Saturday, 6 February 2010
Middle son is a huge fan of Doctor Who.
The other day he felt inspired to design a Doctor Who poster, after having watched what I presume was a particularly exciting episode the night before.
In all honesty I am becoming a little tired of the constant references to, and questions about, Doctor Who. My capacity for feigning interest is running out at a stupendous rate in fact. I don't know what the new Doctor looks like. I don't in truth care that the old one regenerated in the first place. And I have absolutely no idea who would win in a fight between the Daleks and the Oods.
So when Middle Son proudly showed me his poster, I'm ashamed to say that although I made all the right noises as in, 'Ooh that's fantastic, let's find some blue tack and stick it up', I didn't actually look at it terribly closely.
Earlier today though, I was on the phone to a friend, and sitting opposite the fridge on which the not terribly closely looked at poster had been stuck. Studying it properly for the first time, I realised with a start that what is supposed to be the Tardis, in fact resembles an enormous phallus. The Doctors mouth is open in what appears to be an expression of petrified shock (presumably he's never seen a cock that big), and orange flames are shooting from his mouth and hands. All deeply Freudian. I asked Middle Son what the Doctor was doing. 'He's regenerating' he said to me in a weary tone which suggested clearly that he is sick to the back teeth of my pig ignorance.
One can only assume that this regeneration is some sort of spontaneous reaction to suddenly being faced with a penis for a Tardis.