Bring on Gallifrey One! or, my weirdest nightmare
Last night I had the strangest dream...
I promise it's nothing icky, just supremely weird as dreams are wont to be. All I've got to say is, I have no fears about conventions now. Whatever happens can't possibly top this.
It started out normally enough... well, sort of. I was in the midst of a standard Doctor-and-Ace-in-a-quarry scene, then for some reason it cut directly to what I think was a convention panel-thing. (Despite never having been, but never mind.) You know, auditorium in front of white board. So I was sitting there minding my own business and Sophie Aldred sat in the next seat. IT'S A DREAM BABY, DON'T GOTTA MAKE SENSE. So we get to talking, she asks if I'm English and like an IDIOT I say YES. Then I clam up and think up an elaborate cover story about how I was born in SOUTH America. W.T.F. Really.
Then I think I must have been embarrassed by that fiasco, because I wrap myself in a blanket and doze off. Next thing I know I hear Sylvester FRAKKIN' McCoy's voice. !@#$%. So here I am dozing off like a dope... I poke my head up and try to act like I'm not a big dope. Then he asks me if I think we could get the people in the room to vote one way on something, I say yes. And as if I wasn't already in deep enough guano, I decide to take out The Sweater and discover it's got NUMBERS written all over it with permanent marker, and these stupid tacky tile-things sewn around the bottom. And I thought I had problems because the real one has no POCKETS. O_O
Suitably mortified, I somehow managed to take my leave of them- McCoy was wearing a grey fedora, don't ask me where my brain gets these things- and when I met up with my mum (lord knows what she was doing at a Doctor Who convention) she's all like, "why are you so late? Did you get caught up shopping?" SHOPPING, I ASK YOU.
I promise it's nothing icky, just supremely weird as dreams are wont to be. All I've got to say is, I have no fears about conventions now. Whatever happens can't possibly top this.
It started out normally enough... well, sort of. I was in the midst of a standard Doctor-and-Ace-in-a-quarry scene, then for some reason it cut directly to what I think was a convention panel-thing. (Despite never having been, but never mind.) You know, auditorium in front of white board. So I was sitting there minding my own business and Sophie Aldred sat in the next seat. IT'S A DREAM BABY, DON'T GOTTA MAKE SENSE. So we get to talking, she asks if I'm English and like an IDIOT I say YES. Then I clam up and think up an elaborate cover story about how I was born in SOUTH America. W.T.F. Really.
Then I think I must have been embarrassed by that fiasco, because I wrap myself in a blanket and doze off. Next thing I know I hear Sylvester FRAKKIN' McCoy's voice. !@#$%. So here I am dozing off like a dope... I poke my head up and try to act like I'm not a big dope. Then he asks me if I think we could get the people in the room to vote one way on something, I say yes. And as if I wasn't already in deep enough guano, I decide to take out The Sweater and discover it's got NUMBERS written all over it with permanent marker, and these stupid tacky tile-things sewn around the bottom. And I thought I had problems because the real one has no POCKETS. O_O
Suitably mortified, I somehow managed to take my leave of them- McCoy was wearing a grey fedora, don't ask me where my brain gets these things- and when I met up with my mum (lord knows what she was doing at a Doctor Who convention) she's all like, "why are you so late? Did you get caught up shopping?" SHOPPING, I ASK YOU.