I have not been a Dr. Who fan all my life. I first saw the series during the beginning of the Fourth Doctor, when the Rocket Scientist and I would go to his parents for Sunday dinner (they would give us leftovers, which as penurious as a graduate student and wife we appreciated). He would insist on leaving so as to make it home before the show came on, or if that were not possible to stay and watch it there. I would usually knit through it. (I have a blue and white shawl, that was supposed to be a scarf except I have no sense of scale.) I was not impressed.

When the new series started up, I became interested. I’m not sure why, except that  maybe by that time I was hanging out with nerdier people. At any rate, I liked Christopher Eggleston, I loved David Tennant, and I kept wanting to smack Matt Smith. (If you look in the dictionary under “twee,” you’ll see a picture of the Eleventh Doctor). Then came Peter Capaldi as the Twelfth Doctor.

Peter Capaldi has been my favorite Doctor. Maybe it’s because the actor is close to my age, or because his sadness and anger seem more genuine than some of the others. And his interactions with Clara Oswald (best companion ever) seemed deeply loving, without the creepy sexual overtones there were with Eleven.

Capaldi has just finished up his run as the Doctor. While I am sad to see him go, I understand his not wanting to do more than three seasons. They just announced the Thirteenth Doctor, and I must say I am quite disappointed.

I wanted Helen Mirren.

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