Only when I larf…

It is 8.30am Sunday and we seem to be watching Episodes 2, 3 and 4 of the new Doctor Who (or is it Dr Who?).

I’ve read and heard some utter shite spouted about this iteration, but the blindingly obvious truth is that the new Doctor Who is a return to form for this classic piece of British SciFi.

I love the ‘in’ jokes, the nods towards Star Wars, Independence Day and a massive genuflection towards ‘The Father of Robotics’, Professor Isaac Asimov.

The weather is vile, it’s hammering down.

We’re going to have a lazy day, except that Sophie is tackling the mountain of ironing, and I am backing up many websites and databases.

I think we’re meeting a friend in Witney for coffee; I hope that Costa isn’t the crèche that it sometimes becomes.

There needs to be a quick trip up to the yard to give Tom hugs and carrots.

This evening we’re off to the cinema; Iron Man 2 beckons.

And in-between these bouts of frenetic activity, there will be Badminton Horse Trials, because the BBC are showing uninterrupted coverage of cross-country on the red button.


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