Phones down! Your programme's on! Doctor Who's showrunner - writing exclusively for DWM - relates the pitfalls of TV viewing in the modern age.

This is what it’s like, watching a new episode of Doctor Who.

Saturday 18 May. Boom night. I’m watching with my two sisters, who are the perfect audience. They are guaranteed to hoot and scream and gasp. I’ve already watched this episode at midnight, but call me traditional, the Saturday night viewing still feels like a proper arrival for me. This is when it becomes official.

But what does everyone do these days? Text. They text, text, text. During a show. It drives me mad! How can you do that? How can you follow it properly? How the hell can you tweet?! So, by now, anyone who knows me, knows to lay off the WhatsApp during transmission. But then…

6.50pm To everyone’s surprise, the BBC continuity announcer introduces the episode by saying, ‘But right now on BBC One Wales, where’s Harry Sullivan when you need him?’ What?! I beg your pardon?! But…! That didn’t come from us; that’s nothing to do with the Doctor Who office. For those who might not know, it’s an obscure reference to Genesis of the Daleks Part One, broadcast 49 years ago, when the Doctor stood on a landmine and his companion Harry, played by the brilliant Ian Marter, saved his life. But..? Today?! Harry’s name, said out loud on BBC One?! After all these years? What a joy, but what a surprise! (Who was it? Who did that? You’ve got to be a DWM reader, write in and tell us.)

But that starts it. Floodgates opened. Text alert! Ping, ping, ping, goes my phone, mostly members of the production team asking: did you do that? Who did that? Was that us?! Ping, there’s our faithful script editor, Scott Handcock, saying “A Genesis reference in 2024!” I say, Scott, you’re supposed to be watching the TV, stop texting!

6.56pm “Oh my God!” say my sisters, as the Doctor steps on a landmine, for the first time since 1975.

7.10pm Ping! Argh. Look! I’ve got to read this one, it’s Varada Sethu. Okay, she can text any time she likes. She’s saying thanks for a text I sent earlier today (my reaction to Season 2, Episode 7, Sc. 48 as her character finally faces… oh, you’ll see!). I’d just said, what great rushes, but as Varada’s text arrives, Mundy Flynn comes running into the crater. I text back, “You’re on now!” She confirms, “Watching it!” And I’m strangely thrilled. I never like to ask if the cast are watching an episode go out live, but I’m delighted when they do.

7.16pm “Noooo,” say my sisters, as Ruby is shot.

7.17pm Ping! My niece texts. “Now that’s what I call a storm!” Eh? There’s snow on Kastarion 3, but no storm. Oh, she means in real life. I go to the window, and… blimey, yes. My niece lives towards the east of Swansea, I’m in the west, but the town is built around one huge bay (Walter Savage Landor once compared it to the Bay of Naples) so her house is many miles opposite. And there, across the curve of the shore, a vast vault of grey, a lowering, glowering cloud, smearing rain on to the horizon of houses. Amazing. But… not now, Doctor Who is on! Just let me -

7.21pm Ping! Gaaah, who is it now?! Oh, wait…

It’s Bradley Walsh! He’s sending me a photo of Margaret Lockwood, because of last week’s Doctor Who - he was so delighted that she got a mention in The Devil’s Chord, he got in touch, reminiscing about her classic old film, The Wicked Lady, and telling me that the ex-Arsenal-and-England goalkeeper, David Seaman, once lived in the house of Margaret Lockwood’s co-star, James Mason. That’s the sort of text you get from Brad, I love him. And now he’s telling me that The Wicked Lady is available on Sky 117. In truth, I’m a bit sad that he’s not watching Doctor Who, except I can hardly remonstrate with Bradley Walsh, I think that’s illegal in TV Land, but then…

“Loving Who, great ep,” he says! Oh, he is watching! I’m so ridiculously pleased. And he’s so happy, he says he’s loving the orchestra. “How did you get Moffat back to scribe?” Like a proper fan! And then we’re off, because you can’t not text Brad, so we have a chat - my mate and former Doctor Who script editor Lindsey Alford wrote this week’s Casualty, starring Brad’s son, Barney, and Brad sends me a photo of his margarita - and in no time at all, the episode has unfurled without me, my sisters are sobbing at the happy ending, and the Doctor is writing his diary in drums.

7.32pm As the Doctor stands in the TARDIS doorway and quotes Philip Larkin, there’s an almighty crack! Bang on cue, the rain begins to fall. My sisters have missed its approach because they didn’t see the warning text - out of everyone, they ignored their phones and stayed staring at the screen; they are the most faithful viewers of all - and now they gasp and coo as lightning streaks across the sky and thunder shudders the coast.

7.33pm “A snowflake!” says my sister - no, not the storm, that’s on TV, floating out of our VFX landscape, and the episode ends. The storm descends upon west Swansea. My phone goes ping, ping, ping, as the credits roll. And Boom now exists in the world.

8.20pm My sisters are hooting and screeching at two hot Australian jugglers on Britain’s Got Talent whose gimmick is to strip off as they juggle. And so television rolls on and on and on.