-
My Beautiful Ghost Monument

The Doctor runs toward the TARDIS on the planet Desolation. Since the Ghost Monument aired, I have loved it. I always feel like it’s an overlooked gem of a story and one I wish I could write the Target novelisation for. That’ll never happen, so I decided to exorcise my writing demon and write out the final scene. I used the transcript provided by Chakoteya.net based on the original script by Chris Chibnall. Hope you enjoy.
THE GHOST MONUMENT: CHAPTER 13
The sudden light after the relative shade of Ilin’s tent made the four travellers blink as they looked around the bleak, mountainous landscape.
‘They’re gone!’ Exclaimed Ryan, disbelief touching his voice. Graham looked from his grandson, to Yaz and then the Doctor.
‘We’re stuck here, are we?’ He asked of her.
The Doctor looked at the three of them. Although she would never have planned it so, she had bought them from their comfortable, stable lives here, to their doom.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve failed you. I promised you and I’ve let you down.’ the guilt was almost too much for her to bear. She had only just become this version of herself, and she was responsible for their almost certain death.
‘We can wait, can’t we?’ Ryan asked, optimistically.
‘Yeah,’ said Yaz, ‘We’ve got each other!’
Bless them, thought the Doctor. Their optimism, their heart, their courage. But she new the reality. Desolation would be their doom, and she had bought them to it.
‘No, we’ll be dead within one rotation.’ She said as desperation took hold of her.
‘Who says so?’ Objected Graham. The Doctor could see where some of Ryan’s optimism came from. It was hard to be around Graham and not be inspired by his outlook on the world. ‘We’ve come this far, ain’t we?’ He continued, ‘Who says we’re giving up? Any of us? Really?’ He gestured to Ryan and Yaz, both shaking their heads in agreement. ‘Even you, Doctor? No come on, we ain’t having that, are we?
‘Nope!’ Said Yaz
‘No!’ Agreed Ryan.
She was already so proud of them, she had, albeit accidentally, uprooted them, bought them to the depths of deep space, to this deadly world and nothing, nothing was dampening their spirits. She knew she was lucky to be here with them. A flame of hope flared in her hearts, which was suddenly kindled further when Yaz asked,
‘Can you hear that noise?’
Yaz, Ryan and Graham may not have recognised it, ever heard it before, but to the Doctor it was what had always been said about it. It was distant, it was different but it was undeniable. It was the sound of hope.
Then she was all action, reaching into her pockets to find that new Sheffield Steel sonic. She stepped away from the travellers towards where the sound was emanating and activated the sonic.
‘Come on, please. Give us this.’ The sonic sound intensified, ‘It’s all right, its me!’ She declared to the very air in front of her, ‘stabilise! Come to daddy… I mean mummy, I mean… I really need you right now!’ She pleaded with the air, with fate, a call for hope and then, from the air itself the TARDIS, that familiar blue box, that home for countless lives, materialised on the clifftop. Solid, grounded, real, here.
‘My beautiful Ghost Monument.’ She sighed under her breath. The TARDIS was here. She could contain herself no longer and burst into a run to get to the ship as quickly as she could.
She approached that familiar blue box almost tentatively, ‘Hello, you.’ She said as she reached out and brushed the tips of her fingers across the familiar shape. She felt the wood, then the enamelled ‘pull to open’ sign, feeling the embossed letters speaking to her. ‘I’ve missed you.’ She paused, taking in the beautiful sight of her TARDIS, the now mythical Ghost Monument. ‘Ah, you’ve done yourself up. Very nice’, she admired approvingly. Then she remembered, with a sinking feeling, ‘Lost my key. Sorry.’ She apologised.
A moment, then, finally a click from the door, and it creaked ajar.
Graham, Ryan and Yaz came up to the Doctor and the bizarre object that looked both familiar and alien in this vista.
‘But it’s an old Police box.’ Said Graham, his voice a mix of confusion, disappointment and tiredness. All this way for a Police box, really?
‘Sort of. Not really.’ Explained the Doctor, without any real explanation.
Ryan goggled at the box. ‘You expect us all to fit inside there?’ Incredulity edging the question.
‘Yep.’ Replied the Doctor confidently.
‘At the same time?’ Said Yaz.
‘Wanna try?’ Asked the Doctor.
Ryan jumped at the chance. ‘OK!’
Before she flung the door open and allowed them access she paused. ‘Oh, word of warning. I left it in a bit of a mess.’The Doctor stepped in. Away from the heat and brightness of Desolation her eyes took a moment to adjust. The sight before her took her breath away. There, at the centre of the chamber stood the console, although not how she remembered it. It was almost like the TARDIS had followed suit with her impromptu design of the Sheffield Steel sonic. A gigantic crystal column sprouted from the heart of the console, that stood on a raised plinth. Around it, massive crystal colums sprouted from the floor surrounding it, and seeming to bow down at the top towards the heart of the ship. They had metal work running through them, giving them an organic, yet constructed feel. Massive free standing walls, made of hexagonal shapes, lit a deep blue from within filled the spaces behind the console, and behind them and all around the outside walls was a latticed cogwork affair, floor to ceiling, that leant an industrialised air to design. The lights were warm orange and it felt both alien, yet welcoming.
‘Oh, you’ve redecorated!’ The Doctor declared to the space, ‘I really like it!’ She approved.
The Doctor turned to her friends, flinging her arms wide to indicate the vast space they had entered. ‘This is my TARDIS!’ Pride and joy resonating with the words.
The three stared at her, past her, around her, almost unable to comprehend what they were seeing.
‘Wow!’ Said Yaz
‘Yeah’ Agreed Ryan.
‘It was a police box!’ Stammered Graham.
‘It still is on the outside!’ Confirmed the Doctor.
‘How do you fit all this stuff in a police box?’ Continued Graham.
‘Dimensional engineering.’ She replied confidently.
‘You can’t engineer dimensions!’ Stated Yaz, with equal confidence.
‘Maybe you can’t!’
Ryan had drawn closer to the central console. ‘Can I press any of the…?’ He started, eyes shining at the bizarre objects in front of him
‘No!’ Replied the Doctor, firmly, but kindly.
‘It’s a spaceship?’ Asked Graham.
‘And a time ship.’ She confirmed with a nod
‘Get out!’ Exclaimed Ryan, expecting her to be pulling his leg. But she met his look evenly. ‘Seriously!’
Ryan felt like his head was exploding.
‘This… is proper…,’ he struggled to find the appropriate word, and settled on, ‘…Awesome!’
‘I thought maybe you didn’t believe me that I’d get you home.’
Yaz looked at her, tearing her gaze away from the alien wonder that surrounded her.
‘I thought you didn’t believe yourself for a second back there.’ She said, recalling the Doctor’s earlier desperation.
‘Who, me?’ Replied the alien traveller. ‘No, never doubted. Don’t know what you mean. Home then?’
All three of the Doctor’s unwitting travelling companions hearts flared with hope, longing and joy.
‘You can’t get us there?’ Asked Yaz, finally relenting to the hope in her heart.
‘Start believing!’ Replied rhe Doctor, setting to work at the both familiar, yet utterly different console. She was a blur of movement around the displays, levers and buttons. She flipped an old style hourglass, the sand dropping free into the bottom chamber. Pulling another lever a small opaque glass TARDIS started spinning. She pulled a final lever setting the Time and Space vessel into motion, and plunging them into the vortex with that same familiar wheezing and groaning. As she pulled the lever, a small ‘ding’ sounded and from a panel in the underside of the console a custard creme slid down a chute to the Doctors waiting hand. She grasped at it eagerly and, with a satisfied smile, bit into it.
They were on their way. -
The Child
A long time ago in the distant future, a child fell from another place to ours. In those first moments The child felt a presence all around. Through them, around them, before them, behind them. The child would walk hand and hand through all their days with the presence. The child became their champion, defender, master and servant. All the while the child grew, learned, changed and fought, oh how they fought for their adoptive home, people, planets, their adoptive Universe. ‘The’ Time Lord, The Warrior, The Oncoming Storm, The Doctor, Time’s Champion. And there at the end Time finally gave the child their reward, they would go on, they would remain. One became two.
The Child was granted the gift of Time, their reward for all their labours, to step back, stop, watch the fruit grow. Yet they also endure, go ever forward, although no longer a child. Free from the exertions behind them, free from the weight of time. No longer hand in hand, but side by side, ever onward with renewed purpose. Times Champion, unbound.

-
Here lies… ‘My’ Doctor
Grief is a strange, terrible, necessary thing. It allows us to process our loss and the change from what life was to what life is now, without them.
I’ve been a Doctor Who fan now for forty several years and witnessed every Doctor’s ‘death’ and regeneration since Tom Baker’s, live and in ‘real-time’. But none has rocked me to my core like the 13th Doctors. Which to many may seem strange. My childhood Doctor, Peter Davison’s traumatic regeneration whilst saving Peri cut me deep, that hurt but the next Doctor was right along, and despite a rocky start I loved him straight away. His regeneration just left me numb and cold given the circumstances behind the scenes that led to it. By the time the seventh Doctor was mown down in a hail of gunfire I was 19, bitter and cynical and losing interest. Plus, he hadn’t been onscreen really for a long time (other than various tv spots and Dimensions in Time) so I wasn’t actually sad to see him go.
Now, being the age I am and with the history I have of avidly collecting VHS releases, poring over coffee table books and celebrations I’ve always had a classic Doctor Who bias. That was, until our first female Doctor, Jodie Whittaker hit our screens with a burst of energy, joy, enthusiasm and optimism. Suddenly I was watching the Doctor I’ve always believed lived below each incarnations various personalities and quirks. Here was ‘The Doctor’. The definitive article writ large before my eyes. I’m not going into the stupid and pointless cyclical arguments about changing genders, casting, scripts ‘oh… The writing is sooo baaaddd…’ yawn. I don’t care about that. I’m too burned out with years of the same debates trolling up and down social media, YouTube and various websites. I don’t really care what ‘you’ think about Doctor Who, I care about what ‘I’ think about Doctor Who at this point. Selfish? Ignorant? Maybe, but Doctor Who has a deep, personal meaning for each of us, so that’s how we all see it (hence the arguments).
Suffice to say, Jodie Whittaker became ‘MY’ Doctor. My escape, my hope and my hero. Her era is one that brings me nothing but joy, visually, aurally, stylistically… In every way it resonates with me and my long held understanding of what ‘Doctor Who’ is and should be and more importantly WHO the Doctor is, and should be.
So, for the first time, when the inevitable happened and the Doctor fell once again to their foes the effect was immediate and profound. I’ve been there countless times before but this one… This one hurt and actually still hurts.
It was in chatting to a couple of friends over the last few weeks that I’ve realised this is grief. I can’t lift myself out of the doldrums, I can’t get excited for what is to come because I’m still mourning what has gone. Maybe in writing this and admitting it to myself that I’ve actually been so deeply affected by a fiction, a character’s ‘death’ or, I suppose more precisely, departure, has hit me as hard as the friends and family I’ve lost along the way. Maybe it was that my family and my wife were going through the hardest of times at the time of Jodie’s run that it’s impacted me, all those pent up emotions from reality safely distributed into fantasy.
Maybe it’s just that I’m a massive nerd and Doctor Who has always been my escape from the misery of reality, my safe place. And with the 13th Doctor that was like a womb of safety. That was the pure embodiment of all my hope and wonder at the universe. My inspiration, my essence.
Now, six months on I think I’m ready to revisit the headstone, let go of the grief and instead revel in the fact that I have had something that left me with this grief. Maybe I’m ready to look forward to what is yet to come. Just like every time before, just like each regeneration, each production team change. It’s time to dust off the scarf, grab a fresh stick of celery, stroke my cat badge for luck, shout Alons-y and Geronimo at the Universe and accept that Doctor Who, in all it’s wonderful shapes, forms and guises is my home, my safety, my happiest of happy places regardless and get back in the TARDIS, setting course for the future!
Oh, brilliant!!

-
Playing the Game Again.

Happy 59th Anniversary Doctor Who. Thank you for all the years of joy and escapism.
This was my idea for an Anniversary story, the Doctor is forced to play the game of Rassilon once again.
-
Marinus Revisited

The Doctor finds himself on a familiar world, acid seas, glass beaches and a reawakened conscience.
The Voord have finally gained control of the machine and dominate the world of Marinus, subverting it’s populace to their evil will.
-
Return to the Tombs

The Doctor stands in the midst of the reawakened Tombs of the Cybermen I think Series 11, which reminded me so much of very early classic Doctor Who I was inspired to send Jodie Whittaker’s Doctor hurtling back along their time line. Telos was an obvious choice.
-
For Gallifrey

Leela stared at the two old friends, stunned by the request Romana had just made.
‘I’m not asking you for myself, I’m asking you for Gallifrey, for Time and the Universe!’ Romana implored the old warrior.
‘Romana, if I do this, there is no coming back, not for any of us.’
‘I know.’ replied the president, sorrow edging each word. She repeated again, quietly. ‘For Gallifrey.’
‘For Gallifrey.’ he nodded once, unable to look either Romana or Leela in the eye, turned and strode from the room.
Romana turned to Leela. ‘The Moment has come.’
-
Why I love… The Keeper of Traken
This will be the first in a series of semi-regular blog posts celebrating different elements, moments, stories, characters, etc from Doctor Who.
I love to celebrate the show, I love to love it so let’s go back to my roots a bit with this one. Why I love The Keeper of Traken.

My Doctor Who journey started way back in August 1980 with episode one of the Leisure Hive. But from that season a few things stood out to very young me. The cactus Doctor of Meglos, the terrifying Full Circle, but one story stole my heart and scared me witless. The Keeper of Traken.
From the Keeper appearing in and indeed taking control of the TARDIS in the stories opening scenes, and setting the stage for the unfolding story it just felt different.
The beautiful sets and costumes and some old Doctor Who hands bring this story a realness that made the Doctors struggle and success feel more vital to kiddy me. Did I understand all that was happening? Not at all at that age, but that really didn’t matter, the drama and energy and music all served to sweep me away into a rich and deep Universe.
But it was the Melkur and the decrepit Master within that really sealed the deal. The lopsided and asymmetrical Melkur absolutely scared me witless. The addition of Geoffrey Beevers gentle voice that just dripped charm and threat in equal measure, coming from the calcified ruin of a creature that was not just a statue but could roam at will (a thought occurs that maybe this is why the Weeping Angels have become a true modern Who success) truly unsettled me, and I think that combination still works today. I’d listen to Beevers read the telephone book and be chilled and soothed in equal measure!


As a child the world is a big and scary place, but when that scariness is contained within the safe confines of 25 minutes on a television set it becomes bearable, even thrilling and that is the magic of Doctor Who to me. First and foremost it will always be my escape and the Keeper of Traken is perfect escapism. It gels together so we’ll, a marriage of vision, sound, imagination and atmosphere. This is why I love The Keeper of Traken … Oh, and Nyssa, of course. I wished she was my big sister (and I share the same birthday as Sarah Sutton)

-
I, Davros

Davros sits before a portrait his mother commissioned of him. The Shadow of a Dalek speaks of the future he will create. My little visual tribute to my all time favourite Big Finish story, I Davros.
The tone atmosphere, history and depth of the story is unimaginably good, as are all of the performances. Hearing how Davros becomes the Davros we know and what drives him is fascinating. If you’ve never heard it, treat yourselves, you won’t regret it!
-
Skaro Revisited



Retreading long forgotten footsteps the Doctor finds herself alone and repeating history. What malevolent force has forced her back along her own timeline, where one wrong move could destroy both the past and the future?
Only one being had the power to utterly usurp and make a mockery of time this way, the Black Guardian has returned to toy with the Doctor once again.

