Doctor Who?

They wait. Statham, Cowell and Terry. Three men, both alike in dignity and the fact that it's often questioned. They wait, as they've been told to, in the waiting room. Statham's brought a gun, Terry a football and with Cowell are Zig and Zag. Statham has been here before. He's an actor, he knows the score. Cowell has seen more auditions than an actor's seen final demands and Terry, well other people have been to auditions so he's pretty sure that counts for something. They're here because William Hill is in charge of casting now. That's just how the world of casting works these days. If your odds are good, who cares if you've been to drama school or you father grew up with the director?

Time is tight. To satisfy the naysayers on Twitter, they had to audition women and ethnic actors who they had no intention of casting. Still, it was nice for the production company to have something to watch during their lunch break. They're sure Ann Widdicombe and Trevor Nelson didn't mind. So, because they all wanted to get home in time for Pointless, they decided to audition the three together. They're called in. Statham first, Cowell second and Terry, who was still busy writing other people's credits on his casting form, third.

They stand in a line. Statham's gun glints under the artificial lights. He explains that if he's to play The Doctor, his Sonic Screwdriver will be a Beretta M9. He's asked how he'd defeat the Daleks. He growls something and, within seconds, the camera is flying across the room, the casting assistant has been sent flying through a window and the receptionist is getting undressed. They're impressed. They ask to see his hands and he punches the producer.  He explains that if they're going to cast him, the show's title will have to be changed to simply, "WHO." They understand.

By now, Cowell is yawning. "You," he drawls, "Are the worst act I've seen today." The production company all start to boo, a reaction that takes them by surprise, such is the power of Cowell. They ask to see his profile and, quick as a flash, a ghetto blaster is produced and Michelle McManus' voice fills the room. "I think that's all you need to know," he replies, smugly. They like Cowell. Smith had the bow tie, Tennant had the Converse, Cowell has the high trousers. It's the perfect gimmick. They ask him how he'd defeat the Cybermen. Like lightning, the track is changed on the ghetto blaster and the stomach-twisting tones of Mr Blobby bounce off the walls. No words are needed and Emeli Sande is bumped off the shortlist.

Now, to Terry. He cuts quite the figure in his old Chelsea kit. The 'E' and an 'R' had recently come off in the wash so it now simply said, 'TRY.' Patronising smiles are sent his way and they have a look over his CV. Being one of the greatest defenders out there, there's no doubting that he's qualified to protect the universe but what of all the criminal allegations made against him? He reminds them that Daddies Sauce named him Dad Of The Year in 2009 and, after performing keep-uppy for nearly 10 minutes (during which Statham found a bear to punch and Cowell signed up three boy bands) the production team were convinced.

Hartnell. Troughton. Pertwee. Baker. Davison. Baker. McCoy. McGann. Eccleston. Tennant. Smith. But who's the next Who?