* Under a read more because it is rather long, and a touch spoilery - but completely worth the full read. :)
“Moff!” said the voice on the phone. “Stop writing and get over here!”
Let’s be clear: I have never invited anyone to call me Moff. I haven’t suggested it, encouraged it, or in any way condoned it, Particularly not when it’s THE Moff: I have many delusions, but being Peter Cushing in Star Wars isn’t one of them. For a long time, I refused to accept it was really happening. But then some newspaper said I was called that, and Karen said it when she picked up her NTA, and when I mentioned my bemusement to my wife, she looked shifty and left the room: later, I noticed on her Twitter Bio, she was ‘wife of the Moff’. Do I look like a Moff, does my smile carry any hint of Death Star, do I –
“Moff, shut up about the Death Star and get over here! You’ve got to see this!”
Okay so the voice on the phone was Matt Smith, and obviously I know better than to disobey a direct command from the Doctor himself. And where I was standing was my hotel room in New York.