Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

I have on my desk, courtesy fencingsculptor, a shiny new Flight Control TARDIS, a season 3 Doctor figure and a Martha Jones figure all to the same scale. The seven year old in my head is experiencing geekgasm.

My plans for the afternoon are foiled, however, by the lack of three AAA batteries and a screwdriver – though to be fair, without the batteries a screwdriver would be redundant, nay taunting (though to have the batteries without the screwdriver would be frustrating, so there is no good way through this). You see this collectible¹ TARDIS is not only to scale with the figures, but the doors open inwards to reveal the control room. The side door opens to reveal the telephone. If the batteries were installed, it would all light up, inside and out and there would be SOUND EFFECTS.

Pick it up and get a dematerialisation sound; put it down to get a rematerialisation sound. Open the doors and there is a hum. Spin it and it makes the noise of the TARDIS in flight. Jog it around a bit and it makes the sound of emergency, interrupted flight. This sis the sort of toy collectible they should have made when I was seven.

But.

I have no screwdriver and am short of three AAA batteries. My afternoon is in ruins; I must work instead of driving my colleagues green with envy wild with annoyance with the repeated demonstrations of TARDIS noises and me humming the Doctor Who theme tune.

Grumble.


¹This is a euphemism for toy. It is marginally more acceptable (in my head at least) for me to acquire collectibles than it is to buy toys. Watch me tiptoe along the tight rope of semantics and marvel.

A man cannot have too many TARDISes!


The new Flight Control TARDIS, for the 5 year old in your head.

*runs off laughing manically*