And so another season of Doctor Who passes into the gentle night. Whenever I mention how much I like the series, either historically or presently, I always seem to run into the same question with the same boggled expression. “Why?” It’s fascinating. The show is generally just behind Eastenders in terms of ratings, and a major success as an international export – moreso than any other show the BBC makes – and yet I am somehow the odd person for enjoying it. It’s like I’m breaking a rule no one has told me about. “Yes, it’s on, but you’re not supposed to enjoy it. Are you mad?”

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