Good old Doc Martin. A rather unlikely romantic figure, but one that I haven't been able to get up off my couch and walk away from for the last week. I first set my eyes on him a couple of months ago on a local PBS station. My mom recommended the show to me, and on first view, I wasn't impressed. I think that I actually dozed off midway through the episode. But I gave it another shot given that it is British, and the town it is filmed in is lovely, and wham! love at ... well, he's grown on me, and that can be the best kind of love.
Of course my local PBS television station was sure to be showing old episodes, and I had missed a lot of the series. Naturally I went to my trusty Netflix and found two pre-quel movies, and seasons 1, 2, 3, and 4! The pre-quels were interesting, but mostly quite different from what has become what I imagine to be a beloved series. I am very satisfied with what they've done with the story line, and that they left Doc and the town intact.
I live in a big city. And I love my city. But if I were to twitch my nose and be transported to the place of my dreams, it would be to a town like Portwenn. The show is actually filmed in Port Isaac, but since this is a fantasy, I think that I would rather live in the fictional town. I am not one for a big house. Or a wood house. I would love to live in one of the old stone houses that litter the bluff around Portwenn's bay. In the series, Doc lives and works in the same building. The ceilings are low and as he walks through to his surgery, he has to take care not to hit his head on the door frame. It is so charming, that. Of course, when it comes to cottages, stone cottages, I have to think of the one in the movie TheHoliday that the character Kate Winslet plays lives in. I imagine that as the interior of my new space. Her cottage is in the Cotswolds, but I think that it easily transfer to a fictional village in Cornwall.
Doc's house is the darker one int the middle.
When I went to college, a few times I had enough the money to take the train back to school rather than finding a ride on the 'ride board.' The 'ride board' was always a tricky proposition. One never knew who would show up to drive the six hours back to or from school. Once I was driving back with two guys who were so drunk that they wove all the way back home. I cowered in the back seat with my head in my friend's lap. The train was much less risky. And if I travelled during the day, I loved rolling through the corn fields that connected the big city to the small town where I went to college. At a few of the stops, the station was right in the middle of the town. I would imagine moving to one of them, living in the little apartment above the shop where I worked. I always imagined working in the shop. Shops have always fascinated me, and I know that when I left college, I went to work in a big shop to satisfy that desire. I worked in retail for ten years, and I was ready to leave and move on to something else. But I still think, what if I lived in a small town, and worked in a little shop? That would be grand. And I believe that I would not do this in a small town in the middle of a corn field ... too dusty. And the houses and buildings are made of brick or wood. No, for this fantasy, I want stone. Sturdy, cool to the touch, stone. And I definitely would prefer an English garden to a corn field or dusty marigolds.
And naturally I would fall in love with Doc Martin. What is his particular kind of charm? Well, quite possibly, because he's not charming at all. He's brusk. To the point. Direct. All of the things that I am not! And that would be a good thing. I do get tired of myself. Life can't always be about over-explaining things, emoting all of mine and your feelings, expression, and too much 'yes' not enough 'NO!' Physically, Doc is sort of weird looking. His ears, his oddly large lips, his scowl. And he is always suited. That's not a bad thing. And it is endearing as he runs off through the village with his doctor's bag scuttling to an emergency. Something is always happening to his suit. Birds poop on it. Meat pies are thrown on it. Blood is smeared across the sleeve. But it always survives, and Doc is naturally unfazed by event. He's very hard to ruffle. And I love to ruffle feathers. I'd get a lot of that with him. Oh, I would rarely be successful in ruffling his stiff lip, but I would take great pleasure in the many hours trying to do so. Nothing stirs the blood more than trying to move someone who is screwed in.
Time for tea. I can feel the salt air caress my cheek. And I feel a bit of the damp. Before I come back to reality, I think that I'll make a cuppa, and sit a while imagining how the heck I'm going to get that tie off of ... Doc Martin!