Ralph Oswick: The adventures of a pseudo Time Lord

During the next few weeks you might spot an alternative form of transport somewhere between the Bath bus and train stations in the form of a blue Tardis-like installation. For legal reasons we’re not allowed to refer to it as your actual time machine of television fame, but judging by the number of selfies being taken by giggling Japanese teenagers last time it landed, it does bear a passing resemblance! It is in fact the highly Instagrammable Comedy Festival information booth, constructed in immaculate detail on behalf of said festival and Visit Bath by the awesome Hawker Joinery. The idea is to distribute programmes, publicise events and generally point potential festivalgoers in the right direction. Now, I looked after the thing for a day last time it was in use and I can tell you that the main direction enquired after is that of the nearest public convenience. In fact, one guy, with a faint air of panic about him, actual asked if we had a toilet in the booth itself. Well, despite rumours to the contrary, the (mock) Tardis is a lot smaller on the inside and there’s barely room for a pint glass, let alone a fully flushing facility. Other urgent enquiries included the whereabouts of the nearest Macdonald’s, how to get to the Roman bridge (!) and did I know where one can get half-price cocktails. This latter from a large party of leopard skin clad, high-heeled ladies from a hen party standing with their backs to a nearby bar sporting a large sign saying ‘Happy Hour! Half-price Cocktails!’ Someone asked for a skinny latte. They must have been from Edinburgh, where all the police boxes have been turned into pop-up coffee outlets. One chap, running for a train, asked me to dispose of his picnic detritus, thrusting a pile of greasy cardboard and a half-eaten Margherita through the hatch. Numerous friends of mine who probably knew the programme by heart after my endless emails on the subject and who had almost certainly already purchased tickets, decided to stop by and chat about the weather, thus blocking the view and defeating my efforts in disseminating info to any passing strangers seeking comedic entertainment. One fellow did push his way through the throng of hangers-on and asked in a clipped German accent if I knew how to get to a certain B&B. I explained I had no idea but pointed in the direction of Oldfield Park. As he stomped off, he called sneeringly over his shoulder ‘The sign says ‘Information’ but it seems that you know nothing!’ I bit my lip, as our risk assessment categorically states we are not allowed to label our pseudo-tardis as a police box in case anyone starts to think there is a police station in Bath city centre after all, however rudimentary. So the other sign reads ‘Polite Box.’ And polite I remained. And the good Doctor? He’s busy fighting the invasion of the politically correct health and safety aliens.