The news that 22 Edinburgh police boxes are up for sale has sparked an outbreak of Tardis fever.
That's even before the estate agents get in on the act with such glowing prose as "handily located in the space-time continuum, affording excellent views of many distant galaxies yet with easy access to transport links within the Edinburgh area".
Or "This property is deceptively spacious inside. Despite its age and history of erratic previous owners, the structure is in excellent condition due to the ability to rebuild and reconfigure itself. It is easily maintained with the use of a sonic screwdriver."
If I were to buy one of the boxes it would be for architectural reasons. They were designed by Ebenezer MacRae, the city architect in the 1930s, to complement Edinburgh's classical architecture. They bear the city crest and some have saltire-patterned cast iron mouldings.
As a Weegie seeking a pied-a-terre in the capital might say, they are pure dead elegant. Such an abode would be cosy in nature. Simply furnished with one of those electric armchairs that transforms into a bed. Add a fridge and a flat-screen telly. The rest of the space used as a dance floor.
Planning permission will be required for an extension to accommodate a shower room to dispel the myth of Weegies as soap-dodgers.
Potential purchasers may be aware of the success of a residential police box as what is apparently known as a babe magnet. Doctor Who was never short of comely female companions. Though there was Jamie, a rough chap in a kilt who eventually emigrated to Emmerdale Farm.
Most of the redundant police boxes may end up as garden sheds or shrines to Dr Who. Or commercial premises such as coffee kiosks. One in Glasgow became the Partick Pie Shop but that's the wild west for you. I was detained once in a police box in the days when I had gone to the bad. Aged seven, I had got into the wrong company and had a two-a-day Woodbine habit. The interview was in connection with aiding and abetting the theft of a packet of Knorr chicken noodle soup from Galloway's the butchers.
On reflection, it was a PC Murdoch moment but suitably scary at the time. Perhaps the Edinburgh constabulary should keep their boxes for similar community policing initiatives.
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