So much to say and so little time to say it.
As we bid a fond adieu to our homes for our pilgrimage to Shakeyland so does our(Time) Lord bid farewell to that most famous and coveted of roles at the BBC. It was indeed in shock and awe and sliding to the floor that I received the most distressing of news last night from out of the mouth of the Lord himself. Oh what a mouth, that pert top lip, that most suckable bottom lip (sorry I'm digressing). The Lord is indeed handing the key of the Tardis to some undeserving lowlife at the end of the specials.
And so, Sisters, it is with heavy heart and plodding step that I pack my vampy see through top, my hip-hugging black trousers and my fuck-me boots for our sojourn in Stratford. I feel in need of a group therapy session around a bottle of voddy in the Dirty Duck. If the Lord could join us, to comfort us each in tun with his 10", so much the better!
After the weeping and a-wailing and self-flagellation following the news of his departure, there is a growing realisation across the T'interweb that the Lord may now be seen in more "adult" roles which can only be watched by those who have a post-watershed bedtime. We will finally be rid of the Child and her little gang of followers who will soon forget the Lord and all his attributes and move back to boy bands and Iggle Piggle.
The Lord will once again be held in esteem in his rightful place on the 40" altar bearing his soul, his chest and, the Universe willing, wielding his 10" rather than a sonic screwdriver!
Bring it on Sisters!
Until tomorrow my friends. Au Revoir. xxx