In The End I Sort Of Though

...the Very Word 'fiction' Implies Another World, Literally A Different Place, Whereas No One Claims That A Dedicated Sportsman Is Escaping His Life, Or A Chef Or A Nurse. But The Poor Writer - The Sci-fi One Especially - Is Seen As Running Away. Bollocks. This Is Real, For Me, And It's Tough, It's Fun, It's Practical, And It's Very, Very Important.

I Am The Bad Wolf. I Create Myself. I Take The Words. I Scatter Them... In Time, And Space. A Message To Lead Myself Here.

I Dread The Day I Leave [doctor Who], Because Then I'll Have To Go Back To Writing Bedrooms And Offices And Pubs. And Maybe A Field, If I'm Lucky.

Wilf: God Bless The Cactuses! The Doctor: That's Cacti. Alien: And That's Racist!

Cyber Leader: Daleks, Be Warned. You Have Declared War Upon The Cybermen. Dalek Sec: This Is Not War - This Is Pest Control! Cyber Leader: We Have Five Million Cybermen. How Many Are You? Dalek Sec: Four. Cyber Leader: You Would Destroy The Cybermen With Four Daleks? Dalek Sec: We Would Destroy The Cybermen With One Dalek! You Superior In Only One Respect. Cyber Leader: What Is That? Dalek Sec: You Are Better At Dying.