Showing posts with label 'dinners'. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 'dinners'. Show all posts

There's So Much More In TV Times Part 8: Put Your Shirt On The Beatles!


As everybody in the early sixties knew only too well, there was one group of celebrities whose star status eclipsed all others. Who inspired a 'mania' so huge and all-enveloping that it consigned their contemporaries to pop cultural historical footnote status. Whose vocalisations and distinctive appearance were emulated in playgrounds across the nation and eventually across the world. Whose artistic endeavours changed highbrow and lowbrow culture so fundamentally that their collective name became an actual word in its own right. And who were so popular and successful that they knocked Bruce Forsyth making something out of 'leftovers' into a cocked novelty oversized chef's hat.

But unfortunately for TV Times, The Daleks were on the BBC, and so they had to settle for giving relentless coverage to The Beatles instead. Here are just a few of their spurious attempts to pad out their pages with tenuous excuses for printing a photo of one or more of the Fab Four, to the delight of those who just couldn't get enough of John, 'Dinners', George and Ringo. Even if they had to wade through acres of features on the holiday plans of the cast of Ghost Squad: G.S.5 to get there...


Conveniently for magazine editors, the fact that there were four Beatles allowed them to spin any given feature out across a month's worth of issues, even if this resulted in each 'part' amounting to little more than two gigantic photos and three words. From the confusingly titled Hancock-evoking TV Times series 'Reada Beatla Week', here's the entry on 'Our' Ringo, in which the other three indulge in some trademark surreal dialogue about how he used to play the bins on the drums or something and take delivery of, quote, "a bottle of whisky and a crate of 'coke'". Note also the entirely coincidental and not at all stage-managed interruption from fellow Brian Epstein protege Billy J. Kramer. Anyway, join them again next week for another Fab Four profile and a special 'Beatle Bonus'. Hope it's Carnival Of Light!


Ringo Starr was lucky enough to have a name that lent itself punningly to pretty much every magazine feature imaginable. Here he is making an appearance in - boom boom - TV Times celebrity horoscope box-out 'Star Destiny', in which they correctly and uncannily deduce a dazzling array of facts that everybody on the entire surface of the planet already knew. Even their one attempt at predicting the future wouldn't impress anyone bar gullible buffoons; it was hardly a daring leap of faith to suggest that The Beatles might release a successful new album 'early' the following year. Meanwhile, not a single mention of The Concert For Bangladesh, Ognir Rrats or FROM THE EIGHTY FOURTH OF OCTEMBER, NO MORE AUTOGRAPHS.


Earlier on in their career, The Beatles were often to be found larking around with full-time comedians on television variety shows, and here TV Times' 'slice of life'-friendly 'lighter side of showbiz' reporter Dave Lanning paired them up with hot ITV stars (though they had to go to the BBC to become properly famous) Etic and Ern for a meeting of humorous minds that he presumably hoped would be dripping with rib-tickling comedy gold. Sadly it was nothing of the sort, though it's interesting to see Ernie Wise making an innocent gag that would doubtless turn him into the target of ferocious Twitter outrage if made today. Unless he said it when they went to Thames at the end, of course.


Essentially a Ready Steady Go! that you could take home to meet your parents, weekly family-friendly pop extravaganza Thank Your Lucky Stars was once one of ITV's biggest shows, and considered so pivotal and essential to the average beat combo's chances of pop success that its subsequent forgotten status is little short of bewildering. Certainly The Beatles continually fell over themselves in an apparent attempt to make as many appearances on it as possible. That, however, is an inexcusably flimsy pretext for this competition, in which lucky readers could win their very own Thank Your Lucky Stars t-shirt if they could think up a funny enough caption for this photo of a crazed teenage girl trying to grab the disembodied lower half of a 'Beatle Suit' while George attempts to make his escape by vaulting over a giant shortbread biscuit. Which, you can't help but notice, is even larger than the actual competition itself.


Occasionally, even TV Times would have to run a slightly more substantial feature on The Beatles, and on this occasion we get their long-serving press man Derek Taylor dishing the dirt on why John stole his trousers, explaining why they hate 'mayors', and finally revealing the real reason why Ringo collapsed just before a massive world tour. Probably got asked for too many autographs.


One of THE faces of Swinging London, by the mid-sixties Jane Asher had caused a sensation in The Masque Of Red Death and Alfie, become a major shareholder in Private Eye, and thoroughly immersed herself in the Capital's avant-garde art set, introducing her Beatle paramour to pop-artists, electronic musicians and classical ensembles that would have a profound effect on his songwriting and his band's recordings. To TV Times, however, she was simply 'Paul's Girl'. Not that we should really have expected anything better of them, mind...


As so often happened, the Great Beatle Debate soon spilled over into the TV Times letters page. Above you can see a staunch Beatlesceptic foaming at the mouth and demanding his Light Entertainment 'sovereignty' back, fundamentally misunderstanding the point that the 'Hit Parade' is compiled from statistics based on which records are selling in the largest quantities to the most people in the process. There's also some desperately unfunny satire at the expense of, apparently, electricity. It won't be doing THAT again! Next up is a bewildering pro-Beatle missive from someone who, it seems, was enjoying one of their performances so much that it made her keep knitting. And finally, one of those perplexing 'I'm funny, me!' efforts that you can still find in TV listings magazine letters pages to this day, from someone who assumes that combining reference comedy with a joke that nobody in the universe including them actually understands makes them into a comic genius. You will find absolutely none of that around here, of course. Not before The Grimleys is on, anyway.


And finally, here's a special Beatle Quiz, with twenty five fiendishly difficult questions to test your knowledge of the Fab Four. The answer to number seventeen is 'Warrien'.


Yeah, you can't fool us, Ian Butlin. That hottie with the suspiciously-angled pout won't actually BE at any of your holiday camps, will she? No matter how much your 'free coloured brochure' might try to suggest otherwise. And where in the name of sanity is Mosney? Anyway, join us again next time, when we'll be taking a look at some of the ways in which TV Times attempted to expand its readership by reaching out to our furry friends...



If you've enjoyed this, you can find more articles about sixties pop music and television in my book The Camberwick Green Procrastination Society, available in paperback here, from the Kindle Store here, and as a full-colour eBook here.

Great Lost Synth Sounds Of The Eighties


Whenever people start getting misty-eyed about vintage pre-digital synthesiser sounds, it's always 8-Bit this and monophonic that and someone that sounded a bit like a cut price Top Of The Pops album version of a Factory Records-inspired outfit who couldn't even get signed to Cherry Red the other. Nobody ever seems to wax similarly lyrical, however, about the next evolutionary step - that Roland/Korg-fuelled Whole Band In A Box sound, or rather infinite(ish) permuation of sounds, that dominated most of the eighties and made Go West records sound like, well, Go West records.

And, as you might have guessed, it's high time that somebody actually did. Here are five of the greatest synth sounds that you once couldn't turn on the radio without hearing, but which now everybody tries to pretend never happened...


1. The 'Squiggly Synth'
As heard in... Mama Used To Say by Junior


Weaponised sine wave doodle initially much beloved of the Pigeon Street Soul brigade (see here if you have no idea of who or what they might actually have been), but which later became a staple fixture of early to mid eighties primetime TV themes, most notoriously deployed for Nigel Havers-centric divorcecom Don't Wait Up and long forgotten post-Whirly Wheelgate Noel Edmonds 'soft launch' reboot Whatever Next?, which was a corker, especially in conjunction with the 'teleporting Edmonds' visuals.


2. The 'Flattened Trumpet'
As heard in... Love And Pride by King


Weedy yet widely adopted analogue approximation of a vaguely 'trumpety' sound, which gained huge popularity on account of the relative cheapness of getting the Barry Andrews-haired 2000AD-jacketed Synth Wizard every early eighties band had by law to provide the illusion of a brass backing rather than hiring a small army of real live session musicians. Most infamously used for the instrumental break in Nikita by Elton John, which still finds its way into the minds of office workers on a loop at 11am precisely to this day.


3. The 'Tin Can Orchestral Sweep'
As heard in... Feel So Real by Steve Arrington


Less aesthetically successful variant on the above, attempting to mock up the sonic experience of a full orchestra with some ham-fisted ADSR-fiddling that sounded more like someone scrunching up some inadvertently tonal tinfoil backed up by a malfunctioning washing machine calling you on an old-school telephone where the magnet's gone in the earpiece. A surprisingly enduring example which lasted to the end of the decade, last sighted hidden somewhere behind Big Fun's cover of Blame It On The Boogie.


4. The 'Kamizake Portamento'
As heard in... Yellow Pearl by Phil Lynott



'Future Is Now!'-heralding plummet down the musical scale, possibly intended as a call-to-arms for robots, New Romantics and people drinking Quatro, but ending up more as something that the most annoying kid in your year in school would be able to provide a note-perfect emulation of without anyone ever asking them to. One of the most short-lived examples on this list, spending a short time as a go-to effect for everything from Heartache Avenue to Say Say Say, but ditched in favour of the 'orchestra hit' even before The Tripods began striding across our screens.


5. The 'Existential Flute'
As heard in... Does Caroline Know? by Talk Talk


Introspective Blue Jam-friendly soft-toned World Music-esque woodwind pretence usually reserved for when they were trying to get a bit 'soundscape', doubtless intended to convey a sense of zenned-out globally aware musical mindfulness but invariably ending up with nobody listening to the lyrics and just whacking it alongside Anita Baker and Oran 'Juice' Jones (who had his own neglected synth tones, but that's another story...) in the average local radio 'Love Zone'. Peter Gabriel was not available for comment.


6. The 'Entirety Of The Blockbusters Theme'
As heard in... The Entirety Of The Blockbusters Theme 


Requires no explanation.


The Alternative Anthology

If you ever wanted evidence of just how commercially unassailable The Beatles were in the sixties, look no further than the sheer amount of Fab Four covers that were around at the time. Just about everything the Beatles ever wrote and recorded, from With A Little Help From My Friends all the way to Love Of The Loved, was covered by somebody somewhere several times over in the usually vain hope of a little bit of chart magic rubbing off on them. Often they were little more than cheaply done cash-in efforts that were never going to stand the test of time - who could pick Marmalade's version of Ob-La-Di-Ob-La-Da out of a line-up, for example, and has anyone even ever heard The Overlanders' chart-topping stroll through Michelle? - but the sixties was an exciting time for exotic musical sounds even outside of George Martin's studio trickery, and many of these covers are worth a second listen. Like, for example...


Enoch Light 'Get Back' (Studio2Stereo 1969)

Taken from his legendary (well, with certain genre enthusiasts at least) 'Easy Listening On The Moon' album Spaced Out, this is a rip-roaring loungetastic rampage through one of the band's less exciting (and, it must be said, more ideologically dubious) chart-toppers, with brass and fuzz guitar battling it out at epic length. See, it was useful for something then.



Loose Ends 'Tax Man' (Decca 1966)

Within mere weeks of its release on Revolver, George Harrison's Weller-theft-occasioning moaning about having to cough up Income Tax like any old commoner becomes an organ driven exercise in slow-burning funk, packed with those mental bongo breaks that sample-crazy DJs go mental for nowadays. A big favourite on Pirate Radio, apparently, but seemingly just too wild for mainstream chart success. Wonder if Bradley Wiggins has heard it?



The Gods 'Hey Bulldog' (Columbia 1969)

When Progressive Rock came a-calling (probably over the length of a triple album) at the close of the decade, many early exponents of the genre decided to showcase their instrumental prowess by doing heavied-up takes on Beatles numbers. Most of these were as horrible as you're already imagining, but this hammering cover of an unjustly obscure number (relegated to an album soundtrack, and even then cut out of most of the original release prints because Paul McCartney wanted more 'bloody stupid marching' inserted or something) is pretty good.



The Score 'Please Please Me' (Decca 1966)

Though some would undoubtedly get very angry at the merest suggestion that The Beatles did not invent the wheel, there was a brief period in the mid-sixties when it seemed that many of the bands hanging around London's nascent psychedelic scene had actually leapfrogged ahead of the Fab Four in terms of far-out pop sensibility and general sonic trickery. For a particularly pertinent example, see this delieriously obscure effort drenched in loudspeaker-endangering swathes of feedback and buzzsaw guitars. Bet their light show was a sight worth seeing.



The Young Idea 'With A Little Help From My Friends' (Columbia 1967)

Legend has it that on the evidence of their incredibly rare LP and other singles, this overdressed duo had designs on a more Syd Barrett/Scott Walker kind of territory, but they hit the big time with a fairly respectably done Beatles cover and that was pretty much the end of their career. It's certainly preferable to Joe Cocker's overwrought histrionics, but the laws of irony have seen to it that while his The Wonder Years-introducing tedium is still inescapable to this day, The Young Idea's version probably hasn't been heard anywhere since the 1967 Christmas Top Of The Pops.



The London Jazz Four 'Norwegian Wood' (Polydor 1966)

The hip jazz community were as fond of messing around with sitars and backward tape loops as The Beatles, but the London Jazz Four preferred a more straightforward 'modern jazz' approach, which makes it rather puzzling that they recorded an album's worth of covers of The Beatles at their most intensively experimental. Here, Lennon's tale of being annoyed because a girl wouldn't 'do' him is shorn of all sitar droning and becomes a frug-friendly vibraphone workout of the sort that would sound at home in a 'beat club' scene in a sixties big screen Brit-thriller.



David Bowie 'Penny Lane' (Music For Pleasure 1967)

While The Beatles were living the high life and snorting LSD off Mia Farrow's arse or something, young David Jones, latterly of failed beat combos The Lower Third and The Buzz, was so poor and starving that he had to resort to making ends meet by singing on one of those 'not the original artists' LPs that were common currency at the time. Thus it was that he added voice to undernourished strolls through various Monkees and Beatles numbers, though the story has a happy ending, as by the end of the year he had turned his dire financial straits into a spectacular cautionary tale called The London Boys (and, erm, one about a gnome), secured himself a new deal, and ever so slowly started to evolve into the world's favourite distant and androgynous chameleon of rock who fell to Earth. Except it turns out it wasn't actually Bowie after all. Or it was, depending on who you listen to. He definitely played the sax on Baker Street, though.



Killer Watts 'We Can Work It Out/Hey Jude' (Pye 1972)

Time was when the dreaded synthesiser was considered not just an Exciting Musical Instrument Of The Future but also a selling point in its own right, and record shops were awash with synth-demonstrating LPs back in the early seventies. You will not be surprised to learn that it seems to have been a legal requirement for such albums to include at least one Beatles cover, and some of them even featured nothing but. Mr. Watts' effort is not one of the more inspired ones, it must be said, composed largely of undistinguished trots through Shadows numbers and movie themes, but the better tracks include this lengthy Beatles medley, which binds two unlikely medley-mates together with the aid of a funky rhythm and zapping electronic tones.



Bobby Lamb & The Keymen 'Fool On The Hill' (BBC Records 1971)

Top trombonist Bobby Lamb, along with Tony King, Dave Snell, Norrie Paramor and many other names that will be familiar to anyone who's ever scanned the the list of 'also available' titles on the back of Doctor Who Sound Effects or Sing A Song Of Play School, was one of those characters that used to plug the gaps on Radio 2 caused by the Musicians Union's stringent rules on how many commercially available records could be played per hour. Backed by a crack team of session musicians, there's some deliciously strange covers of recent chart hits on offer here, not least this rendition of the superb song from The Magical Mystery Tour, which starts off all pastoral and wistful before being invaded by what can only be described as a pitched battle between Hammond Organ and flute.



Tomorrow 'Strawberry Fields Forever' (EMI 1967)

Tomorrow - a band made up of no less than future Yes guitarist Steve Howe, Teenage Opera-excerpting solo superstar Keith West, and all-round Festival-hogging anarcho-hippie and general punk before punk existed John 'Twink' Adler - were one of the first proper psychedelic bands on the UK scene and made some fantastic records, not least the Lennon-endorsed My White Bicycle. Unfortunately, when it came to recording the album, they were apparently one song short and resorted to filling up space with this heavied-up Fabs cover with guitars replacing all of the orchestration and sound effects. It probably sounded fantastic through a haze of dry ice at the UFO club, but on record it just sounds a bit tedious. However, the joke was on them, as an angry tour promoter later forced them to do the same with Excerpt From A Teenage Opera on threat of not being paid, of which West later recalled “we did it like Strawberry Fields Forever, and they threw coins at us”.



The Eyes 'Good Day Sunshine' (Mercury 1966)

And the cautionary tales continue. One of a handful of psychedelic acts who were doing the live rounds before The Beatles had even finished recording Revolver, The Eyes caused an immediate splash with their flourescent rugby shirt stage outfits and bonkers single When The Night Falls, based around a heavily distorted gong. Unfortunately this didn't translate into chart success, and after a couple more tries, their record company forced them to record a cover of a Beatles song that wasn't even that good to begin with. The band weren't happy and split soon afterwards. If only they'd been pushed towards She Said She Said...



Lord Sitar 'I Am The Walrus' (Columbia 1968)

Nobody seems sure who Lord Sitar was - though accusatory fingers can surely be pointed at top sixties session sitarist Big Jim Sullivan - but it's a fair bet he wasn't a real nobleman. He did, however, get to record an album of covers of recent chart hits, keenly sought after by people who've heard the demented snarl through I Can See For Miles, and then equally keenly discarded when they discover that much of the rest of it is tepid reditions of the likes of Daydream Believer. However, it's well worth sticking around for this out-psyching the original Beatles cover, liberally doused in fuzz guitar and shrill flutes, and as it doesn't say 'knickers' it's perfectly safe for The Light Programme to play too.




If you've enjoyed this, you can find more articles about psychedelia and pop music in my book The Camberwick Green Procrastination Society, available in paperback here, from the Kindle Store here, and as a full-colour eBook here.

Meet The Mono Beatles!


A look at John, Paul, George and Ringo's first Stateside LP Meet The Beatles! - which, as you will see, was very different to its UK counterpart(s)...


What Is It?: Before 'the album' became a valid art form (man), 'product'-hungry American record labels used to chop and change releases by the latest British pop sensations in the hope of artificially creating two albums out of one, thereby hoodwinking Anglo-obsessed youngsters into parting with twice as much cash for the oddly titled likes of Hey It's England's Rolling Stones and A Birthday Beatle For You. The Beatles’ early albums were often tampered with for American release, right up to and including Revolver, and were often almost unrecognisable from the original albums, giving rise to a weird alternate history of a story you thought you knew only too well. This mangling of official second album With The Beatles - running to a mere twenty seven minutes - was how Capitol chose to introduce those crazy Beatle Boys to the American public.

The Cover: It's pretty much the iconic nasally-advantaged cover of With The Beatles, only with a subtle 'blue' tint to prevent Stateside pop fans from getting confused and hyperventilating on the freeway or something, and a standard issue 'Original Cast Of West Side Story Sing Songs From Seven Brides For Seven Brothers'-type strap across the top. 'The first album by England's phenomenal pop combo', it says here.

The Back Cover: Seemingly endless sleevenotes by one Rory Guy - apparently a highbrow pundit who had his name removed lest his association with those goddamn moptops led to him being expelled from 'classical' - about how 'today there isn't a Britisher who doesn't know their names' and 'only a hermit could be unaware of The Beatles', accompanied by some Beatlemania-gauging facts and figures.


Side One

1. I Want To Hold Your Hand: Fifth UK single and first US single becomes first track on US first album based on UK second album. Confused? You will be. Anyway, you all know how this goes (unless you've spent your entire existence wearing special 'Beatle-blocker' attachments), so there's little point going on about it, apart from to say that on this album it appears in a rare 'fake stereo' incarnation. Not exactly high on the list of must-hear rarities.

2. I Saw Her Standing There: And here's the b-side of that second US single, originally the first track on the first UK album. Well, we did say it was going to get more confusing. Again, it's a bit too well known to really warrant further discussion, though the mono version of the album apparently features a rare mono mix made by simply combining both stereo channels into one. Save your money.

3. This Boy: Doo-wop friendly b-side of the original UK I Want To Hold Your Hand, once again presented here in completist-exciting 'fake stereo' uninterestingness. One of the uncelebrated gems of the early Beatles catalogue (which, as we shall see, tend to be a bit thin on the ground), and indeed the one that controversially saw Lennon & McCartney named 'Composers of the Year' by The Times, though perhaps better known in its George Martin-shepherded instrumental version as heard in the bit in A Hard Day's Night where Ringo goes for a stroll through some bins.

4. It Won’t Be Long: Finally we're on to the first track of With The Beatles proper, and it's the one that should have seen their 'Composers of the Year' award taken away, as it's pretty much a jumbled-up retread of all of their hit singles to date (along with, erm, The Rutles' Hold My Hand). Apparently Bob Dylan liked the 'chords'.

5. All I’ve Got To Do: We're still on a proper tracklisting bearing with this Lennon-instigated number specifically written for the 'American market', in that it contains references to phoning a girl when at that time all British citizens had one phone between two and had to go to a special 'Phone Emporium' to use it, and even that caused Tony Hancock to roll his eyes at the unstoppable march of modernity. Pretty good song, mind you.

6. All My Loving: Side One closes with the Beatles song that everyone thinks was a single even though it actually wasn't, and the best song on this album (and, for that matter, on With The Beatles) by some considerable distance. Everything that was great about pre-Swinging London sixties pop in two minutes flat. Pinky And Perky's version is better, though.


Side Two

1. Don’t Bother Me: More by accident than design, Side Two opens with a George Harrison number; his first released composition in fact. 'The Quiet One' was already starting to add a bit of colour and variety to Beatle releases with his moodier and more introspective compositions, and it's this understated minor key marvel, more than anything else on the album, that points the way towards the music they would go on to make.

2. Little Child: Written for Ringo but sung by Lennon, the song that even Paul McCartney describes as 'filler' fails to impress on any level, despite it apparently having taken them an unprecedented three recording sessions to get a satisfactory performance on tape. The lyrics, meanwhile, are probably best skirted over.

3. Till There Was You: A Merseybeated-up rendition of a song originally from striped-blazers-ahoy Broadway musical The Music Man, and doubtless included to emphasise the Fab Four's versatility as all-round entertainers.

4. Hold Me Tight: Space-saving begins in earnest as workmanlike covers of Please Mr. Postman and Roll Over Beethoven are dropped from the running order, and instead it's straight on to a straight-ahead rocker that both Lennon and McCartney are on record as having hated. Well, at least it's not an uninspired amble through somebody else's song.

5. I Wanna Be Your Man: A cover of You Really Got A Hold On Me gets the boot – like all of the jettisoned With The Beatles tracks, it would show up Stateside on The Beatles' Second Album a mere three months later – and instead here's an uninspired amble through a song that they gave to somebody else. Argue if you must, but there's really no way a polite hello-all-our-pals-at-the-Royal-Variety-performance Ringo-sung original could compete with the ferocious Rolling Stones snarl released a couple of weeks earlier.

6. Not A Second Time: And it's bye bye to a retread of forgotten rock'n'roll hit Devil In Her Heart by forgotten rock'n'rollers The Dovays, skipping ahead to this celebrated bit of moodiness with George Martin doing some weird piano. With The Beatles' one hlafway decent cover version Money is lopped off the end too, meaning that this is the last track, and so the first American Beatles album ends not with a raucous rock'n'roll thud but with a hastily-executed fade-out. Still, it must have left them wanting more.

Ten Reasons Why The Doctor Who 'Expanded Universe' Is A Bad Idea


How do you decide what's official Doctor Who 'canon'? Not easy, is it? Obviously the televised adventures (and yes, before anyone writes in, Shada) are all that's eligible under the strictest definition, but sometimes you get something that the then-production team clearly intended as a legitimate spinoff; witness RTD's subtle references to events in the official tie-in novels, the countless comic strips and short stories overseen by original showrunner David Whittaker, and that schools radio thing where The Doctor and Sarah Jane have a smackdown with Megron over who knows the most about geology. And then on the other hand, there's Death Comes To Time.

Some fans have gamely tried to map out an 'Expanded Universe', where after much brow-furrowing everything - no matter how self-contradictory - is slotted in around the TV episodes proper. The problem with this is... well, where do you stop? Tom Baker was a bit Doctorish when presenting The Book Tower, so should we be counting that? What about that fan fiction you wrote as a youngster that started with a Cyberman 'bursting through' a room? Does that Big Finish play about an imagined future Britain run by inept public school idiots mean that the current Tory administration should be considered 'canon'? Does anyone even care about Abslom Daak - Dalek Killer??

Of course not. And here's ten reasons why the 'Expanded Universe' is a bad idea...



Terry Nation's Dalek Annual 1977


Start looking into this 'Expanded Universe' business, and one of the first things you'll come across are character profiles that have been heftily beefed up through the incorporation of backstory details gleaned from spinoff books, plays and what have you. Whether you like it or not, this would also have to include those late seventies Dalek Annuals, which presumably slipped under the approval radar while Terry Nation's attention was focused on Blake's 7. Particularly worthy of elevation to 'canon' status is the 1977 offering, in which they elect to dispense with all of that pesky 'extermination' business in favour of pissing about with phone number-based secret codes.


Not So Old by Roberta Tovey


Numerous attempts have been made to incorporate the mid-sixties Dalek films into proper continuity, with the 100% human Peter Cushing-essayed bumbling inventor 'Doctor Who' variously passed off as a Next Doctor-esque tribute act, an interloper from another dimension, or even a memory loss fever dream thingy. As part of the movie-pushing publicity blitz, Film Susan Roberta Tovey recorded an in-character pop song celebrating her time-travelling antics with her troublingly-monickered grandfather. On the flipside was an equally in-character number in which the time vortex-straddling fourteen-year-old outlines her desire to 'do things' to a much older man, on the proviso that he doesn't tell her mother. Possibly not something that the BBC would be happy to have attached to the Doctor Who franchise right now.


Jason & Crystal from The Ultimate Adventure

Go on, admit it, we'd all have loved to have seen comic strip-derived talking penguin Frobisher, platform-straddling Lara Croft inspiration Bernice Summerfield, or that chain-smoking girl-chasing proto-Inner City Unit beatnik geezer from the Eighth Doctor Novels make an appearance in the show proper. And that's just the tip of the Non-TV Companion Iceberg; there's probably even some people out there who'd make a case for TV Comic irritants John and Gillian, or those 'Blaxploitation' blokes from the Pertwee strips. But does anyone really want any further exposure for that Kylie and Jason-infringing pair who conducted a confusingly trapeze-enabled romance-in-song beneath the stars to the accompaniment of Tetraps and Veroids hoofing it up in that bizarre late eighties stage play? No, thought not.

Daleks And Cybermen


For some reason, the question of who would win out of the Daleks and the Cybermen was a particularly vexing one for eighties-based correspondents to Doctor Who Magazine's question and answer page Matrix Data Bank. Long before RTD had even thought of Army Of Ghosts, this issue was addressed by a set of twenty plastic snap-together, well, Daleks and Cybermen, of rare proportional correctness to boot. These were made by Citadel Miniatures, and possibly had something to do with the sanity-defying Doctor Who role-playing game, though nobody's really got enough cerebral stamina to check. In case you were wondering, the cover illustration appeared to show a Cyberman being trounced by a Dalek with a controversial 'water pistol' weapon attachment, whilst his Cyber-pal looked on in alarm. Well, that's that question answered, then.


Son Of Doctor Who


From Anthony Coburn's hastily rejected second ever story in which some robots 'did' Daleks only more boringly, right up to that Stephen Fry business nobody's ever really got to the bottom of, the history of unfinished or rejected Doctor Who scripts is a long and fascinating one. But by their very nature they're not part of the show continuity proper, and often for editorially sound reasons to boot, and any attempt to tie them in with what actually did make it to screen is an absolute non-starter. Start making too many claims for them, and you'll also have to invite William Hartnell's insane idea for a story in which he met his 'evil twin' progeny - and thus conveniently had to have double the screentime - along for the ride. If the production team never took that seriously, then neither should you.





"And Greetings To You From The Time Lords!"


According to some sources, any non-series appearance in which The Doctor remained entirely in character throughout should be considered 'canon'. Presumably this also extends to Hartnell-doppelganging cheese-scoffing Five Doctors First Doctor stand-in Richard Hurndall, who - bless him - made a great many promotional appearances despite apparently possessing an almost complete lack of comprehension of anything at all to do with the character. Worse still, an equally true-to-the-role Jon Pertwee once met up with the original cast of The Tomorrow People, and you really don't want Kenny getting involved. And speaking of in-character promotional appearances...

The Frog Chorus


In August 1975, a decidedly Doctored-up Tom Baker hosted the BBC's long-running celebrity-fronted clip show Disney Time. This ended with him being handed a note from The Brigadier, leading directly into the forthcoming Terror Of The Zygons. We're now in a crossover of televisual 'universes', with other canon-by-association hosts of Disney Time including Paul Daniels, Paul 'Dinners' McCartney, Jim Davidson, Bing Crosby and Rod Hull and Emu. This presumably allows all of their artistic works in through the back door, from The Bunco Booth to that song in praise of Page 3 Girls, and given that Emu's Broadcasting Company featured its own running Doctor Who parody fuelled by bin-hewn Daleks, we're really opening a can of canonical worms there.


Teen EastEnders - Solid Ground


There is a surprisingly large contingent of fans who will argue until they are as blue in the face as McCoy in his opening titles that the ludicrous Children In Need-supporting 3D music hall hoedown Dimensions In Time is in fact a proper legitimate instalment of Doctor Who, and not a bit of played-for-laughs frippery like you thought. Dimensions In Time was, of course, a crossover with a sort of imagined 'dark future' EastEnders, in which characters made much mention of Albert Square-based events from years gone by. This effectively means that the entire history of EastEnders is as 'canonical' as The Vervoids, including this cheapo BBC Books tie-in novel about Sharon Watts trying to track down her 'real' parents. There's not a single mention of a battered broad-brimmed hat in it!

Graham Linehan


Alan Moore's graphic novel series The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen is literally bursting at the seams with characters from and references to all shapes and forms of classic literature and cult TV. Needless to say, given Moore's interest in the show and 'form' on Doctor Who Magazine, there are are tons of appearances by everything from Silurians and Torchwood Three to a stray Second Doctor and an hallucination-derived Dalek. Also making an appearance in one volume is comedy scriptwriter and Twitter Policeman Graham Linehan, seen being forcibly ejected from a bookshop by his fictional creation Bernard Black. By a process of six degrees of separation, we're that bit closer to having Ricky Gervais accepted into 'canon', and that can't happen.

The Sleeze Brothers


In the late eighties, for reasons best known to themselves, Doctor Who Magazine went seriously overboard in pre-publicising an imminent comic strip cameo by Deadbeat and El Ape Sleeze, the not-at-all Blues Brothers-inspired Graphic Novel creations of John Carnell and Andy Lanning. None of the readers were really that bothered. But they're in your Expamded Universe now, and you've just got to like it...