It had been a long tiring day for the actors at the first ever
Completelymadeupcon. For the second time in history five Doctors had been
rounded up (some more reluctantly than others), contractually obligated and
deposited together for three days at the lovely Baha Hills Hotel, South
Bognor for the convention to end all conventions: Completelymadeupcon: The
biggest, the bestest, the greatest convention in Doctor Who history.
'Fans should be shot,' said Peter as he slumped down on a chair in the green room.
'Especially ones who turn up in your costume,' replied Colin as he monopolised the sofa. He waggled a hand theatrically. 'Why? Is it some dastardly fan conspiracy to punish me? Do they want to remind me of how bleedin awful it was?'
'Have you ever encountered one of those in the lift, early morning. with a hangover?' asked Sylvester, with a particularly grouchy 'r' roll, as he sat down with his tea. 'That bloody jacket,' he said with a shudder.
'I seem to remember we have been through this before Sylvester. I am sorry, but it wasn't my idea - the hangover or the jacket,' retorted Colin.
'At least your didn't spend half your time trying not to get strangled by your own scarf,' bellowed Tom as he threw the aforementioned instrument of torture across the room where it managed to entangle Paul who had entered and was now making a be line for the mini bar.
'Still it was a nice day,' said McGann from beneath a tangle of scarf.
'Yes if I had spent all day being besieged by love struck young females I would say it had been a nice day too,' said Peter.
'Oh come on - I saw you being ogled by a few love strucks,' replied McGann as he untangled the scarf.
'Weird cannot describe this job,' agreed Peter. 'But then I suppose it is par for the course with, eh guys?'
Sylvester took a deep breath. This was something he had been dreading to bring up, but he could not think of a better time.
He looked up. "Just how weird has it ever gotten?' he asked to the assembled masses.
'What do you mean?' asked Colin.
Sylvester looked flustered. 'Well - have you ever had an encounter with. not fans, but . something you, when you were first cast?' he trailed off, not knowing how to finish without sounding foolish.
'Oh them,' exclaimed Peter.
'Don't you mean us Peter?' said Colin with a smile.
'Oh,' said Tom as understanding dawned. 'I thought I had just done too much hash, but that does explain it,'
'When you got the job they came to say 'congratulations' did they? asked Peter.
'And the first three do nothing but argue,' added Colin.
Paul looked shocked. 'I thought they were a load of raving Doctor Who loonies,' he said aghast.
'Still they were very interesting. They bought me lots of drinks and we spent the night in the local pub. and.'
He trailed off as a flood of memories came back to him. He looked worried as a memory of a green skinned 'go go' dancer with four arms in a seedy bar on Ursa Minor flashed before him. Oh dear. What if 'Lillinia' had actually been real?
'Well yes. I was having breakfast and they sort of came,' said Sylvester uncertainly.
Peter beamed at him. 'Don't worry Syl. Like they said, they were just saying hi.'
'Fans should be shot,' said Peter as he slumped down on a chair in the green room.
'Especially ones who turn up in your costume,' replied Colin as he monopolised the sofa. He waggled a hand theatrically. 'Why? Is it some dastardly fan conspiracy to punish me? Do they want to remind me of how bleedin awful it was?'
'Have you ever encountered one of those in the lift, early morning. with a hangover?' asked Sylvester, with a particularly grouchy 'r' roll, as he sat down with his tea. 'That bloody jacket,' he said with a shudder.
'I seem to remember we have been through this before Sylvester. I am sorry, but it wasn't my idea - the hangover or the jacket,' retorted Colin.
'At least your didn't spend half your time trying not to get strangled by your own scarf,' bellowed Tom as he threw the aforementioned instrument of torture across the room where it managed to entangle Paul who had entered and was now making a be line for the mini bar.
'Still it was a nice day,' said McGann from beneath a tangle of scarf.
'Yes if I had spent all day being besieged by love struck young females I would say it had been a nice day too,' said Peter.
'Oh come on - I saw you being ogled by a few love strucks,' replied McGann as he untangled the scarf.
'Weird cannot describe this job,' agreed Peter. 'But then I suppose it is par for the course with, eh guys?'
Sylvester took a deep breath. This was something he had been dreading to bring up, but he could not think of a better time.
He looked up. "Just how weird has it ever gotten?' he asked to the assembled masses.
'What do you mean?' asked Colin.
Sylvester looked flustered. 'Well - have you ever had an encounter with. not fans, but . something you, when you were first cast?' he trailed off, not knowing how to finish without sounding foolish.
'Oh them,' exclaimed Peter.
'Don't you mean us Peter?' said Colin with a smile.
'Oh,' said Tom as understanding dawned. 'I thought I had just done too much hash, but that does explain it,'
'When you got the job they came to say 'congratulations' did they? asked Peter.
'And the first three do nothing but argue,' added Colin.
Paul looked shocked. 'I thought they were a load of raving Doctor Who loonies,' he said aghast.
'Still they were very interesting. They bought me lots of drinks and we spent the night in the local pub. and.'
He trailed off as a flood of memories came back to him. He looked worried as a memory of a green skinned 'go go' dancer with four arms in a seedy bar on Ursa Minor flashed before him. Oh dear. What if 'Lillinia' had actually been real?
'Well yes. I was having breakfast and they sort of came,' said Sylvester uncertainly.
Peter beamed at him. 'Don't worry Syl. Like they said, they were just saying hi.'