Reader, I married him.
(The Doctor Who fan, not Sylvester). On a snowy day in 1991, we moved into our first house, along with a bookcase full of Target novelisations.
We didn't have much money at the time, as all our savings had gone into the house, and mortgage rates were high, but by the end of the year we were able to afford a VCR of our own. Doctor Who was no longer being made, but our Saturday night treat was watching an old episode and if we were lucky, eating a Wispa bar (3 for 60p from Tesco). This may sound a bit like the four Yorkshiremen sketch, but I swear it's true.
After watching Terror of the Zygons, Genesis of the Daleks, City of Death and The Talons of Weng Chiang I soon realised that I had been mistaken and that Tom Baker, despite his Mum-frightening eyes, was in fact the best Doctor. (I had previously believed this to be Jon Pertwee, on the same basis that everyone thinks their first Doctor is the best.)
After two years of indoctrination by video and novelisation, I was ready for my first convention.
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