DIY Sheep versus Doctor Who and everybody else

Richard E Grant has elongated elbows

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Richard E is a wanker

Richard E Can't is the most evil being in the universe.... just watch Posh Nosh if you don't believe me!

In a part of the universe far far away....


'I'll just reconfigure the connector matrix, inverse the sectron inhibitor, poke this bit with my screw driver, cross my fingers and hope something happens,' said the Doctor with his tongue hanging out as he poked around with the console innards.


Charley looked up from her book.


'Doctor - stop trying to impress me with your mumbo jumbo. I am a bimbo chick from the nineteen twenties. I don't have the faintest clue what you are talking about. In my day we hadn't even invented the digital watch, let alone delved into quantum time mechanics. Personally I think you sound you are doing something rarrther kinky, what with your screw driver poking and all.'


The Doctor looked up from his work and sighed.


'Charley, CharleyCharley. Charley Charley? Charley Charley, Charley, CharleyCharley. Charley Charley? Charley Charley, Charley… Charley! Charley? Cha… Cha….. Charley, Charley Charley Charley. Charley Charley… Charley! Charley? Cha… Charley, Charley Charley Charley. Charley Charley,' he admonished. 'This is impoooortant. This is exciiiiting. This is the beginning of a whole new universe of adventures for you and me.'


'Yes Doctor it was jolly lucky that we managed to find Rassilon, transfer the Zagreus virus from him to you, rediscover the TARDIS, discover the secret of those zone thingies, fix all his emotional problems and then set Cr’izz up as the new ruler of his people and find a way back to our own universe. Oops. I think I have just given away the entire next McGann season of Big Finish?' she said as she popped a hand over her mouth.


The Doctor bounced like an excitable toddler. 'Oh don't worry about that Charley. No one listens to that dribble anyway. The exciting bit is where we are going now - 34 Barks Head Road, Basingstoke - mmm – mm - mm?'


But Charley was not taken in by his ‘would you like a jelly baby’ routine and only looked disdainfully at him. 'And just why would I want to go to a lower class area of London?'


The Doc looked crestfallen. He sadly twiddled his knob - the one on the console. 'Weeeeell, a friend of mine lives there.'


Charley hit him with a look. 'Not an ex....'? she asked.


He fiddled with his knob a bit more before finally nodding.


She sighed. 'All right. If you want to go visit your ex for a bit of 'whatever it is you do' with them we will go. But I am going to find the nearest pub and get plastered. Sometimes Doctor - you really get up my jacksie.'


He smiled one of his big winning; lets jump on him and drag him into the bushes smiles. 'Thanks Charley'.


This time she hit him with her book.




Barkers Road, Basingstoke


The Eighth Doc poked his nose out of the TARDIS and began to bounce up and down like Barney the dinosaur on speed: ‘Ohh goodie,’ he cried happily. We made it, we made it, we made it.’


Charley followed him out. ‘Great Doctor. Now where is the pub?’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Er Doctor. What are all these dead bodies doing here’ she asked pointing to the two dead bodies behind the Doctor.


The Doctor turned. ‘Oh dear – dead bodies. Now if I remember my Doctor Who Scriptwriter’s Handbook: One Hundred and One Things to do in a Gravel Pit, correctly that means that within the next sixty seconds lots of armed men will arrive, arrest us and we will be accused of their murder’.


‘Bloody terrific.’ Sighed Charley. ‘So we have about thirty seconds before we all get carted off to be horribly tortured and shot?’


‘Er yes’


‘Bugger that for a game of monkeys. I am off to the pub,’ she stated as she turned and left.


The Doctor started to follow her, but found himself stopped by a very large unpleasant man with an equally large and unpleasant gun. The gun was pointing at a point somewhere between his eyes.


The Doctor smiled. ‘You’re fifteen seconds early,’ he said as he slowly put up his hands.


The man did not seem all that impressed with his humour (not having read the Doctor Who Scriptwriter’s Handbook: When in Doubt Bring Back the Daleks, and all). He simply cocked the gun and said ‘And you have fifteen seconds to lie face down on the ground or I blow your head off.’


Then for emphasis he struck the Doctor on the side of his head with his gun, knocking him down.


‘Oh great,’ thought the Doctor as he lay on the road, water seeping into his clothes. ‘This is going to be a Kate Orman sort of story. And bloody Charley is down at the pub. Fat lot of good she will do me. Trust me to pick an inexperienced flapper when what I really need is homicidal killing machine: Where's Ace when you need her?'


Meanwhile Charley was having a great time down at the Spotted Dick. She had met this nice bloke with enormous ears called Chris and a fascinating character called Withnail…




Hello luvvie!


As the Doctor lay on the footpath staring intently at the gravel, his captor called over his shoulder. ‘Oi boss. I got him.’


A painfully thin anemic looking man came from the shadows. The Doctor looked up. It was Richard E Grant.


'Oh you bastard,' cried the Eighth Doctor. 'You have never forgiven me for acting your trousers off in Withnail have you.'


Richard E sneered. 'Listen you one shot wonder with the well fitting shoes - I was Doctor Who and I didn't even have to pretend to act the script was so bad. And I have worked with Steve Martin. 'If' you had taken the time to read my film diaries you would know that. But then again I suppose you don't get many books in Bristol, eh laddie?'


The Eighth Doc stood up and took a deep breath. 'Right: that does it. I was always better than you in Withnail.'




'You just overacted. Any fool can do that. I was the one who was nearly rogered over the kitchen table. And I looked very sexy in that red sweater. Uncle Monty didn't want you now did he? '


Richard E grimaced. 'You take that back.'


The eighth Doc smiled evilly. 'And what about Hudson fricken Hawk luvvie? What was that meant to be?'


'No', cried Richard E as he cradled his head in his hands.


'Hudson Hawk, Hudson Hawk, Hudson Hawk.'


Richard E began to cry. 'I'll get you - you Scousy bastard,' he said as he ran off.


The Eighth Doc slapped his hands together. 'Not bad at all for a long haired ponce,' he said to himself and toddled off to join Charley in the bar.




Down t’pub


Fitz swore loudly. Damn that Compassion. He had not wanted to do this, but she had insisted it was for the best. Why had she made him do it?


It had sounded all reasonable at the time. The Doctor must be hit on the head with a frying pan to induce amnesia so there was no way he could ever remember that he had destroyed Gallifrey, have a mental breakdown and turn into a total loony. Justin had also told him that it would also help keep the book range fresh and new.


But now, standing here, clutching the frying pan in his sweaty hands, it was so angsty it was bad fan fiction. Fitz lit another cigarette and watched the Doc as he battled Withnail in a sculling contest. At least he had tracked the Doc down in a pub. That was something - he could have a few pints afterwards.


Finally he worked up the courage to approach the Doctor's table.


The Eighth Doc was in the middle of telling an amusing story about how he had pretended to be a presenter from 'Intergalactic Changing Rooms' and had managed to do over most of Darth Vader's Death Star in pastels before the bloke had come home early from his weekend away.


'Oh man it was funny,' he said. 'You should have seen the look on his face... Doctor, he said to me - I am going to rip your arms out by their sockets and shove them up your....' He looked up.


'Hello Fitz. What are you doing here?' he asked.


‘I’m only doing this because I love you Doc.’


‘Hey,’ interrupted Charley. ‘That’s my line.’


The Doctor looked embarrassed. ‘Now now Fitz. You know there is no homoerotic subtext in Doctor Who… and that thing in The Blue Angel was just a one off… you know how Paul gets.’


Fitz looked sadly at the Doctor. 'I am sorry Doc, but I know how much you are suffering'.


'Suffering? Well I will be in the morning, but I am having a great time at the moment with my friends. This is Charley and Chris and the bloke being unwell on your shoes is Withnail - he's an actor so he says.'


Fitz regarded the Doc with sadness. The poor bloke had already gone mad. This was going to be an act of kindness.


Then the Doctor noticed the frying pan and understanding dawned. 'No Fitz, you don't understand. I am the Big Finish Eighth Doctor, not the book one. You don't have to....'


But he was to late. Fitz knocked him cold with the fry pan and he slumped over the table.


Withnail got up and looked blearily at the prone body of the Doctor and Fitz standing there holding the fry pan in his now quivering hands.


'I say,' said Withnail. 'Is that non stick?' Then he burst out laughing and fell over again.


Charley looked at the Doctor's body. 'Oh really Doctor. Did you often used to hang around with scruffy looking men who bash you on the head with fry pans?' she asked as she threw some cold water on him.


'Ugg' said the Doctor as he woke up.


'Twat' replied Charley.




Meanwhile - while all that stuff was going on 'down t pub', this was happening




How many times have I told you not to tie me up when I am asleep and stick a lit piece of dynamite between my teeth?'


Ace pouted. 'Oh come on Professor. It is only fun and games?'


'Pouwt it owt' he admonished from between his clenched teeth as the wick burned down.


Ace pouted again. 'Oh all right,' she said as she extinguished the fuse. 'Sometimes you are such a killjoy Professor.'


'No,' he said slowly - very aware of the large sub machine gun she was polishing and reminding himself to talk to her about leaving ground to air missiles around the console room, but perhaps at a time when she was less heavily armed. 'I am just someone who doesn't want his dental work taken care of in one short blast, so to say.'


'So Professor, what are we going to do today?' she asked.


The Doctor looked a little ashamed. 'Actually we have to return something I sort of borrowed. I had forgotten I had borrowed it, but I just found it again and I admit that I feel a little guilty about taking it'.


'What did you take Professor?' admonished Ace.


'Nyssa's brain,' he admitted sheepishly. 'It was when I first met her. I was in my Fifth body and I needed some inert matter, so I just popped in one night, extracted her brain and replaced it with the innards from my gameboy. Then I forgot all about it.'

'And no one noticed - not even Nyssa?'


'Well apart from a sudden urge to play Donkey Kong every now and then, and that crush on one of the Super Mario Brothers she was pretty much the same. So I forgot about it, until yesterday when I came across this jar...'


'Well that would explain her acting,' said Ace thoughtfully.



What a piece of work is man


The Eighth Doctor was in terrible pain. 'Come on,' said Charley to Chris and Withnail. 'Let's take him for a walk in the park.'


Together they dragged/lugged the semi conscious Doctor between them and dumped him on a park bench.


But once they got to the park Withnail burst into tears. Charley and Chris looked at each other in alarm.


'This was it. This was the one.' wailed Withnail. 'This was the park where he left me to soliloquize to some bloody wolves.'


'Er luv,' said Chris. 'Do you have any idea what e's talkin about?'


'Not a clue,' said Charley. 'But he doesn't half overact does he?'




While Charley and Chris gaped at Withnail’s bad Hamlet impersonation the Eighth Doctor slowly got up from where he had been unceremoniously dumped over a bench.


'Hello,' he said to a wolf. 'Where am I? Who am I, who are you… and why am I quoting from Time and the Rani?'


'Oh Doctor, I am sorry,' said a voice behind him.


The Doctor turned. There was a young woman standing there holding a frying pan. 'Hello,' said the Doctor. 'Do I know you and why are you brandishing that frying pan?'


'I am Compassion,' she said as she raised the pan.


'Er, it doesn't seem very compassionate to hit me with frying pan now does it?' he said as he backed away.


'I never should have tried to make Fitz do it, but it is for your own good.'


'Look I am sure there has been some mistake young lady.....' but it was too late. Compassion had knocked him out cold with the frying pan.


So then Chris and Charley decided to use the Doc for a footrest.






‘And then I got the two of them to carry me around in a box for a whole show. They thought I was in the box, but they I was actually down at the pub… I had tried to kill him off several times before Earthshock, but the little bugger always kept coming back.… Sonic ‘boom boom’ Nyssa as we used to call her – she used to disappear for days on end with that vibrating device… but I got to keep the jewel encrusted cricket gloves…’


‘Professor. You are not going to bitch about me one day are you – just cause I went all blubbery over that baby in the Curse of Fenric?’


The Doctor smiled and crossed his fingers behind his back. ‘No of course not Ace.’


While the Seventh Doctor was telling Ace just exactly how awful his fifth incarnation’s companions had been…. This was happening:


Down at the park Withnail was still slumped on the grass in a dirty heap bawling his eyes out and occasionally muttering something about carrots in Camberwell. Chris and Charley were still using the Doc as a footrest when a whole bunch of heavily armed men appeared.


The lead one was waving a book around excitedly. 'We found him lads. Grab him.'


'Ere,' interrupted Chris. ' We were using him as a footrest.'


'Yes,' added Charley. 'Why are you taking my footrest, er friend away?'


The man waggled his book under Charley's nose. 'It says here in the BBC Scriptwriters/Novelists' Guide to Dr Who: Writing with Crayon Can be Fun and Profitable – the Updated Version, that in any story, featuring the long haired ponce, ie him, he must suffer some form of emotional or physical angst - so we are going to rough him up a bit.'


'But that's monstrous,' cried Charley.


'Well, we can kill off his companion so he suffers a major guilt trip instead?'


'Ahh, no,' replied Charley slowly. 'No, you carry on with your duty.'


Chris and Charley lifted their feet to allow the men to take him away.




Nick Briggs meet Nick Briggs


The Doctor woke up and immediately wished he hadn't. He found himself sitting in an interview room filled with large and angry looking armed men. His head was killing him, but he found he couldn't rub it because his hands were cuffed behind his back.


'Right Sunshine,' said a voice. 'Let's start with the basics. 'Who are you?'


'Oh, I know that one. I am Nick Briggs.'


However this was not the right answer and only earned him a slap. 'Don't play the fool with me Buttercup. I have seen a picture of Briggs and he does not have that much hair.'


'It could be a wig?'


'Wot. Luscious brown curls like yours. No chance Petal.'


'Oh Christ,' thought the Doctor. 'I feel like I am being interrogated by Peter Moffatt.




Some time later…


‘Look…. Ow, could…ow, you…oh dear, please… ow, stop… no, hitting… ahh, me.


Bruised and battered the Doctor looked up at his tormentors. ‘I mean, what’s the point? You haven’t even asked me any questions. Shouldn’t you suspect me of killing someone, being a spy or something?’


‘Nah,’ said the guard. ‘It says right here on page 123 of the Doctor Who Scriptwriter’s Handbook: Talent Who Needs It, that I can just beat you up to fill in time… and cos you're a ponce. Also it apparently just gives a lot of people a lot of satisfaction – and sweat pea the whole point of this story is to take the mickey out of Doctor Who – and if we have to beat you up in the process so be it.’ He pulled back a fist…


‘Hang on,’ said the Doc. ‘What about page 176, where it states that after beating the Doctor senseless you must lock him up in a poorly guarded cell, make absolutely no attempt to search his pockets and then all bugger off for a long boozy lunch?’


The guard looked interested. ‘Really? A long boozy lunch?’


‘Er yes. Down at that rather nice Italian on the corner I believe. With a couple of really nice reds followed by some cheap, but overpriced brandy.’


The guards looked at each other. ‘Righto lads. Page 176 it is. Bung him in a poorly guarded call and let’s leg it.’




Back down t’pub


'I need a drink,' growled the Seventh Doc. ‘Come on Ace – to the pub.’


When they were seated Ace began her usual irritating spiel. 'So what's the score then Professor,' asked Ace. 'It's all getting right wicked it is.'


The Doctor looked pensive. 'I don't know Ace.'


'Gordon Bennett. You don't know. Aren't you meant to be the darker and more manipulative Doctor?'


The Seventh Doc angrily took another swig of tequila. 'Listen. Dark and manipulative I may be, but even I can't play as many games as this at once. Oh look at me, I am so wound up I am quoting Ghost Light. And will you please stop talking in that ridiculous manner. Just say F@*K like any other teenager.'


'Hey listen shorty. I'm 26. How do I know what the kids are saying? After work I relax down the wine bar with a nice chardonnay.'


'Oh all right Ace, but at least try to act.'


'Oh you don't know when you got it good,' mumbled the Fifth Doctor from the next table where he and Tegan had been engaged in a drinking competition.


'But to be fair to the EDA book editor,' mused the Fifth Doctor. 'I think this story shows exactly why the EDAs ended up in such a muddle. Eventually you get so tied up that you don't know where to go.'


'Yeah,' interjected a drunken Fitz from the next table. 'Then you end up blowing up Gallifrey.'


Both Doctors turned in unison: 'What?'


Fitz realised what he had said... 'Ahh, nothing - nothing at all. Please forget I said that or I am going to have to hit you all on the head with a frying pan,' he said as he turned back to his companion - a strange pale young woman.


The woman looked at the Doctors. 'At least ours was hot. I am so glad I never had to have the fat one with the stupid coat inside me,' she mused.... 'He never would have fitted anyway.'


'So what happens now?' asked Ace.


The Doctor sighed. 'Well, quite frankly – I don’t think this story actually has a plot. So I supposed we just get as drunk as possible and wait for some terrible calamity to befall us. I mean – that’s what usually happens isn’t it?'


'Oh Dear,' said the Doctor. 'I have just had an alarming thought...'


The Fifith Doctor read his mind. 'You don't mean.... you can't mean....?'


The Seventh nodded: 'Mel'


'As in Gibson. He's well hung.'


'Oh shut the eff up Ace.'




Do you believe in fairies?


The group sat quietly at the table - passing the tequila bottle around and sighing a bit.


Suddenly there was a crash of thunder and some ominous organ music. The door to the pub opened and everyone held his or her breath...


But it was only Charley (with Withnail in tow) and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. She came over to the group.


'Look I don't want to interrupt or anything, but there is the strangest woman outside. She followed me back from the park and kept asking me did I believe in fairies and had I seen a fat bloke wearing a stupid looking coat. Then she threatened to do some panto numbers unless I agreed to help her find him. Has anyone seen a fat irritating git in a stupid coat.’


‘Er… with blonde curly hair?’ asked the Seventh Doctor.


‘And a little cat badge, just about here,’ said the Fifth Doctor pointing to his lapel.


‘Sort of pompous?’


‘Has a particular aversion to carrot juice?’


‘Yes,’ replied Charley. ‘That’s the one.’


‘No – never seen him,’ said the Seventh.


‘Or heard of him,’ chimed in the Fifth.


'Oh jolly good,' said Charley as she sat down. 'Now who are all you wierdos?'


The Seventh Doctor smiled. 'Well I'm known as the Doctor, he is also the Doctor, the woman in purple is not trying to make a fashion statement – she’s an airline hostess and the young lady currently trying to set my scarf on fire is Ace.'


Charley gasped in amazement. 'You are both the Doctor. Christ. I would never fall in love with you, although I don't mind the blond one'.


The Fifth Doctor smiled.


'Hang on,' said the Seventh. 'You know who I/we/us are?'


'Oh yes. I've got one too, but he is much sexier than you.'


'Hey poncy girl,' interrupted Ace. 'You take that back.'


The Seventh Doctor swatted her with his battered Panama. 'Not now Ace, and put out that incendiary device'.


'And just where is your Doctor,' asked the Fifth.


'Ahh, errr well. He has sort of been captured.'


'Oh great,' said the Seventh. 'I was looking forward to a nice holiday - perhaps kill off Adric again, that sort of thing - but no. Now I have to go rescue another me. Didn’t I tell you Ace? This always happens.'


The Fifth stood up. 'Should we take Tegan?' he asked as he looked over to where she was repeatedly bashing the publican’s head on the pub counter.


'Yes, she may come in handy.'




As they were leaving the Seventh pulled the Fifth Doctor aside.


'There is something I want to give you,' he said handing over the jar containing Nyssa's brain.


'Ahh,' replied the Fifth. He gently placed the jar on the bar behind him. 'Actually I rather like her this way. I decided it was an improvement. I was thinking of upgrading her to an X box.... no Tegan don't drink that'


But sadly it was too late and Nyssa's brain was gone forever and Tegan had passed out dead drunk on the floor.













It doesn’t have to actually make any sense you know: back with the Eighth Doc


The plan had worked. The guards moved to grab the Doctor - 'Righto - a nice long boozy lunch for us boys' - when suddenly a voice boomed out.


'No you idiots, don't be taken in by him. Read the footnote on the bottom of page 176 of the Doctor Who Scriptwriter's Handbook: It Doesn’t Actually Have to Make Any Sense You Know, The Fans Will Work it Into Canon Somehow.'


The guard looked it up... 'And then the Doctor will escape and foil your evil plan - and you will probably die horribly,' he read. 'Oh bugger.'


'Take him to the studio,' said the voice.


So, somewhat upset at the loss of a nice carbonara in white wine sauce, but somewhat relieved at the thought they had avoided horrible deaths the guards obeyed the 'voice'.


'So what is this studio then?' asked the Doctor as he was dragged along between them.


One of his captors laughed: 'Only your worst nightmare'.




'I would like to welcome our next guest...'




'So, I'd j… j… j… just like to take you back to the point you decided that you really felt the universe needed saving. What was it like? Were you in any way influenced by the great Mohammed Ali, Tommy Cooper or the late Spike Milligan?' asked the grey haired man sitting opposite him.


Handcuffed and shacked to the chair the Doctor could do nothing but attempt to come up with a witty and amusing anecdote. To his left were Billy Connolly and Stephen Fry, but they were no help. He had thought the EDAs had been tortuous, but Seeing I and City of the Dead were nothing compared to this:






Some time later:


'Why is there never anyone who wants to hit you over the head with a frying pan when you need them,' thought the Eighth Doctor in despair.


He was starting to hark back nostalgically to when the large nasty men were beating him up. This was hell. For hours and hours Parkinson had brutally, coldly, ruthlessly (yet in a jovial chummy manner that suggested they were good mates) forced every witty and amusing anecdote he knew from him.


He was exhausted and sweaty under the harsh studio lighting, but the others seemed unaffected. Stephen Fry had just launched into another frightfully amusing anecdote involving himself, the Queen Mum and a banana and involuntarily the Doctor let out a groan.


Parkie stopped short and rounded on the Doctor who shrank back in his chair as much as the handcuffs would allow.


'No, please... I can't tell you anything more, I don't have a book or a film to plug... and I don't do impersonations,' he begged.


Parkie smiled evilly. 'Well then - perhaps you can explain just exactly what has been going on with the EDA story arcs?'


The Doctor's eyes widened in sheer terror. 'No please don't ask me that. That's inhuman. No one can tell you that,' he whispered as he started to sob. 'In the beginning it was meant to be so simple. I was going to be a two dimensional television character like before. All I needed was a pair of nice comfy shoes, a bit of wide-eyed innocence and I was going to go out and save the universe with a few witty lines and some jelly babies. But it didn't happen and then everyone who wrote for me kept giving me depth... characterization... a good actor to play me... decent companions.... But then came Lawrence Miles, the faction paradox and the story arcs and now no one knows what is going on.'


'Oh boo bloody who,' came a 'voice'. 'Like I am going to feel sorry for you - ponce.'


The Doctor groaned. 'Oh god no – not you again.’


'Yes, me,' spat Richard E Grant as he came striding out on to the studio floor.


'Face it. Richard E can't. No one liked you. Shalka sucked. You were badly written and you sounded like you phoned in your lines,' retorted the Doctor.


Richard E reared up defensively. 'I had never heard of Doctor Who.'


The Doctor shook his head. 'Oh come on Granty. It is one of the most loved and long running shows in Britain. You can't tell me you have never come across at least one Dalek. Everyone knows about Doctor Who.'


'That's right,' interjected Stephen Fry. 'Even I got to overact in a way I hadn't overacted since Gosford Park when I played a Time Lord in Death Comes to Time. I remember a very funny anecdote about making that. It involved Sylvester McCoy, a camel and the Queen mum...'


Richard E pushed Parkie out of his chair and slumped down heavily. "Oh all right. So I am a George Lazenby of Doctor Who. But so were you. Why aren't there any books about me?'


'There's the Scream of the Shalka novelisation.'


'Have you read that?' asked Grant.


'Oh, yeah... point taken.'


The Doctor suddenly had an idea. He could see Anji on the other side of the studio loitering with a frying pan in her hands and his aching head gave him a pretty good idea of what she was planning to do. But what Granty didn’t know was that Anji was a right moody cow and hated bad movies with a passion and Richard E was a turkey magnet. ‘Hey Granty, why don't you get Parkie to ask you about working with Steve Martin and all the big wigs in America?'


Richard E perked up. 'Yes - that sounds like fun. As long as no one mentions Hudson Hawk,' he added.


'Hudson Hawk?' yelled Anji and she rushed over and stood in front of Richard E. 'You were in Hudson Hawk? I had to sit through that - you bastard,' she screamed and she brought the frying pan down on Richard E's head.


The Doctor sighed in relief. 'Thank you Anji.'


She turned and scowled at him. 'Hey listen buster. I had to sit through Alien 3 as well - so watch it.'


'And t...t...t... tell us about the time you saw Alien 3?' questioned Parkie.


She turned and in one fluid movement floored him with the frying pan. 'I always liked Michael Aspel better.'




And then for no obvious or logical reason – back in the bar…


Nicholas Parsons arrived. 'Oh yes,’ he said a bit out of breath. That is the joy of Doctor Who. If you think about it - it makes absolutely no sense at all or what so ever.'


The Seventh Doctor groaned. 'Oh not you again. I had to sit with you through The Curse of Fenric commentary.'


But Nicholas was off again: 'But that's the joy you see - Not a jot of sense, like a flying nun in a balloon, complete bollocks, like its written by a bunch of retarded blind chipmunks. I mean take The Curse of Fenric: That made no sense at all. But the fans didn't care because they are all total idiots... total wonderful joy.... take Tom Baker: He was totally mad, but no one cared, but that is the joy of Doctor Who - its total and utter dribble made by raving loonies - brilliant.'


'Yes, thank you Nicholas,' said the Seventh Doctor gently as he steered Nick into a chair. 'Why don't you just sit down here and calm down.'


'Total loony' he mouthed to the Fifth Doctor.


'Well he may have a point,' mused the Fifth. 'Have you ever actually seen Time Flight?'


A drawling voice boomed out from behind them: 'Look you chaps. Have you quite finished trashing your own show? I think its time you got on with the plot,' said the Brigadier. ‘If there actually is one,’ he added softly.


Both Doctors beamed. ‘Brigadier Alistair Gordon Gertrude Delilah Stewart,’ they said in unison.


‘What are you doing here,’ asked the Seventh Doctor.


The Brigadier sighed. ‘Haven’t you been reading your Doctor Who Scriptwriter’s/Novelist’s Handbook: The Joy of Fanwank? This is a multiple Doctor story and therefore by law I must be in it somewhere. However quite frankly having two of you around is starting to give me The Three Doctor flashbacks, and I have spent an awful lot on therapy so I would appreciate it if you could just sod off and preferably die.'


'Ahh yes, but how do we find out where the Eighth is to rescue him.'


The Brigadier sighed again. Somewhat more theatrically this time. 'Look, I may not be an intergalactic scientist, but I am going to take an educated pot shot that you will probably find him in the hollowed out volcano. That sounds like the sort of place your super villains tend to favour isn't it.'


The Doctors looked at the Brig in amazement. 'There is a hollowed out volcano in Basingstoke?'


'Yes - down past the supermarket on the corner. You can't tell me you missed it on your way in. It is 150 feet high.'


'Ahh, no - of course I saw it,' protested the Fifth Doctor. 'I just wasn't sure which volcano you were referring to.'


'Yes,' drawled the Brig dryly. 'There are so many hollowed out volcanoes in London.'


'Yes, well.... bye,'


The Brig took a slug of whisky. 'The Doctor,' he said to himself with a smile....'Total twats all of them.'




A Doctor of very little brain


Meanwhile in the park Charley, Ace and Withnail were waiting for the two Doctors...


'So what's your like?' asked Ace as she carefully buried a landmine in the sandpit in the kiddies’ playground.


'Well, he's got big gooey blue eyes and he is my best friend, but he does have a tendency to bounce like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh when he gets excited and it really annoyed me until I found this amazing little tube of stuff called 'super glue'. How about yours?'


'Oh you know - he's alright. A nice bloke. Always trying to manipulate people, planets, mold civilisations - the usual Doctor stuff.'


Charley looked surprised. 'The only thing mine molds is the odd bit of playdough,' she thought. 'I must wean him off watching 'Play School'.


'I could have played the Doctor,' interrupted Withnail. 'I would have been brilliant.'


Ace looked at him contemptuously. 'You mate - no way.'


At that moment the two Doctors arrived and our intrepid party descended deep into the bowels of the hollowed out volcano.




Meanwhile deep inside the bowels of the volcano...


The Eighth Doctor had convinced Anji not to hit him over the head with a frying pan - for now.


'F**kin brilliant,' commented Billy Connolly.


'So what do we do now Doctor,' asked Anji as she released the Doctor from the 'interview chair.'


'Hmmmm,' he mused. 'I suppose I could go all moody for no apparent reason and stomp around moodily for a bit, but that wouldn't do much good.'


'Not quite so f@ckin brilliant,' commented Billy.


'Well why don't we do the traditional thing and blow the place up,' suggested Anji.. 'You know - just like...' She stopped short.


'Just like what?' asked the Doctor innocently.


'Oh nothing... look just forget it or its frying pan time.'


'Okay, okay - so we blow the place up. Isn't that just a bit too James Bond? Isn't Doctor Who meant to be an educational programme for the kiddies. Remember all those tortuous First Doctor historicals - oh Christ they were awful - The Aztecs. The Incas, that French one... and all the while stuck with those dreary school teachers. Ian and his cardigans annoyed me something chronic. No wonder I was cranky in my first incarnation. And speaking of companions… Where is Charley? The whole point of having them is so they can rescue you. If I find her I am putting her back on that airship.'


'Oh get over it. Listen - you have wiped out the dinosaurs and started the great fire of London - what's one little volcano.'


'F*ckin brilliant,' enthused Billy.


'Well why don't we find out what exactly the evil plan is first? I find that always helps - and would you mind passing that frying pan?'


'Yes,' agreed Anji. 'We could have, except that while you were pontificating Grant has escaped.'


Billy would have commented at this point except he has been hit over the head with a frying pan.


And so they left the studio...


Stephen Fry looked around at his unconscious companions. 'You know,' he said to no one. 'I know a frightfully amusing anecdote about frying pans... it involved a frying pan, the cast of Cats and the Queen Mum.'




And then:


The Fifth and the Seventh Doctors entered the deep dark depths of the hollowed out volcano and ran slap bang into the Eighth Doctor and Anji coming the other way.


‘What are you doing,’ asked the Seventh Doc.


Eight looked a bit shifty. ‘Ahh, well. Richard E sort of escaped and so Anji and I thought we might pop back down to the pub, have a few pints… regroup… come up with a plan – that sort of thing.’


But Seven wasn’t impressed. ‘What would Chris Eccleston say if he saw you behaving like this? He would probably walk away in disgust and there would be no new series and no nice well paying anniversary specials for us to do – would there?’ he said with a particularly grouchy r roll.


‘But I’ve been tied to a chair and beaten up and everything,’ whined Eight. And besides they could always get Paul McGann back…’


‘Oh shut up,’ spat the Seventh Doctor. ‘You are meant to be foiling the villain’s evil scheme not drinking yourself senseless.’


The Eighth Doctor shuffled guiltily. ‘Yes,’ he sighed.


‘Yes what?’


‘Yes sir,’ he intoned as he stared at his shoes.


‘Darn right. I didn’t get shot and fall into those bin bags just so you could go bouncing around the universe in your comfy shoes having all sorts of kinky audio adventures. So you young man can just take Charley and…’ he stopped as he looked at Withnail. ‘What’s he doing here? He isn’t even in Doctor Who! Oh never mind. You take them and get out there and foil the Master’s evil plan. Off you go.’


‘What?’ asked the Eighth Doctor. ‘The Master isn’t even in this story – Richard E Grant is the villain.’


The Seventh Doctor sighed. ‘This is a multiple doctor story, therefore the Master must pop up somewhere – even if he has absolutely nothing to do with the plot. It’s traditional. Remember the Doctor Who Scriptwriter’s/Novelist’s Handbook: Beating the Doctor With Sticks Is Fun? So you go off and indulge in some fan wank and cricket boy here and I will stop Richard E.’


The Eighth Doctor sighed. ‘Come on Charley.’


‘Oh you are so in trouble,’ said Charley into his ear as they left.


The Doctor scowled at her. ‘One word: Dirigible.’


‘Okay okay,’ she said as she sniggered behind his back.




'You see. It makes no sense…


Like Tom Baker doing Shakespeare... like the bloke who plays Davros not overacting... like Richard Franklin pretending to be straight... like an edition of Doctor Who Magazine actually saying nice things about the series... like Eric Roberts as The Master... like William Hartnell remembering his lines... like Sophie Aldred being a convincing teenager - it makes no sense what so ever.


So this story is just so perfectly Doctor Who. I have often remarked to the small green men who visit me in the wee hours that Doctor Who is total rubbish and they agree with me. In fact sometimes they take me away and show me episodes - which I have been in - and they ask me to comment on them... and I do. I know I did - they gave me this Doctor Who commemorative badge to prove it... No really - JNT gave it to me... You want me to go with you? Where are we going?'


And once again a big thankyou to Nicholas Parsons.




Ho ho ho


Feeling shirty that he had been chewed out by his younger, but darker and more manipulative self, the Eighth Doc moodily entered the control room of the hollowed out volcano.


‘Oh Christ,’ he exclaimed. ‘Look at this,’ he said looking at a book: ‘My Evil Plans For This Story And How They Can Be Easily Foiled’ - by The Master. How many times have I told him not to write this down and leave it lying around?’


The Doctor sunk down onto a chair in despair. ‘Please somebody tell me there is a liquor cabinet in here?’


Charley kicked Withnail aside and handed the Doc a bottle. Just then the Master walked in.


‘So – what’s you plan then…’ asked the Doctor tiredly as he took a swig… ‘Holly molly – what’s this.’ He looked at the label. ‘Tia maria. What decent evil mastermind has this in their cabinet? What a girly drink. Oh look who I am talking to. A bloke who thinks crushed velvet pantaloons are the height of fashion.’


The Master ignored this gibe and rubbed his hands together. ‘My plan Doctor – ho ho ho. It is a great one this time. First I…’


‘No no no!’ interrupted the Doctor. ‘Haven’t we talked about this before? Don’t tell me your evil plans and don’t write them down in your ‘Evil Day Planner’ then leave it lying around your evil hideout. You are such a tosser. Haven’t you noticed this approach isn’t very successful? Every single time I have foiled your incredibly stupid schemes… and what was that one involving the shape shifting alien and the Magna Carta all about huh: That was total toss.’


The Master looked crestfallen. ‘It’s not my fault. I wanted to be an accountant, but father made me go to Evil University. Well I’ll show him… er I mean you. I’ll prove to you that I can do something really horrible and nasty and evilish.’ With that he burst into tears and ran off.


'Doctor,' asked Charley. 'Do you really think it was wise to let the Master go?


The Doctor looked up from the floor where he and Withnail had been completely ignoring the Master’s outburst and were currently enjoying one of Withnail’s 'herbal' cigarettes.


'Charley - I have known this guy since we were in high school together. Sure he looks dastardly what with the silly beard and the evil laughs, but in reality he's a mummy's boy. Here let me show you this.' And with that he pulled out a copy of Time Flight and whacked it into the video recorder.


100 million years in the past:


MASTER: 'Ha ha ha ha Doctor.’ The Master pulls off his weird froggy mask. 'You are so gullible. It is I the Master and you didn't recognise me. I am an evil genius.'


DOCTOR: 'Of course I didn't recognise you, you twat - what with your disguising yourself as a weird sorcerer froggie thing and speaking in an atrocious Chinese accent. And just why are you in disguise anyway. You are stuck 100 millions years in the Earth's past in a barren wasteland with no one around. Is there really a need for an elaborate disguise.'


MASTER: 'Ahh? But I did it to trick you - and you were fooled.'


DOCTOR: 'Then why did you rip your mask off the moment you saw me?'


MASTER: 'Ahh? (thinks for a moment) But now my evil plans are nearly complete. Now I have ALL the little packets of peanuts from both Concordes - ho ho ho.'


DOCTOR: 'And did you forget you are allergic to peanuts?'


MASTER: 'Ahh.'


DOCTOR: ‘You haven’t really thought this through have you?’


MASTER: 'No, not really.'




'My giddy great Aunt Vanessa, he really is a twonker isn't he?' remarked Charley. 'I think you are right. I don't think he will be a problem.


'However Richard E - poncy South African overacting git though he is may just well be a problem,' said the Doctor as he picked up a conveniently left lying around book.


'Oh no - according to 'With Nails: The Film Diaries of Richard E. Grant' he has kidnapped Chris Eccleston and is planning to kill him so that he will remain the current Doctor.'


'That could jeopardize the whole Doctor Who franchise,' announced Withnail and burst out laughing.


'Has anyone seen Chris since the pub?' asked Charley.


'No, he said he was off to the loo sometime earlier in the story and that is the last I saw of him. Quick, we must warn the others and rescue him from the evil that is Richard E Grant.'




So then…


They found Ace and the Seventh Doctor and made their way to the Eighth Doctor's TARDIS in Barker’s road. The Fifth Doctor is doing something er other, but we aren’t concerned with him right now.


'I hope you like it,' said the Eighth as he opened the TARDIS door. 'I've had the place redecorated since the TVM.'


'Oh my,' exclaimed the Seventh Doctor as he looked around.


'It's very Fisher Price,' remarked Ace.


‘Just plonk yourself down on a bean bag,’ said the Eighth Doc as he did that ‘buzzing around the console’ thing that always gets overused in the books.


Ace and Seven looked around aghast. The Eighth Doctor TARDIS looked as if it had been subjected to the Playschool version of changing rooms.


‘I like it,’ said the Seventh Doc unconvincingly. ‘It is very primary. Is that an interstitial vortex combobulator.’


‘No,’ replied the Eighth Doc. ‘It’s a jungle gym… with monkey bars,’ he added proudly.


‘Ahh,’ exclaimed the Seventh. Now he knew why Withnail was in the story. ‘Withnail – pass the Kahlua.’


‘Tea, jellybaby, yo yo, anyone want to mention that its bigger on the inside than the outside?’ Ace, Withnail and Seven shook their heads. ‘Right well that gets all the clichés out if the way,’ continued the Eighth Doc. ‘Now we can get back to the plot – I have set the ‘Find Chris – amatic’ and… hey we are materialising.’


The TARDIS landed in a … wait for it…. A corridor!


‘Hey look. Here we are in a corridor. And it is so completely unlike the last corridor we materialized in the last story,’ said the Eighth Doc bounding Tiggerishly down it.


‘How,’ asked Charley, poking a wobbly wall.


The Eighth Doctor stopped. ‘Well the last time the corridor we materialized in was white. This corridor is more a sort of off white.’


‘Makes a change from a quarry,’ muttered Ace.


The Seventh Doc swatted Ace with his battered panama: 'Ace, please - the quarry joke has been done to death - behave. And please diffuse that thermo nuclear device.'


‘This must be Richard E’s evil super secret hideout. Scary isn’t it?’ commented the Eighth Doctor.


Charley gave a long suffering sigh. ‘Doctor, it is a corridor.


The Doc smiled his big silly lopsided grin that always makes the girls swoon. ‘No Charley,’ he said patiently. ‘It may look like a somewhat dodgy corridor, but – as you can tell by this bad model shot – it is in fact a corridor in a super duper cloaked orbital extra special bad guy type hideout.’


‘And do you actually have a plan for defeating ‘the evil that is Richard E Grant’? she asked.


‘Well. I was thinking we rescue Chris and then Withnail here could reenact that scene from Earthshock.’


Withnail looked up at the two Doctors in alarm. ‘What the scene where…. Kaboom!’


'Yeah... BOOM!' said Charley.


'BOOM,' added Ace.


Seven growled at her. 'Ace please - not again with the 'boom' thing. We had enough problems last time.'


The Eighth Doctor tried his big silly lopsided grin again, but Withnail did not swoon. ‘I don’t bloody well think so boys,’ he said. ‘Anyway I always liked Tom Baker the best – what with his googly eyes and those episodes where he was so drunk he would totally forget the script and do endless monologues about how his trouser god needed to be released on an unsuspecting assistant simply because that is how the Doctor would react in those sort of situations and it would definitely boost the ratings in Holland where they were very liberal minded and didn’t really mind that sort of thing in children’s television. But I have an idea. What you need to defeat Richard E. is a secret weapon and I know where to find it.’




Fawn Kan is an anagram for?


The Seventh Doctor popped his head out of the TARDIS and was shocked to find himself staring at another TARDIS.


They had landed slap bang in the middle of the ‘Springfield Mondas 45 Sci Fi Convention’. The travelers all rushed to explore. Now you might think that two Doctors, an Edwardian adventuress, a homicidal companion and a totally drunken Withnail wandering around the hotel lobby would be conspicuous, but strangely enough no one looked at them twice. Well it was a Doctor Who convention.


They wandered around the dealer’s room and Ace checked out the bookstore:


‘No, If You Watch Vengeance on Varos Again You Will Find That I Was Actually Rather Good and Definitely Not Just a Fat Irritable Homicidal Git in a Stupid Coat’ by Colin Baker.


‘When Fangirls Attack: The Unauthorised Paul McGann Story’ by E. Friedman.


‘When I Attack Fanboys’ by Richard Franklin.


‘Christ I Hated That Jumper, But The Conventions Are Fun: Sylvester McCoy Reflects’ by Sylvester McCoy.


‘Well, It Was The Eighties… Everyone Was Doing Too Many Drugs – So What Did You Expect: Doctor Who in the Eighties’ by Paul Cornstalk.


‘Don’t Even Think of Asking Me About It’ by Lalla Ward.


‘Who Is Jon Culshaw?’ by Tom Baker.


‘Wicked,’ she muttered. ‘I wonder what I could call my autobiography – don’t have a name for it yet, but I bet it would be Ace!’


The Seventh Doctor was checking out the nude Katy Manning photos. Whoah Jo he thought: Why didn’t you ever show me this side of you – all these sides of you – and those… etheric beam locators… I’ll never look at a Dalek bump the same way again.


Charley looked at the schedule for the conference. ‘Hey why don’t we go to the ‘Sherlock Homes Time Traveling Zombies From Outer Space: Does Everyone Hate Scream of the Shalka Because It Was Total And Utter Shyte or Merely Just Really Really Bad?’ panel?’


‘No,’ sighed Withnail. ‘There will be many more opportunities to make fan wanky in jokes and insult Paul Cornell later: this way.’


They found the object of their search out in the courtyard where he had been tied to a Dalek by Jason Ellery Queen for a Big Finish photo shoot.


He was nervously eyeing off all the women edging closer.


‘Jason… can you please untie me. This is reminding me of that scene from Alien 3, but slightly more scarier.’


‘Sorry but Nick Briggs just doesn’t cut the mustard with the female fans.’


Suddenly the TARDIS gang arrived.


‘Is this the one Professor?’ asked Ace


‘Yes,’ said Withnail. ‘This is our secret weapon.’


‘He is quite short isn’t he,’ mused the Eighth Doctor.


‘Hey, who are you calling short,’ cried Paul McGann. ‘I am a sex symbol.’


Ace came towards him brandishing her machete. ‘Right laddie, you are coming with us.’ And she cut the ropes and began to drag him off to the TARDIS.


‘Oh man. This is the last convention I ever do,’ thought Paul as he was hauled off.


As they watched the strange entourage leave dragging the unwilling Paul McGann between them a member of the PMEB turned to another… ‘Hey – that was my fantasy.’


‘Don’t worry dear,’ said the other one. ‘We still have Jason.’




The cunning plan


At the convention bar Paul McGann was being briefed by the Seventh and Eighth Doctors about their amazingly clever plan to thwart Richard E Grant and save Chris.


'Right, so you want me to go into Richard E’s secret orbital base thingie and hit him on the head with a cricket bat,' asked Paul.


'Hey,' complained Ace. 'I could have done that easy. 'Why did we need him?'


'Because I was getting death threats from the McGann Library if I didn't include him in the story,' replied Withnail.




Sometime later:


'Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha....ha mwa ha aha ha. Soon I will be the next television Doctor. Nothing can stop me now…'




'Gotcha ya bastard,' thought Paul McGann as he shouldered his cricket bat and wandered off into the sunset.



And so Chris was saved, Richard E was thwarted and Doctor Who is safe once more…


The End



Extra bits tacked on for no apparent reason… Just like a DVD!



Interviewing Iris


'Oh I remember it like it was yesterday.'


'It was yesterday Iris.'


'Was it? What is yesterday to a time lord?'


'About twelve hours Iris.'


'Is it Chuck. Is it? Is it really?'




Mmmm. Something for us all to ponder.



Interviewing Paul McGann


One pint: ‘Yeah I was the Doctor for about ninety minutes, but I’m startin to get into it now.’


Two pints: ‘Yeah well. I ‘ad my suspicions. There were 34 takes. And the production team were all female. And personally I didn’t think a recreation of the whole ‘Colin Firth wet shirt thing’ was appropriate for Doctor Who. I didn’t even remember a duck pond in the script.’


Three pints: ‘I was wandering aimlessly around Bristol in a sort of daze – as you do if you’re an actor – and my agent called and told me Richard E’s the new Doctor. And I said f**k no, even I don’t hate Doctor Who that much.’


Four pints: ‘You know he has never ever revealed what that E actually stands for. Not even when Bruce Robinson and I would dangle him out of a window by his ankles during the filming of Withnail and I.’


Five pints: Probably something girlie like Evelyn, knowing him.


Six pints: ‘I’ll give you canon you jammy bugger.’


Seven pints: Something about ‘a taxi’ and ‘Annie’s going to kill me when I get home’.



Interviewing Sylvester McCoy


Sylvester: ‘Ah yes – that bloody jumper. Andy Cartmel and I would say to JNT: look JNT. How is the Doctor meant to be all dark and brooding covered with little red wooly question marks. Not exactly awe inspiring. I bet you wouldn’t put a Dalek in one. And JNT would just smile, say ‘bless’ and have us thrown out by security.


I remember once, during the filming of Fenric I had the great idea of feeding the jumper to some goats grazing in a nearby paddock. You know what they say about goats: they will eat anything. Well not that little bugger they wouldn’t.


I spent two hours trying to get them to eat it, but then JNT saw me, came over and said ‘bless’.


Then he locked me in the catering fridge for the rest of the day. Very cold in there, but mind you – I had lots of sandwiches to eat. Ah - it was all fun and games back then.’


Interviewer: ‘And the point of this is?’


Sylvester: ‘Ahh - How well I remember JNT saying those very words to me as he sat down with a loaded revolver and a bottle of homemade gin and prepared to watch the director’s cut of The Curse of Fenric.’


Interviewer: ‘No really… are you on drugs.’


Sylvester: ‘Many a time JNT would ask exactly that question before he would say ‘bless’, take away my spoons and stick a bag over my head. It truly was a fantastic era.’



Interviewing the Eighth Doctor from the books


‘Look. I really would love to help you, but I don’t remember a blinkin thing.’


He leans in closer.


‘In fact I think there is a conspiracy going round. I heard that they are going to pay someone to bash me over the head with a frying pan every six months… something about keeping the book range fresh and new! I can’t go into a kitchen without getting the heebie jeebies.’


Looks up.


‘Hey hello Fitz. Making pancakes are you? Taking a cookery course? Excuse me – I have to go.’


Runs away.



Extracts from the interview of the cartoon version of Richard E


‘Well of course I am not two dimensional… No I won’t turn sideways just this minute. I don’t feel like it.’


‘What do you mean I looked like a drug addled zombie? I was merely a little pale because my character was angsty and brooding in a very sexy way so it was natural for me to be a bit pasty.’


‘Needle marks – what needle marks?’


‘No I don’t think I was green, more an off shade of lilac.’



Thanks to all the Wicked, but funny round robin conspirators...