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As a child I could not bring myself to watch Doctor Who. Like a good percentage of children in the UK, just the sound of the theme tune would send me scurrying behind the sofa.

When I was about ten years old, my dad took me and my younger sister to Madame Tussaud’s in London. We walked through the chamber of horrors with barely a flinch, but the speaking mobile Dalek had us scurrying under our dads coat… the only way he could get us past it!

When Doctor Who started again a few years ago I was hooked from the first episode. The Cyber Men didn’t bother me, neither did the family Slitheen. Even the Daleks did not hold the fear they once did. Then one Saturday night the BBC aired the episode ‘Blink’. A tale about the Lonely Assassins… The Weeping Angels. I think my butt jumped off the sofa half a dozen times during that episode and again when they returned in ‘The Time Of Angels’ and ‘Flesh and Stone’. When watching ‘The Angels Take Manhattan’ a new threat joined the army of angels… cherubs! The scurrying, giggling stone babies gave me the creeps.

So as you can imagine now when I go to work, the little stone statue who sits on the side board in the hotel dinning room totally freaks me out! I try to keep my eye on it as much as I can and I have not seen it move yet… but still…

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