I get it. I do. Steven Moffat explained some time ago why it is that Doctor Who doesn’t return the same time every year for the same number of episodes at the same time of a Saturday evening. He drew an analogy to that precious little bit of memorabilia that sits on a shelf somewhere, utterly beloved but so expected, so routine, that it’s no longer even visible anymore. I understand wanting to bring an event mindset to keep up anticipation and excitement, to help that precious thing be cherished again and again.
You can overdo anything. We’ve reached that point.
September, now, we’ll have to wait for series eight. For the first time ever, I can honestly say – I have other stuff to do now, and plenty of time to do it. I can afford to completely forget Doctor Who until it finally deigns to show its face again. And I doubt I’ll be excited when it does come back. Because, frankly, life has moved on.
You can only play this card so many times in a row before it becomes meaningless, Moffat. This fatigues me.