Here’s my tribute to Dr Who – and of course, talk therapy groups everywhere. I hope you enjoy it.
Therapist: Welcome back everyone – it’s good to see you all again. I know last time we were talking about how important it is to have a good support network and how you were all working so hard to build this up with your friends and work colleagues. Who wants to start us off this week? No? How about you, sir?
First Doctor: Hmm, don’t patronise me young woman! I am not here of my own free will. It’s all that wretched Chatterton’s fault – he signed the release papers to get me incarcerated here!
Therapist: Erm… nobody’s keeping you here – you’re all here of your own free will and…
First Doctor: That’s what the evil Celestial Toymaker said when he captured the TARDIS. Those were his exact words!
Third Doctor: Actually old chap, I don’t think they were…
First Doctor: Who’s asking you, big nose?
Therapist: Gentlemen, please! We agreed no personal attacks. Since you spoke up, why not tell us how you’ve been getting on?
Third Doctor: Well, it’s not much fun being surrounded by a gang of military dunderheads at work. Luckily, my assistant is very good at making the tea and going ‘yes Doctor, no Doctor’ in all the right places.
Therapist: Er… right.
Third Doctor: And by ‘right places’ I mean after everything I say. It gets annoying though.
Therapist: You mean her constant need for your approval?
Third Doctor: No, I mean her kneeing me in the balls and calling me a patronising old git.
(Murmurs of agreement from the group)
Therapist: I think we’re getting off track a little. Come on everyone, we can do better than this. Who’s got a nice positive story for us?
Sixth Doctor: I’d happily terminate this procession of irksome, illogical imbecility!
Therapist: You mean you want to end the session?
Sixth Doctor: What? No, I want to kill my companion! Why can’t somebody exterminate that carrot-juice consuming clotpole! That bushy-haired bimbo! That exercise-freak fascist! That…
Therapist: I think we get the point
Fourth Doctor: Well, speaking of points, I don’t get what’s the point of companions. I dragged that little shit Adric from one side of the universe to the other. That was all he kept whining about. ‘What’s the point of this? What’s the point of that?’ I even saved him from falling into the sun at Xerethon when we flew past it.
Fifth Doctor (remembering): Er… you dangled him head-first out the TARDIS door by his ankles first didn’t you?
Fourth Doctor: Shut it, pajama boy. At least I got Romana – you got stuck with that bloody Nyssa for two seasons.
Fifth Doctor: And Tegan. In a leather miniskirt.
Fourth Doctor (pause): Bastard.
Therapist (wearily): Anyone else?
Second Doctor: My companions are quite a nice lot really. Well, Zoe is, I fancy her. Even Jamie has his uses.
Therapist: Ah, that sounds good
Second Doctor: Yes, well, last week I wasn’t sure if the Cybermen had electrified the corridor, so I got him to dance a Highland fling down it.
Therapist: That sounds dangerous
Second Doctor: Not for me!
Therapist: We’re not doing too well here for positive companion stories, are we?
Seventh Doctor: I do all I can to prepare my young companion for the life of an intergalactic traveller
Therapist: By giving them advice and encouragement?
Seventh Doctor: No, by waiting until Ace is nearly asleep, then bursting into her bedroom shouting ‘EVILLLL! EVILLLL FROM THA DAWWWWN O’TIIIIIME!’
Therapist: Right. And what does she do?
Seventh Doctor: Well you know how I always used to have a question-mark handled umbrella? It still hurts when I sit down…