I might add or start with the notion that Sci-fi conventions are best avioded at all costs, unless you be wearing an anorak or maybe a wooly hat. Very scary. However, if, like myself, you find yourself drawn into such a horrific establishment, you must enjoy the occassion, and then run for you life!

Anyway, this was DOCTOR WHO, a great british tv creation. I saw the first episode in 1963, and watched every show until 1970, when the show suddenly deteriorated and became unwatchable pap. Until then, in its black & white format, great scripts, and serious interplay, it was a magnificent mysterious program. Shame they blew it.

Occasionally, I would bump into PR stunts or exhibitions here and there. One such debacle was in Blackpool in 1976, where some awful Daleks were put onto rails and would jump out to surprise the passing tourist in this cheaply put together display. Best forgotten about. But for the record, heres a couple of other attemps at putting the doctor on the road...

All photos ©GeorgeFarrell, but feel free to distribute to the world!

1975

It was on a chilly day back in the seventies, on some inglorious football pitch in the east end of London. And the BBC Doctor Who Roadshow came into view. So why not check it out. It was truly terrible. I had long lost interest in the prog, but watched it occasionally. First into the scene were a couple of badly battered daleks. They were in such bad shape, probably been in storage since the sixties, and they were nailed down onto wooden pallets atop a lorry. Soon, they were on ground, and a cheap 'Do not touch' sign was placed on their side, signing an undignified end to the rulers of the cosmos.

Later, a Cyberman bloke was dragged into view. He wasnt wearing any gloves. Maybe these were back at the TV Centre, with the note that read "Dont forget the Cyberman gloves". So it did look quite weird, but we were forced to suspend our belief and just understand that this particular Cyberbloke was half human thanks to a mix up at the hospital.

Oh dear. The embarassment of it all, the two most fiercest aliens in the universe, stuck in a field in the east end of London, and being forced to take photographs arm in arm with some burger eating pleb humans. Oh dear. It was a very sad sight indeed. This very very inanimate Dalek was one of the cheapest balsa wood stock, one of the Daleks that would be well in the background of any shot, and would be blown up at the end of an episode. For some reason, this blue Dalek had escaped the junk yard, and was now consigned to fun fair duties. No wonder he was hanging his lid in shame.

Suddenly, a roar came from the audience, and it was clear something really big was happening. Time for Tom Baker to wander out of a caravan, dressed in the height of Doctor Who fashion. At this time, he was the new Doctor, having just taken the mantle from Pertwee, and now doing the rounds of public appearances. He was indeed like the pied piper of London, and a trail of kids and mums and dads followed him round the field, pens at the ready. He had massive star quality, believe you me, and was still in character!

1993

And now, and now, and now, it was forward in time, without a tardis, which meant nearly a 20 year wait for me. And this time, in west London, a proper convention, and quite a scary one at that. I think it was a general sci-fi happening, with many stalls dedicated to flogging boxed items of memorabelia at hugely inflated prices. And amongst the saturated hoards of bloated anoraks, some rather clean but strangely silent Daleks glided around rather haphazardly, bumping into walls as they would into frightened anorak boys. I must say, this was a rather good PR stunt, but the poor Dalek operators were locked into their shells all day, and not a sniff of a sandwich! No wonder their trajectories were so wobbly...

Later in day, Jon Perwee, the 3rd Doctor, was escorted through the peoples, and he did look very fit and agile, and so it was a shame when he died only a few years later. But here was the man, with that inimitable voice and stature, blazing his way to glory. Astounding it was, and I stepped back in appreciation. The old boy was then whisked into a tent, where, for a few quid a throw, you could have your own personal greeting with the great man. I'm sorry to report that I did not indulge.

Ok, folks, that yer lot. For the moment, I have binned my anorak, and set light to my wooly hat. And thank goodness for that... Maybe I'll take up train spotting insead.

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