When I get out of these catacombs, if I ever do, I’ll change my ways. No more adventuring for me. No more dashing about time and space, taking mad risks, playing blind man’s buff with death. I’ll return to Gallifrey and lead a life of quiet contemplation throughout all my remaining regenerations. I’ve still got a few centuries left. I’ll treasure them, eke them out second by second as if each heartbeat was a diamond, worth more than all the galaxy. I’ll … I’ll donate my TARDIS to the Presidential museum. They’ll appreciate that. Sightseers will point to it and ask: ‘Whatever happened to the madman who used to wander the universe in that thing?’ And the curator will say, ‘He learned his lesson and came home for good.’ Perhaps … perhaps I’ll be the curator.
The Briggs Doctor after running into his future tomb and dead TARDIS in Alan W Lear’s 1985 Cloud of Fear. To summarize, we have “no more”, the madman in a box, the Curator, the Doctor’s future tomb, and the Doctor’s dead TARDIS. Doctor Who is like poetry. It rhymes!
Murray Gold, you guys, does not get enough love. So I am here, armed with a list of my favorite pieces from each series of Doctor Who. It was meant to be an orderly list, with one favorite per series, but it kind of devolved into a shouty mess about music. (Which should be expected. Last year I got an email from Spotify detailing my listening habits over the past year and apparently I’m in the top 1% of Murray Gold fans. THE MAN IS AWESOME OKAY.)
“Sorry, what did you say? Did you mention the rules? Now, listen. Bit of advice. Tell me the truth if you think you know it. Lay down the law if you’re feeling brave. But, Daleks, never, ever tell me the rules!”