I am in a large, rambling, surreal house. It is home to a very imaginative teenage girl. Parts of the house are made from meteorite wood from space. She has dolphins as pets, and dog/dolphin hybrids too, wearing fancy dress. On, called Monty, is dressed as a Ninja Turtle.
I play with the pets and chat to others at the party. Eventually, I tire, and retire to a bedroom to sleep. I have to rearrange the furniture first. I am now David Tennant as Dr Who. I have a plectrum. There’s something important about this. The girl mustn’t loose it, there’s something she has to remember. I hide the plectrum in a pocket of her jeans as she is sleeping.
I am wandering the hallways. I see her, older now. I hug her and tell her that I love her. She is a bit angry, annoyed I didn’t tell her sooner. She wanders into a kitchen. She is in her fifties now, and her children have taken away her imagination. I ask her if she remembers the art studio built form space wood? The dog/dolphin hybrids? The great party and her greater imagination?
I am now the Sylvester McCoy Dr Who, dressed as the Tom Baker Dr Who. I ask her to check the pockets of her jeans. She pulls out the plectrum. She begins to remember. A figure mad from cabbage enters the room, it morphs into another Sylvester McCoy Dr Who, dressed as the Tom Baker Dr Who. I am confused at the paradox. The Peter Capaldi Dr Who is also there. We figure that it must be ok.
Me, as the Sylvester McCoy Dr Who, dressed as the Tom Baker Dr Who, and the Peter Capaldi Dr Who step outside. He is crying at his lost love, I am angry at my lack of aging.