Father Wayne, Maggie’s Catholic priest mate from when they were young who is staying with us for a few weeks, and although we are a bit different – he says Grace, and Jeff Buckley and I sing it (I know all the lyrics because it was Archie n Maggie’s shag song when we first met) – went out to the pub on his Pat Malone for a steak and beer earlier, while Maggie and I sang Grace, and when he came home half pissed he had the newspaper (pictured above) under his arm, and a tall tale to tell.
“I’m Dr Who” Father Wayne says.
I thought Father had gone stark, raving mad, and told him so as I used to do sp often before he gave up forever on trying to get me to book a ticket on his plane to heaven.
“You’re off your Dr Father Who Wayne” I said, while waving my finger in circles around my temple.
But as usual, I was wrong.
Look at the date on the paper.
At the time of writing it is 9.25pm on the 26th of August.
Father Wayne has time travelled.
He is Dr Who.
And drives a Tardis.