Government Health Warning
When in America (I'm still here, in DC to be precise) you're continually assaulted from all angles by adverts. For every, and any, thing. And they're trying even more ingenious methods of displaying these ads. I've lost count of the number of times I've walked into some, how shall we say, less salubrious neighbourhoods and been covered with small red laser-sight dots only to realise, after a growing sense of panic, that they're actually micro adverts beamed onto passing lard tubs advertising the latest miracle breakthru weight loss regime. A regime that usually involves no secession to the endless parade of corn dogs, waffles and biscuits they're usually to be found ramming down their cream-tinged sluice holes. How do they do this, you ask? Through the use of fat free foods. Yes, fat free foods.
There's a fat free substitute that they use to cook chips in (a canny bag of Tudor to you and me [and anyone else who survived the muted colours and ridiculous fashions of the 70's]) which comes with a certain price to pay for its fat freeness. The government demanded that the following appetising warning be placed, just by the nutritional information, on products that were produced using this ingredient - "...may cause abdominal cramping and loose stools...".
I expect you're now waiting for me to suggest that something containing trace elements of Catherine Tate should carry a similar warning...? Well I'm not. So there.
Doctor Who: Partners in Crime
I not so much welcome the change of companion as welcome the change of relationship. Saddling the Doctor with some dot-eyed girlie who sees her relationship with him in terms of a series of articles from magazines - ones that inhabit that bizarre newsagent's shelf that sits just above pre-teen rags and just below the Class 'A' of female periodicals - can end up being very limiting and monotonous (not to mention a tad disturbing as you feel like you're actually reading someone's personal diary entries rather than watching good vanquish evil).
Is there something a tad insensitive about Captain Jack narrating a piece on the alien Adipose less than 24 hours after losing two team members?
Just about as monotonous as adventures in time and space where time and space are generally accepted to be constants. And just about as limiting as Cardiff appears to be when offering shooting locations. Was it just me of have we seen the Adipose Industries building before? Wasn't that the same one they were running about on top of just last Friday in Torchwood? Or the same building Jack was chucked off thirteen weeks ago? And whilst I've opened that festering sore again - is there something a tad insensitive about Captain Jack narrating a piece on the alien Adipose less than 24 hours after losing two team members? Surely a new low even for him.
The Chubby Charter.
Physical locations aren't the only features returning to our screens - of several key themes underpinning not-so-new Who we seem to be back to an old standby. If it's not the mythical gay agenda it's religious iconography. And, when all else fails, the Chubby Charter. The Slitheen, the Abzorbalof, the Foons - chubbies all. And now a chubby prayer has been answered - a miracle sliming pill of alien origin - being knocked out by Miss Foster (basically Anne Robinson in drag). Surely the first people onto this drug would be some size zero catwalkers (possibly ones who would be currently entangled in Pete Doherty, they always seem to be) and the first sign of problems would be from the Paps who's normal fare of post-nightspot ejection shots would have a ton of these little critters waddling around the place tripping over discarded kebabs. Usually published across several pages in those self same angst ridden magazines.
Pre-broadcast, much was made of the use of massive animation to breath live into these little fellas, techniques last seen in Lord of the Rings, to give every single baby Adipose it's own set of behaviours. And you can go all goo-goo cutey all you like, the best bit was when two went squish under the wheels of a taxi. Who says they don't use special sound any more. Go back and play that bit again - listen to the plopping noise when Adipose met Goodyear Radial. Glorious.
85 slide carousels of their colonic irrigation and spiritual awakening retreat to Welwyn Garden City.
Nearly as laugh out loud funny as the look on the Doctor's face after Donna's just dumped a Grace Brothers department full of luggage on him. It's the look shared by thousands of people a year. You know, like when you go on holiday and meet up with a couple and have a fine old time, only to part with the phrase, "if you're ever in our neck of the woods, do pop in". The next thing you know you're rudely awoken on weekend to find them, their extended luggage and 85 slide carousels of their colonic irrigation and spiritual awakening retreat to Welwyn Garden City standing between you and blind, unflinching, terror.
So, just go with it... Embrace Catherine Tate. But only in a platonic, mates-only, kind of a way. It's no use getting all wound up into a rage. You'd be surprised at how few calories that burns off.