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Doctor Who: Now We Are 600

Page 4

by James Goss


  Jo Jo Grant

  Had a mouth like an “oh!”

  And a life full of surprises.

  Although she joined UNIT quite inchoate

  She soon sailed on seas of giant maggots

  She met ever so many savages,

  Turned down simply heaps of marriages,

  While stopping muddy worlds being colonised

  She was very frequently hypnotised.

  She was sacrificed at a syzygy,

  Passed screaming through a singularity,

  She didn’t once, despite the Doctor’s ego,

  Reverse polarity of neutron flow.

  She did enjoy Captain Yates’ romancing

  Till he sadly took her Morris dancing.

  She so adored the Brigadier’s moustache

  Even when he talked such balderdash.

  She stole the heart of a Draconian

  And honeymooned upon the Amazon.

  She parachuted from an icecano

  And called her grandson Santiago.

  For vile villains she never gave two figs

  And laughed at those silly gnashing Drashigs.

  At those weird fiendish experimenters

  She just smiled on her many adventures.

  (Though she never met a pterodactyl

  To say other would be counterfactual)

  A scream with laughs she’d sometimes intersperse

  Because Jo Grant saw the whole universe.

  Miss Jo Grant

  Never said “shan’t”

  That’s why she won all life’s prizes.

  A GOOD MAN

  Good men take the long way round,

  It goes with the higher ground,

  Keeping sacred noble vows,

  And really searing eyebrows.

  Good men should sound quite Scottish

  Helps with being stand-offish

  Suggests you’ll win any fight

  Just by being profoundly right.

  Good men should have a careful plan

  Which they’ll (like this rhyme) ignore

  They’re always ten moves ahead

  Their feet most firmly planted.

  Good men don’t plan their breakfast

  In eggs and jam they’re reckless

  But long ago they had a hunch

  There’s no such thing as a free lunch.

  Good men choose with whom to trifle

  (No chance if you own that rifle)

  They work hard, they don’t forget

  And they don’t lose – well, not yet.

  Good men never toss a pawn

  They’d rather eat a Janis Thorn

  What good’s that one true friend

  If they’re not with you at the end?

  Good men they don’t surrender

  Even if the bill’s a spender.

  Losing’s not a cost to swallow

  They’ll be back tomorrow.

  And tomorrow, tomorrow

  And all the days that follow.

  They’ll get you back, no mind the cost

  Because to them a friend’s not lost.

  Good men they take the long way round

  It goes with all that higher ground.

  THE GUIDE DOG

  I like to let him cheat at chess

  I love to answer No with Yes

  My rules are simple and also true

  Without doubt they’d apply to you.

  I always answer Negative

  Or perhaps Affirmative.

  Why answer in one syllable?

  Brevity is just risible.

  Be governed by always being right

  It affords your listeners quiet delight

  If not, answer Negative

  Or just perhaps Affirmative.

  I will admit I’m no good at slopes

  Sand, stairs and mud are just nopes.

  I regret my lack of battery power

  But a lot can be done in an hour.

  It’s why I prefer Affirmative

  To a bold cold solid Negative.

  He forgives my failings with puddles

  Because I sort out his frightful muddles

  As our little song draws to an end

  A robot dog’s always your best friend.

  And that’s never Negative

  It’s definitely Affirmative.

  RASSILON WHY?

  (after ‘Cottleston Pie’)

  Rassilon, Rassilon, Rassilon Why?

  A man should die, but this man shan’t die

  Ask me a riddle and I’ll reply

  Rassilon, Rassilon, Rassilon Why?

  Rassilon, Rassilon, Rassilon Why?

  Gallifrey rises and so do I

  Ask me a riddle and I’ll reply

  Rassilon, Rassilon, Rassilon Why?

  Rassilon, Rassilon, Rassilon Why?

  Immortality’s a curse, I don’t know why

  Ask me a riddle and I’ll reply

  Rassilon, Rassilon, Rassilon Why?

  Rassilon, Rassilon, Rassilon Why?

  There’s one rule for you, and one for me

  I wouldn’t want us to disagree

  Rassilon, Rassilon, Rassilon Why?

  YETI SONG

  Sing Ho! For the life of a Yeti!

  Sing Ho! You’re jealous I bet-ty!

  I don’t much mind if the world disappears

  Cos my furry belly is full of spheres

  Telling me to obey, obey, obey

  I don’t much care if it snows or thaws

  Cos I’ve such a lot of blood on my lovely paws!

  Slashing and maiming, slaughtering my way.

  Sing Ho! For the life of a Yeti!

  Sing Ho! You’re jealous I bet-ty!

  Now everyone’s dead I’m coming for you!

  COOL THING

  I do so like my lovely tie,

  You’re jealous. Ask me why?

  It’s a bow bow tie

  That’s just why

  A red bow tie.

  It has a shape

  That is clever

  It folds in

  On itself

  & Out forever

  A Möbius loop

  For a nincompoop

  I’ll confess to be sly

  Bows are tricky to tie.

  The start and ending are nigh

  I do so like my lovely tie.

  GAMES

  I am so very terribly good at games

  It doesn’t help that I’m bad at names

  But sit down stranger, let’s draw out the board

  And see our eternal chess game scored.

  Where were we? You pick’d black and I took white

  And settled in for an age-old fight

  We battled from Silk Road to Araby

  And, dear sir, you always return to me.

  Sometimes I take your pieces, you take mine

  It’s no hardship, the game is fine.

  As the ages fall, our contest continual

  Glaciers creep and mountains fall.

  There’s no ending but mine, Time Lord

  You say you’re thinking, I say you’re bored.

  One day I’ll win, and then you’ll see –

  What playing a friend means to me.

  Your move, dear sir, your move.

  ABSENCES

  (after ‘Before Tea’)

  Miss Clara

  Has not been seen

  For more than a week. She slipped inside

  The stationery cupboard. Surely not to hide?

  We all went looking for her. Miss Clara?

  Where are yer?

  Miss? Miss?

  What is this?

  We’ve got big exams at the end of term

  If you go missing then how can we learn?

  Also, the Head’s cross. You’ve gone too far, Miss.

  Miss Clara

  Slipped back in the

  Middle of a lesson. “Now, where were we?”

  “Where were you?!?” “What’s the hurry?

&nb
sp; I’ve been in space, met Ghandi for curry,

  Saved the human race, s’okay don’t worry

  And no, don’t thank me.”

  Oh Miss Clara

  Miss, this time

  You’ve gone too far-er.

  POSSIBILIES

  (after ‘Cherry Stones’)

  Tinker, Tailor

  Soldier, Sailor

  Rich Man, Poor Man

  Beggarman, Thief

  These are the many lives to see

  In the stones of my sweet cherry tree.

  But what about a Physicist,

  Thinker, Slayer

  Eternal Sailor

  Gell Guard,

  Or Nano Biologist?

  What about the Vanir or a Tharil at the Gate?

  What about a Malin or Giant Spider’s Mate?

  What about a Policeman looking in the junkyard?

  Or the circumlocuting, prosecuting Valeyard?

  What about a Vervoid voiding Thrematologist?

  Or an ever over-eager radiation physicist?

  What about a blood-thirsty Lord High Priestess

  Or a pluckily unlucky air hostess?

  Don’t forget a fiddler with rat genetics

  Or an emotionless abuser of cybernetics

  There are more lives to see

  Than there are stones on Metebelis Three

  RICE PUDDING

  Unlimited rice pudding, temporal ghosts

  Bus stations, cruelty and burnt toast

  These are the things I don’t like the most.

  Fascism, idiocy, a waffling bore

  Old gods, sideways villains, the Earth’s core

  These are things I find terrible chores.

  Recursive occlusions, rips in Time’s skin,

  Lost luggage, cold porridge, worlds wearing thin

  These are all the things I declare grim.

  Liquorice, apricots, opening night,

  Sudden triumph, old friends, a fair fight

  These are things in which I take delight.

  HAVE YOU SEEN . . . . ?

  Whatever became of Perpugilliam Brown?

  She’s let her whole family down

  She said she was off backpacking

  Seems she was a victim of bizarre kidnapping.

  Whatever became of Perpugilliam Brown?

  Her mother (it’s said) has begun to frown

  (Quite ruining her surgeon’s reknown).

  She’d a university place

  Instead she’s larking off in space!

  Whatever became of Perpugilliam Brown?

  You know I’ve heard she’s run off with a

  clown

  Who calls himself by a proper noun!

  Her step-dad he is so distraught

  He’s searching the docks till she’s caught.

  Whatever became of Perpugilliam Brown?

  She nearly died stopping a mutant drown,

  I know, poor girl, such a letdown!

  But she’d planned for a botanist

  Not a career, yet she would insist.

  Whatever became of Perpugilliam Brown?

  By now she should be living downtown

  Not stopping nuclear meltdown

  Or saving us from a fireball

  Noble I know, but is that all?

  Whatever became of Perpugilliam Brown?

  Not to gossip, but it’s all over town

  She’s set her cap at a man with a crown!

  What was wrong with an accountant?

  Not some alien militant!

  Breeding will out, it’s always shown.

  Well, look what became of Perpugilliam Brown!

  NEXT EPISODE

  “Kill them! Kill them now!”

  Well yes, but how?

  Is it with a gun?

  (There’s always one!)

  What about a flute?

  (That would be a hoot)

  Push me in a pit!

  (Are you sure I’ll fit?)

  Here’s my robot twin!

  (Where shall I begin?)

  Offer me to god?

  (That’s a little odd)

  Throw me into space?

  (I’ll keep a straight face)

  Turn me into stone?

  (That one’s not unknown)

  Restart the big bang?

  (Ooh, that’s quite the thang)

  Shrink me into dust?

  (Well now, if you must)

  Call for the Daleks?

  (Won’t see me for parsecs)

  Turn me to compost?

  (Well now, I’m engrossed)

  Tell them my real name?

  (The internet’s aflame)

  Ah, a fit of pique?

  (I’ll be back next week)

  See, no matter how

  You say “Kill them now!”

  I assure you, friend

  It won’t be MY end.

  HARRIET JONES, PM

  (after ‘Journey’s End’)

  “Don’t you think she looks tired?”

  Do forgive me, I’m rather wired!

  Earth’s in danger, then? Again?

  Send for Harriet Jones, PM!

  This world we shall defend

  My poor alien friends.

  Fear my network subwave

  Earth from you I’ll save!

  From cottage hospitals,

  And nasty windbag fools,

  Even alien blackmail.

  I’ve saved us without fail.

  Daleks, please have no doubt

  I’ll gladly sort you out.

  Now, before it all turns sour

  This’ll be my finest hour.

  Harriet Jones, PM out.

  FRIEND SHIP

  Susan, Barbara and Ian

  Vicki, Dodo and Steven.

  Ben, Polly, Jamie

  Victoria and Zoe.

  Liz, Jo and Sarah

  Harry, Brig and Leela.

  Romanadvoratrelundar

  And K-9 (the dog wonder).

  Adric, Nyssa, Tegan

  Turlough and Kamelion.

  Peri and Melanie

  Ace (aka Dorothy).

  Rose, Jack and Jackie

  Martha, (horse) and Mickey.

  Donna, Donna, Donnaaaa!

  (Never forgetting her)

  Amy, Winston, Rory

  River (that’s another story).

  Clara, Oswin, Clara

  Oswald, Osgoods, Clara.

  (Also, Clara, Clara, and more Clara

  Never got the end of that palaver)

  Then Nardole, Bill and River too

  And,

  MOST IMPORTANTLY

  There’s

  YOU.

  AFTERWORDS

  Sunset came to the Thousand Year Wood. It had been

  a lovely long day, and, although Figment hadn’t yet met

  the mysterious Officer Sandcars, he’d had such a lot of

  interesting adventures along the way.

  “Maybe my call was just not urgent,” he thought

  philosophically to himself. “Exciting as new friends no

  doubt are,” said Figment, “there’s something even better

  about spending time with old ones.”

  He waved goodbye to his friends Whoot and Bigger,

  marvelling that they had, after all, caught a Gallifrump.

  He wondered if it would still be there tomorrow. Perhaps

  not. Ah well. Never mind. They could always catch it again.

  His footsteps took him back in the direction of the strange

  blue tree. Only it wasn’t where he had left it. Things never

  were, not in Figment’s life. Why, often he had trouble

  finding his house. But he carried on, not worried by the

  darkening sky, or the gathering cold, just looking and

  looking for the square blue tree and humming the little

  hum that the tree had taught him.

  Truth to tell, he spent a little bit longer looking for i
t than

  he should have. Figment suddenly realised that it was

  quite dark and, as he’d given the Gallifrump his mittens,

  his fingers were very cold. In the distance the NightWolves

  were starting to call to each other, singing their song about

  how much they liked eating Figments.

  “Oh dear,” said Figment, feeling very worried.

  He ran on, hoping that his footsteps were taking him home.

  But they were not. He was in a darkly dark bit of

  the Thousand Year Wood. And he could tell that the

  NightWolves were ever so close now.

  “I am a very silly Figment,” said Figment crossly to himself.

  Which was when he turned a corner.

  Now, he should have realised that something was Up, as,

  strictly speaking, forests do not have corners. But turn a

  corner he did, and then he realised that all was well.

  For standing right there was the strange blue tree, looking

  all new and bright.

  Better still, there was snow in the night sky.

  Leaning against the blue tree was that best thing of all, the

  oldest of old friends.

  “Jonathan Smith, you’ve come back to the Thousand Year

  Wood!” Figment cried. As he said the words, he felt a little

  shiver inside. He was so pleased to see his friend, but also

  worried – because sometimes the arrival of Jonathan Smith

  meant an end, not a beginning.

  Figment looked fearfully up at Jonathan Smith.

  And Jonathan Smith smiled and Figment knew that it was

  all going to be much more than all right.

  “You called?” said Jonathan Smith with a smile as warm as

  a Christmas fireplace. “Shall we go?”

  “But where?” said Figment, his little hearts giddy.

  “Oh, somewhere,” said Jonathan Smith. “Eventually.”

  *

  So away they went somewhere – but whenever they go and

  whatever happens to them along the way, that was only

  their beginning.

  In the magical heart of the Thousand Year Wood, upon the

  footsteps of Figment and his oldest friend, it will always,

  always be snowing.

  A Post-Script

 

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