An amazingly rare artefact has surfaced in the collection of director Waris Hussein – his original, personally annotated studio floorplan for Doctor Who’s pilot episode from 1963. The document is dated “25/9” – 25 September, today’s date 50 years ago. This week, five decades ago, the cast and crew of Doctor Who were busy gearing up for episode one, An Unearthly Child, which would be recorded on Friday 27 September.
While the actors rehearsed in the less-than-glamorous Drill Hall in Uxbridge Road, London W12, the BBC design team and set builders were constructing the sets according to this floorplan at nearby Lime Grove Studios. The episode was written to be taped “as live”, with only one break in recording. “In those days,” says Waris, “we shot continuously on four cameras with very few breaks in the tape. You had to know exactly what you were doing. It was almost mathematical in its strategy.”
It’s amazing seeing 50-year-old history resurface like this…
In which Martha Jones asks a perfectly reasonable question, and the Doctor brushes her off.
I had kind of a nerd-out this morning. But I felt like everyone needed to know about this.
maps from kâtip celebi’s spectacular atlas the mirror of the world, the most important ottoman work of geography after the piri reis maps.
1. map of iran
2. the caucasus
3. the heavenly bodies according to the ptolomaic model, drawn by ibrahim müteferrika himself, publisher of the mirror of the world. see this post on müteferrika and his printing press.
4. the peninsula and iraq.
9. the mediterranean and black sea
see the rest of the atlas here.
This man and his finger(s) will be the dead of me.
Washing in road between terraced housing in Ashington, Humphrey Spender, 1937/38
also, Orson Pink is an interesting name choice. As in Orson Wells. You know, that guy who broadcasted War of the Worlds, making tons of people afraid of monsters that weren’t there?
Thanks to the recent addition of their own 21x41ft pool, dogs at Lucky Puppy in Maybee, Michigan got to have their very own doggy pool party.
when I die this better be what heaven looks like tbh
As for the social ills (related, of course, to the structural, and likely more insidious and resistant), what I have in mind is just how much trouble Americans still have with dealing with difference of any kind. This, to me, is what connects Ferguson and the Ice Bucket Challenge most immediately. As individuals and as a society, in everyday life and in emergencies, we still have almost no tolerance for any kind of visible difference —be it physical disability or a darker skin tone—from a “normal” that is white and able-bodied (not to mention male and middle class). This intolerance, now as ever, is rooted in fear—be it fear of becoming physically incapacitated, fear of being a victim of physical violence, or, most basically, fear of having one’s habits of mind and behavior challenged or changed. It’s hard for me not to think that the people who stared at or physically distanced themselves from my father wouldn’t also cross to the other side of the street or clutch their handbags tighter if they saw a young black man in a hoodie walking towards them. How many of these people have, by now, poured ice on their heads?
An interesting take on the Ice Bucket Challenge sweeping social media as it relates to current social crises faced by the United States.
"[I]nsurance didn’t cover what’s called “custodial care,” which includes bathing, bathroom assistance, dressing, or eating. The people who assisted us with these needs—all women of color—worked for the local franchise of a national “in-home care” subsidiary of a mega-corporation that paid them slightly above minimum wage (with no reimbursement for their transportation) and that kept the majority of the $18.25 per hour fee for its franchisees and shareholders. Let’s pause and think about this intersection: the way disease brought my disabled white father and these women of color together, in what might have been a relation of care, but which was pressured by profit motives that threatened at all times to produce frustration and resentment rather than intimacy. The company that mediated my father’s care profited precisely because there was no cure—for either the physical disease limiting my father or the social disease limiting his caretakers. (And my father’s illness makes me wonder: who profits from the lack of cure in Ferguson?)”
just passing by