Why Being The New Dr Who's Companion Is Now The Worst Job In The Universe

This morning’s announcement that Glaswegian Peter Capaldi will man the wheel of the Tardis as the 12th incarnation of Doctor Who is welcome news on several fronts.

First of all, here’s the big anouncement:

You might have noticed he’s a Scot, and you should know that all the best Doctors have been Scots, starting with Sylvester McCoy, who was deranged, but interesting enough that Dr Who Magazine readers voted him Best Doctor Ever. Yes, ahead of Tom Baker.

Also, having a Scot as a Doctor puts a lot of pressure on the writers to write interesting dialogue, because they know viewers will be listening intently, as listening intently is the only way anyone can make sense of what he’ll be saying.

But most importantly, Capaldi played Malcolm Tucker in the BBC comedy series The Thick of It. If you’d stayed up late enough to catch it in this country, you’ll know him best as the guy who perfected the art of constructing legible sentences using just three or less swear words.

This makes him A Man, something the Who franchise has lacked since casting William Hartnell, a tough old Clint who started life as a petty criminal and son of a boxing instructor, in the original lead role.

Since then the Doctor has become increasingly likely to be frail, wear scarves or sticks of celery, theatrical, emotionally unstable and generally impervious to female charms.

Most recently, Matt Smith had skinny wrists.

So to celebrate the return of sweary hard men to the Whovian universe, we’ve given the writers of the new series a heads-up on the kind of dialogue we expect from the new Who.

From where we stand, life’s about to get a whole lot more difficult for the new companion…

Why Being The New Dr Who’s Companion Is Now The Worst Job In The Universe

“Where did you study chameleon circuitry – Ogron Technical? It’s terrible! All these hands all over the place. You were like a sweaty Silurian trying to unhook a radiation belt.”

“Today, you have laid your first big fat egg of solid f***. You took a mu-field activator and you ate it with a lump of radionuclide. And then you sprayed it out of your arse at 300 mph.”

“Terri, when I want your advice, I’ll give you the special signal. Which is me being sectioned under Article 29.8 of the Shadow Proclamation.”

“I’d love to stop and chat to you but I’d rather have Lazar’s disease.”

“Perpugilliam, you are an epic f***-up. You’re so dense that light bends around you.”

“I will tear your f***ing clockwork skin off, I will wear it to your clockwork mother’s birthday party, and rub your clockwork nuts up and down her clockwork leg whilst whistling The Ballad of the Last F***ing Chance Saloon. Right?”

“Adric’s useless. He’s absolutely useless. He’s as useless as a marzipan fragmentation grenade.”

“You get sarcastic with me again and I will stuff this sonic screwdriver so far down your f***ing throat it’ll come out your arse like a Menoptera’s stinger.”

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