I’ve been watching Doctor Who since ‘Rose’, and I’ve seen every episode at least five times. (Except The Voyage of the Damned. Really didn’t like that. Sorry, Kylie.) I’ve even delved into pre-2005 Who, but after much deliberation and hours a-plenty glued to the TV, I’ve arrived at the decision: Matt Smith is my Doctor.
And no, it’s not just because he’s the latest one. He’s the one that I’d choose to turn up in my garden with his TARDIS, and together we’d investigate the weird garden ornaments that next door have that might be Weeping Angels. He’s the one that I’d equally take to a library, a submarine, a Dalek Asylum, or just down the pub. The Eleventh Doctor is the one that makes me believe that one day, I can be the Doctor too.
It’s a shame, because a lot of people haven’t warmed to him. I don’t know if it’s because Ten never wanted to go (Ten, not Tennant), or whether Smith is too young or too alien; maybe I’m in a complete blinkered minority. But here are ten reasons to miss the raggedy man himself, and why he should be celebrated as one of the finest Doctors in the show’s history.
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