I tend to think of him as “our Gerald”. Which is either very Yorkshire of me, or sort of condescending. Or both.
(Hang on: is anyone fool enough as to be patronising towards a Dalek? Er, yes.)
Gerald came into our lives around the time another, even more important, member of the family was leaving (see “Can you Hear Me? A Blog for Father’s Day“). The two are, I believe, linked. For one thing, according to my husband, Dad was responsible for David becoming a fan of the good Doctor. It was Dad who allegedly plonked a young David in front of a black and white telly one Saturday night in November 1963, whilst uttering the immortal line: “Shut up and watch this.”
Back to Gerald, who entered our lives several decades and hundreds of miles later. He arrived by van: not a typical Dalek method of transportation, admittedly. But it did the trick.
What didn’t work out quite so well was poor David’s attempts to get Gerald into the house. Apparently the chaps who built our home back in the late 1800s didn’t reckon on someone wanting to fit a Dalek through the door.
Oops, said no Dalek, ever.
Undaunted, my husband did what any intelligent man who doesn’t happen to own a garage, but does have a new-to-him 1980s Dalek, would do: he rang his mum, and asked if our Gerald could stop at her place for a bit.
Gerald finally landed – if that’s the correct term for a non-hovering Dalek – at our place sometime later, following the installation of a new window which we told ourselves was long needed anyway.
And his name? That came later, inspired by a visit a few years earlier to friends in Bay City, Michigan. Not long into our stay with them, they said: “Come on: you have to see this!”
Showing unusual obedience – a trait prized in human slaves by Daleks everywhere, not just in S Yorks – we set off to what was, other than the sign, a fairly standard-looking American office building.
The sign read: “Gerald C Dalek, Attorney at Law”.