I spent most of the day yesterday next to the telly. I hugged it, caressed it, threatened violence to it, and demanded that it was 19.50 pm already for most of the day. Or else. Okay, not my most dignified day, but I don’t care because yesterday was The Day of The Doctor.
According to the ratings the program lured 10 million Brits to tune into the special 50th anniversary episode of the show, and that just made me very happy because it means that there’s one or two totally Who-obsessed persons in these isles.
Of course, the fact that Strictly Ballroom got a bigger audience says a lot about the sense of style and fashion and quality of Britain, but that’s just me. In the choice between mystery and drama and excitement and adventure and science, more people watched middle-aged has-been half-forgotten stars do backbreaking cat-flips in front of cringe-worthy judges… I despair for my nation. Truly.
But today, I’m just idling, reading every scrap of reaction to the show, and obviously raging against anyone that says anything bad, and creating hero figures out of each who says something minutely good. Don’t mess with The Doctor, or you’ll answer to me. Particularly today. But life has a habit of stomping down into the familiar well-worn paths, so tomorrow it’s back to normal.
In September, after our trip to South Africa, I took the theoretical driving test and failed it. On Monday, it’s time for a new attempt. I have driven with Auntie quite a bit since then, and the reason I haven’t talked much about it here is that there’s nothing to report until now.
I’m not a new-found star of driving, and I’m also not terrible at it. But there’s little left to learn, I feel, and what I’ve been doing is to get the routine down. Therefore, it’s now time to get the license thing out-of-the-way so that I can steal the car and drive on my own.
Mark has threatened to change the locks on the car before I receive the license, so there may be wrestling for the keys each time we’re off for a drive. That is, unless I fail miserably again.
We will see on Monday if I report failure, or keep mum about failure because of embarrassment, or if I finally can triumphantly declare that I passed it. If I do, I don’t want to wait too long before I take the practical. I want to do that before the end of the year.
While I was threatening the telly with bodily harm unless it conformed to my wishes yesterday, I did get a chance to talk to people – particularly Auntie. We may not be able to move back to her house because she doesn’t know what the current tenant is doing.
There was a chance because the current tenant has said that she didn’t know if she would go on living there for the next year, so it’s a bit up in the air. But Auntie won’t toss anyone out of her home just to house me and Mark. So, we may have to move to another house that she manages.
My mum was also remarkably tolerant about the idea that I should take up a job, and all she said that I had to make sure that it didn’t damage my schooling. I haven’t told dad about this though, and I expect far more resistance from him about the idea. But as mum said, “you’re all grown up now, so it’s your decision”. I kind of like that attitude in my parents. Or I mourn it. I’m not sure yet. It’s so new and fresh and unusual.
Life will find a way, I suppose. It always does.