Just give us the
facts, man.
- Joe Saturday,
Chronocop
On the first of January every year, me and the Him take the
jars of change that filled up in the year that just died and pour them into a
machine that changes them into a piece of paper that you can swap for real
money that you can then swap for a special, Well-Done-On-Being-Alive
present. It’s a tradition, or an old
charter or something.
We’re now six days on from the most recent sinking of Atlantis, which I’ve written about in
public as well as on this here blog, and five days on from the moment that I
realised I might have made a terrible mistake.
Sure enough, tickets for the cinema screenings for The Day of the Doctor were duly announced as becoming available
from 0900 today. Two weeks before my
payday. Also, as I’ve mentioned before,
I don’t do purchases online, everything’s a cash transaction, face to
face. This means that I can’t take
advantage of online discounts, exclusive offers and all the stuff that you
young whippersnappers take for granted.
I’m working on it.
I almost walk past a soulless car park
cinema on the way to work, so I thought I’d depress myself and ask how much milk
they’d be requiring me to squirt in exchange for tickets. Seeing as BBC (“licence-fee payers already
enjoyed the chance to watch the programmes in the late 60s”)1 Worldwide are involved, I knew that
it was going to be painful, I just wanted to find if there was any possibility
that I’d survive the procedure.
We’d been planning to go and see The Day of the Doctor with friends in a cinema in Cardiff for
months, but there was absolutely no way that could be done now, which is a
shame. I’d have liked to get us to the
London Convention in London’s London as well, but the tickets had sold out
instantly and there wasn’t a cash-in-hand option anyway. It should, by rights, be taking place in Cardiff but that’s a
conversation we’ll have another day.
Back in the past, I’ve just entered the soulless car park cinema
for the first time.
There wasn’t a queue, which is a shocking indictment of
something, so I went straight up to the person guarding the information and
tried not to come across as a Doctor Who
fan.
Me: Hi.
You’re showing The Day of the
Doctor, the Doctor Who fiftieth
anniversary special.
Information Guardian
1: Yes, yes we are.
Me: I just wondered if you could tell me- Oh.
Hang on a minute. I’ve just
realised. It’s going to be a one-off
live showing isn’t it?
Information Guardian
1: Ummm. Yes, I think so.
Me: Are they more expensive than just your usual
3D prices then? I don’t need
glasses. Ha ha ha ha. No, really.
I’ve got glasses at home. Quite a
few pairs. 3D glasses that is. Are these live things usually more expensive
then?
Pause.
Information Guardian
1: They can be. What day is-
Me: November the twenty-third. Saturday.
Twenty-third of November.
Information Guardian
1: Thanks.
Information
Guardian’s keyboard:
tappitytappitytap tap tappity tap
Information Guardian
1: Well, there’s no information on
it here.
Me: Okay.
Thanks for looking. How much are
these live shows usually
Information Guardian
1: It depends really. Somewhere between £10 and £20.
Me: “£20”? Seriously?
“£20?”
Information Guardian
1: Yes, but that’s the top end. It’s not likely to be that much.
Me: Oh, I wouldn’t bet on it. Right.
Great. Thanks. Bye.
Information Guardian
1: Next!
And so on.
I had a quick check online and found that the Australian
showings had already sold out. One chap
said he’d paid $180 for three tickets which, having seen both the Regeneration
and Fourth Doctor Time Capsule box-sets, I can well believe. Still, the prices weren’t definite so there
was still a chance. I could probably
manage £20 at a push but nothing more than that.
The next morning I decided to try again. I couldn’t find a list of opening times
anywhere on the soulless car park cinema’s website which was a bit
annoying – I was still hoping that maybe they’d have them available early or
something. It wouldn’t be the first time
Whoniversary related things were
prematurely issued by huge organisations would it, BBC America?
Information Guardian
2: Next!
Me: Ah, hello.
I was in yesterday and I wondered if you could tell me how much the tickets
for the Doctor Who 3D live special on
the twenty-third of November are going to be, please?
Information Guardian
2’s keyboard: tappity taptap tap
Information Guardian
2: No. We don’t have it on our system yet. You’re the second person to ask today. I’ll just ring the manager.
Me: That’s lovely. Thanks.
While she’s off ringing the Manager, I’d better mention
something that happened on my way to the soulless car park cinema. After I got off the train I’d checked a
cashpoint and found that my balance had been kidnapped. Following a panicked visit to the bank
itself, I managed to piece together the events leading to this. A wandering direct debit that I’d forgotten
about had turned up unannounced in the small hours and been told to spack off
by my bank who then helped themselves to my The
Day of the Doctor ticket money as a reward.
We’ve all been there. The whole
experience hadn’t done me any good, and I was only in the soulless car park
cinema because when I set myself on a course of action I stick to it. Hang on, she’s coming back.
Information Guardian
2: No, the Manager doesn’t know
either.
Me: Great.
Okay, how much do you think the tickets’ll be?
Information Guardian
2: Well, live events are a bit more
expensive than standard showings.
Shouldn’t be more than £21 though.
Me: £21. Bargain. It’s gone up since yesterday. Okay, thanks.
Oh – what time do you open on Friday?
Information Guardian
2: 10.
Me: 10. Of
course.
Information Guardian
2: Well, 9:45 for 10. Thereabouts.
It’s not likely to be £21 though.
Me: I wouldn’t bet on it. Okay.
Thanks. Bye.
Information Guardian
2: Next!
I managed to get the problem of the wandering direct debit sorted out, replaced the money the bank had treated themselves to and,
after a lot of walking, got myself back to the exact place I’d been
in before the day had started. I tweeted
BBC (“licence-fee payers already enjoyed the chance to watch the programmes in
the late 60s”) Worldwide, the soulless car park cinema and Twitter in
general, asking if anyone had any idea how much the tickets would cost. No one replied. The general online consensus was that, come
0900 they’d be on the site buying up their tickets while they could – after
all, a single showing is a pretty limited number of seats. I’d gone to sleep before some lucky
individuals started announcing they’d managed to buy tickets because they were
already online.
I’m conscious that this is very much a First World Problem
by the way, don’t worry about that. I
totally understand the thinking behind it, and I don’t begrudge BBC
(“licence-fee payers already enjoyed the chance to watch the programmes in the
late 60s”) Worldwide their eye for a buck.
The problem is that Doctor Who
means a lot to me and this is a special occasion.
Me and the Him were sat about ten feet away
from Nick Hurran when he announced he’d got the directing gig, there’s a nice
circularity to seeing the fruits of his labour with all the attendant experience
of an event shared by a roomful of people who care just as much as you do about what's on the screen. As cheesy at it sounds, I think it’s
important, if I didn’t we’d watch it on iPlayer. Trips to the cinema have become so
commonplace that sometimes it’s hard to remember if you’ve even seen a film,
although that might just be me. Whatever
else happens, this is going to be an important moment for a hell of a lot of people. In these days of time-shifting, torrents and
twenty-three million channels of nothing/sensorite2 those moments have become quite rare. I really wish I could have taken the Him to
Longleat. This is, for now, the nearest
I think we can get to that. Oop – that’s
the alarm. Time to get up.
It’s chucking it down and it’s dark. The website still says nothing about prices. It goes 0900 as I leave the house, my head's stuffed with images of online transactions and my internal Countdown Dalek is barking the number of remaining tickets
with every puddle-bothering step. I
catch the train, stalk up the hill that goes on forever and get to the soulless
car park cinema at 0944. There’s a
young man standing right in front of the doors but otherwise no queue.
0950. More people
join us. It’s really wet. I’m going to get a cold. Inside the staff are moving the queue posts around
and laughing.
0955. One person’s
banged on the windows. I’m soaked and
starting to stress. The staff are having
a great time. Every now and then one
will come up to the door and then walk off.
1000. Nothing.
1002. Still
nothing. The internal Countdown Dalek’s
celebrating the triumph of technology. The
Master of Earth.
1006. Someone opens
the door. They take their time doing so.
1007. It’s not listed
on the system. My first thought is that
it’s already sold out.
Information Guardian
3: Do you have an Unlimited card?
Me: No.
Information Guardian
3: Oh. It’s only coming up as
Unlimited. Can you go and stand over
there please? There’s a queue forming.
I get directed across to stand behind the young man from
earlier. I’m actually shaking with
nerves by now, which is ridiculous.
Information Guardian
4: Oh, the site’s updated. Here we go.
The lad in front of me buys five tickets. I hear the price, divide it by five and then
double that. Blimey, I might be able to
do this. Now, it’s my turn.
Information Guardian
4: Yes?
Me: How much for one and a half tickets for the Doctor Who fifti-
She tells me. It’s
more than I thought. Of course it is,
I’m not eligible for a discount.
I stand there for about a million years. I’m drenched.
I’m shaking. I don’t know, I
don’t know, I don’t-
Me: Go on then.
On the first of January every year, me and the Him take the
jars of change that filled up in the year that just died and pour them into a
machine that changes them into a piece of paper that you can swap for real
money that you can then swap for a special, Well-Done-On-Being-Alive
present. It’s a tradition, or an old
charter or something.
The Him doesn’t know we’ve got tickets3 yet.
1. And for everyone panicking about the
bare-bones releases that The Enemy of the
World and The Web of Fear are
‘enjoying’ – of course there’ll be Second
Efforts further down the line. They
released Scream of the Shalka, didn’t
they?
2. We don’t do that joke anymore.
3. I do like the way the tickets are
personalised, I must say. Unfortunately
my name’s on the Him’s one and his is spelled totally wrong.
