I won’t identify which coastal township we chose for our second honeymoon, but by Wednesday we stopped being nice.

Why? I blame Billy-Bob Thornton, or his lookalike, working in a bakery.

Smiling husband to Billy-Bob: “Nice, cold wind today.”

Billy-Bob: “We’re near water. Pies are 15 minutes away ... a bus full of boys bought the lot.”

Too late, I had morphed into a threatening Bonnie:

“This here is Mr Clyde Barrow and I’m Miss Bonnie Parker and we rob bakeries. 

“This is a stolen four-cylinder Ford coupe, now show us some customer service.”

We got the same nonplussed visitor reception elsewhere, and certainly the one beacon of civility, at a farm gate, shone.

Irony is, husband works at cellar door and knows a little bit about long Tassie winters and the stamina required to sustain hospitality.

“I reckon they’re straight out of Fargo, I wasn’t going to argue,” he said.

Not me, I embraced my inner Bonnie: “Next time I’ll aim a little lower,” I thought.

As usual, commonsense from husband : “Bad customer service is easy, it’s like water off a duck’s back. I’d rather be here than anywhere else. This is what I love.”

Doctor Who? I say why not Joanna Lumley or Lee Lin Chin?

When I came out from under the coastal rock earlier this week, I wasn’t surprised to see British actor Jodie Whittaker announced as our new top doc … number 13 ... Doctor Who.

I admit I was a little disappointed that the new doctor was a perfect media stereotype.

Number 12 Doctor Who, Peter Capaldi regenerated into younger, hottish blonde? Why not?

After all, the Gallifreyan Time Lord, Doctor Who, is documented as being without a penis, with two hearts and identified as omnisexual… his love isn’t gender based…Doctor Who can be anything.

A future Doctor Who might be Joanna Lumley, Judi Dench, even Jennifer Saunders. 

Or perhaps our very own Lee Lin Chin? 

Why not bring back Kylie Minogue as the Doctor? Minogue’s 2008 guest appearance on Doctor Who was tantalising.

Others who’d be on my ‘Who’s Who’ wish-list would be Jude Law, George Clooney, Nick Cave or Javier Bardem. All probably way over Who budget.

For me, Doctor Who started in 1964 when I would hide from my parents because the show’s theme music made me want dance. 

I didn’t want mum and dad to see six-year-old me doing the Stomp. 

By six, I’d already been kicked out of the local CWA ballet classes for my lack of coordination and baby elephant moves, but my Stomp to Doctor Who was perfect.

I covered my eyes for the Cybermen, loved the Daleks, hated the Master and by age 17 had knitted myself a scarf just like that worn by number-seven doctor, Tom Baker. 

I was also chairman of the school library committee. 

Got the picture?

I’m not by any stretch a Doctor Who expert. 

I am a fan. 

The last season was extraordinary and so well written by Mark Gatiss (Benedict Cumberbatch’s on-screen brother Mycroft, from a recent TV series, Sherlock), that the actors, their gender and even species were almost extracurricular.

I can’t wait to see what Whittaker brings to the role, ie can she really use the sonic screwdriver or will she be forced to reach for an IKEA allen key? (Intended sexist irony.)

Will Whittaker be praised as Doctor Who, or will the negative commentary make the Julia Gillard ‘ditch the witch’ campaign look tame?