GHOSTMAN RADIO STATION

pBizarre But True Football Facts /p

p Oh, the TARDIS has hit a bit of a bump, hasn#39;t it? The news isn#39;t great for us Whovians—the BBC has essentially put the show on ice. They’ve cancelled the planned Christmas special and are looking for a new production team to take over, meaning we likely won#39;t see a new Doctor until 2028 at the earliest. It’s definitely more of a #34;fizzle#34; than a #34;bang#34; for now, but as history has shown, the Doctor always finds a way to return./ppHere is a little poem to mark the occasion:/ppBehind the sofa, in the glow of the screen,/ppThe Daleks arrived, the most fearsome I’d seen./ppBut now that the TARDIS is locked in the shed,/pp#34;Is it over?#34; the fans all fearfully said./ppFrom **Hartnell’s** first step to **Troughton’s** mad flute,/ppAnd **Pertwee’s** fine cape, looking sharp in his suit./pp**Tom Baker** brought scarves that would stretch to the moon,/ppWhile **Davison** crashed in his cricket attire soon./pp**Colin Baker** was loud, then **McCoy** took the stage,/ppWith **McGann** in a movie, a brief, fleeting age./ppThen **Eccleston** rose with a leather-clad grin,/ppAs **Tennant** and **Smith** let the chaos begin./pp**Capaldi** was grumpy, and **Whittaker** bold,/pp**Tennant** returned for a tale to be told./ppAnd **Gatwa’s** charisma, a light in the dark—/ppNow the show’s taking time to rekindle the spark./ppSo keep your coat ready, don#39;t throw out the key,/ppThere’s life in the old Time Lord yet, wait and see!/ppIt’s not quite a #34;bang,#34; just a nap in the night,/ppThe Doctor will surely return to the light./ppbr/ppbr/p

pEngland, France,Spain, Portugal /p

pThe tournament returns, a cyclical curse,/ppA national habit, for better or worse./ppThe calendar marks it, the schedule is set,/ppTo summon the familiar, the cold, sweating fret./ppI’m strapping in now for the quadrennial ride,/ppWith hope as my compass and nerves as my guide./ppI’m ready for glory, for tears in the rain,/ppFor that sharp, aching thrill of the familiar pain./ppThe pundits are primed with their tactical charts,/ppTo dissect every movement and break all our hearts./ppWe’ll debate every sub, every questionable call,/ppAs we cling to the hope of the flight of the ball./ppThen the climax arrives, as it always must do,/ppWhen the spot-kick looms large and the stadium’s blue./ppThe penalty anxiety? A spiritual test,/ppWhile the ghosts of the past put our pulse to the rest./ppYet through the despair and the inevitable sigh,/ppBeneath a grey, hopeful, English-summer sky,/ppWe’ll turn up the volume, let the speakers distort,/ppAs Three Lions find home in a chart-topping sort./ppSo pour me a pint, let the madness begin,/ppI’m ready to lose—but, God, I want to win./ppbr/p

pThe House On The Borderland 8 After The Attack /p

pThe Horn Of Horror/p

pThe Green Ones /p

pSlavery /p

pmurder_at_midnight_1946-05-03_the_secret_of_xr-3/p

pMemento Mori /p