length of dental floss so the umbrella would not get lost and put him on the shelf.

Now he is free of his packaging he really does enjoy himself. Sometimes he sits on the desk as I write, sometimes I find him on the floor and sometimes I have to rescue him from the dog before she buries him in a flower pot. But whatever the perils of his new life he says to say he does enjoy himself very much. He asked me to write this review and that I heartily recommend a toy that, while may seem useless, can bring great joy - either starring in web stories or just falling on their head. He also asks that all of his fellow compatriots (in all regenerations) be allowed to spend their lives free and devoid of packaging so that they may enjoy themselves as much as he does.