I know at least some of the people who read this thing are fans. Maybe of music, maybe of comics, of all sorts of things. If you are a fan, then you’ll know the feeling you get when you encounter something that brings back all the memories of why you fell in love with something in the first place. Well, it happened to me again on Saturday night – the boys and girls behind Doctor Who gave us something special, a story of love, duty and scarecrows in the shadow of the Great War. The show sometimes get dismissed as a silly sci-fi runaround (and it is, but it’s a fantastic sci-fi runaround), but the last two episodes tapped into a deeper national consciousness (Remembrance Sunday and images of the trenches and poppies), and maybe even religious imagery (incredibly powerful being becomes human, but gives up that life for love? Yeah, nothing religious about that…), all wrapped in a stiff-upper-lip love story. And yes, I cried, at the image of an old man at a war memorial, and the themes of sacrifice and hope.
I think that was the idea.