Doctor Who: The True Story Behind Hugh Grant As The Doctor

After chasing the Doctor down and kidnapping, rather than killing, him (in a classic nonsensical villain trope, which is highlighted in the running gag 'I'll explain later.'), the Daleks accidentally exterminate him, forcing him to regenerate into a mirror-licking Richard E Grant. With two further regenerations, via a bashful Jim Broadbent, the Doctor manifests in Hugh Grant form - colloquially known as The Handsome Doctor - much to his companion and future wife's delight.

Unfortunately this form doesn't last more than a few lines and, by the episode's conclusion, the Doctor is Joanna Lumley, waltzing away in the romantic company of the Master, never to be seen again.

With his natural charisma, roguish schoolboy charms and refined English accent, Hugh Grant was a natural choice for the Doctor and should have been a shoe-in for the role when it came to the series' revival in 2005 - especially since he himself described the opportunity as 'a lifelong ambition'.

With 1995's Divine Brown controversy far enough behind him as to be all but forgotten, and still many years before he would be one of the public figures who helped break the phone hacking scandal, he was in the ideal position to don the scarf, fez or cricket jumper, and board the TARDIS to become the next generation of viewers' very own Doctor.

But who would approach a Hollywood star to play the lead role on a BBC Saturday night TV science fiction serial? Showrunner Russell T Davies, apparently. Hugh came within spitting distance of the official role of the ninth Doctor when Davies offered him the part in 2004. As we know, he turned it down - but that doesn't mean he didn't regret it, as he has publicly stated on several occasions. However, this may not be the end of Grant working on Doctor Who, as he has since expressed interest in playing a villain on the show.

Nonetheless, while we never got Hugh Grant in the big blue box, we thankfully have a glorious season of Eccleston to show for it. The rest, as they say, is a big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey history.