View source for Michael Holden's All ears

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| publication = The Guardian
| file = 2009-05-14 Guardian.jpg
| px = 400
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| date = 2009-05-14
| author = Michael Holden 
| pages = 
| language = English 
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By a mainline station, there is an old police call post - nothing more than a thin blue pillar that must once have held a telephone - fitted with a sign confirming its dereliction and advising those in need of help to look elsewhere. Any resemblance to its celebrated relative in Doctor Who is negligible, but on a match day afternoon, I watched it beguile two tipsy fans as they tried to make their way home.

Fan 1 (quite fat, clearly the leader)

"Where the fuck are we?"

Fan 2 (smaller, younger, confused by disposition as much as alcohol) "Station innit?"

Fan 1 (seeing the police post) "Whassat about?"

Fan 2 "Eh?"

Fan 1 (getting excited) "It's the whatsit, it's the TARDIS!"

Fan 2 "Eh?"

Fan 1 (really happy now) "The TARDIS!"

Fan 2 (looking a bit annoyed) "That ain't the TAROIS... it's just a thing."

Fan 1 (seeing two policemen approaching in the distance) "Go ask them coppers where we are."

Fan 2 (moving off) "Right."

Fan 1 (calling after him) "Ask them if this is a TARDIS!" The younger man ran up to the police, talked to them and then ran back.

Fan 1 "Is it the TARDIS?"

Fan 2 (defiant) "I never asked 'em about that."

Fan 1 (seeing the police coming closer) "I'll ask 'em myself." But as they arrived he noticed they were heavily armed and, as though the alcohol afforded him a vision of an all too feasible future where pratting about is a capital crime, he elected to say nothing at all.
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