Who looks a twit, then?
I'VE been called many things—including sexist (true), and racist (not true).
Now I expect to be branded SIZEIST.
But I must say it: Sylvester McCoy should be in The Diddymen, not Doctor Who.
Someone who zooms around the universe, dumping Daleks on their backs and knocking Cybermen for six ought to look the part.
This pint-sized professor just looks a prat.
The dashing Doctors played by Tom and Cohn Baker were big fellas, and you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of them.
(In fact, I DID get on the wrong side of one of them, and I spent an uncomfortable hour at a party trying not to catch his eye. Are we friends now, Col?)
But when the unreal McCoy felled that gung-ho army chap with his little finger this week, I laughed myself silly. It's hard enough to imagine him knocking the skin off a cup of BBC coffee.
The diminutive Doctor spent most of his time on his hands and knees, stalking a mangy-looking cat which he suspected of being the evil genius behind the mysterious disappearance of some spotty-faced lager louts from the streets of Perivale.
Luckily, he didn't catch it, or he might have got a nasty scratch.
This suburban spaceman is even dwarfed by his assistant Ace, who seems to have grown a foot since the last series, and will doubtless be putting the galaxy to rights all by herself soon.
While he stays indoors, munching muesli and fussing over what shade of pink to redecorate the Tardis.
McCOY: Too small
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