Ever since I was a little boy, I've loved Doctor Who. I didn't hide behind the sofa so much as bury my face in it because I was so scared by the Viking vampire things Sylvester McCoy was fighting that week. I've also loved the new series, tuning in every week to see Ecclestone, Tennant and now Smith save the world in a wonderfully eccentric, uniquely British way.
Unfortunately, I've got a confession to make – I'm not loving the new series of Doctor Who. I've sat down dutifully to watch every week, and every week I've been disappointed. I thought it might just be me having become old and cynical since last year, but my seven-year-old nephew concurred. In a damning verdict, he proclaimed it "not as good as Primeval", words to send a shiver down any writer's spine.
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