Articles in “Strange Conversations”

NICK: Who’s coming at two?
ME: I have a markers’ meeting today.
NICK: You did not tell me this. I don’t mind, but you didn’t tell me.
ME: I did, babe. I told you repeatedly.
NICK: I don’t recall that.
ME: That’s different from me not telling you.
NICK: Well, maybe.

While watching the Fifth Doctor story “Kinda”:

ME: Our reactions to this story rather sum up our different approaches to the genre.
NICK: Why?
ME: You said, “It’s anthropological science-fiction in the vein of Ursula Le Guin!”
NICK: And you said?
ME: I said, “Those aliens look a bit Welsh.”

ME: So there’s a rumour that River Song is Bernice Summerfield? Surely that makes no sense?
NICK: None whatsoever, even though Moffat’s a huge Cornell fan. And of course River Song bears some resemblance to Benny.
ME: Yes, in that she’s an archaeologist. But Bernice is in the Doctor’s past. She was a companion of the 7th and 8th Doctors.
NICK: Yeah. It’s more of an archetype thing there. It would be the kind of revelation that makes no sense to 99% of the audience.
ME: Oh, you mean like when the Master killed Rassilon with laser bolts from his hands and everyone said, “Who?”
NICK: Mmm, ok, make that 99.9999%.
ME: RTD was not afraid to bewilder 99% of the audience and drive the other 1% psychotic with fury.

While watching the Fifth Doctor adventure “Terminus”:

ME: This makes no sense.
NICK: I know! Giant space-ship with the power of time-travel?
ME: The Time Lords would have been all over that.
NICK: So much.

Then he explained how it was ret-conned in the novelisation.

Envy our lifestyle at your peril!

We only ever have these conversations during marking times.

ME: Could you put a pot of coffee on?
NICK: Now?
ME: I’m sorry that my demands are so intensely unreasonable.
NICK: I’m just building a bitching guitar solo.
ME: Really? I’m just building a bitching headache.
NICK: I’ll make some coffee.

ME: I mean, Lexx is existentialist German science-fiction. I had to warn them.
NICK: Existentialist German science-porn.
ME: It can’t be more pornographic than that Charlie Stross book.
(Enormous crashing sound, as of fifty baking trays falling to the floor.)
NICK: The what?
ME: The one where she’s a pleasure bot, but there aren’t any humans left?
NICK: Oh, the Charlie Stross book.
ME: Yes, that’s what I said.
NICK: There was this huge crashing sound, did you notice?
ME: Oh, was there?
NICK: It was a pretty obscure crashing sound. You probably haven’t heard of it.

ME: Don’t panic. It’s just a guy being attacked by a moose. Wait, that’s not a moose. An elk?
NICK: That’s not a moose. This is a moose.
ME: You haven’t got a moose.
NICK: Oh, the disappointment!
ME: Well, you should have got a moose, shouldn’t you?

NICK: If you would allow me to massage your shoulders, you wouldn’t get so many headaches.
ME: You know how I feel about massages. It’s basically asking strangers to touch you for money, and I don’t really do that.
NICK: Except this would be me.
ME: True, and you’re not a stranger, and you wouldn’t be doing it for money.
NICK: Oh, no. I’d still need to be paid.

In which the Mills family complete a newspaper quiz and struggle over the question of what a “monjon” is.

MY MOTHER: I think I got “rock wallaby” right.
ME: You most certainly did not.
MY MOTHER: I said “an animal, like a walrus.” I mean, “W.” It’s close enough.