I've got a stinking cold as I sit here writing this. I mention this fact only because I've had it for the last three weeks or so and it's really starting to get me down.

Trying to exist with a bunged up head, sniffly nose and dangerous-sounding cough is bad enough, but when one is right in the middle of all manner of Doctor Who related fun and games, it seems even worse.

It's the day after the 35UP event in central London. As Gary Gillatt had been kind enough to ask me along, I felt that I ought to make the effort and so struggled up out of bed to get to the BAFTA HQ in London for about ten o'clock in the morning.

When I arrived it was with a stuffy head, shivering limbs and really not feeling well at all. All I wanted was a sit down and a nice hot cup of tea - I hadn't had the opportunity to even grab some breakfast so I was feeling pretty low. Without a steward in sight, and no-one giving out badges or any instructions as to what to do and where to go, I found myself a seat in a large room where a staff member was ... slowly ... setting out some cups and saucers for tea and coffee. Fortunately I'm quite patient ...

As luck would have it, this room was where the presentation of three plaques for BAFTA was taking place, and, at about eleven o'clock the room seemed to fill, as if by some strange celebrity magic, with press people and Doctor Who actors. I watched as they all mingled and chatted before one of the BAFTA top bods made a speech and presented the plaques for William Hartnell, Patrick Troughton and Jon Pertwee to Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy.

Slightly odd, I thought, as Sean Pertwee, Jon's son, was there as well, as was William Hartnell's grand-daughter Jessica Carney. Presumably no-one from the Troughton family was available ... but why not present the plaques to the family members rather than to two actors, neither of which had actually met William Hartnell? I suspect that this was some press thing, in that actors make for better pictures.

Anyway, after this, the press moved in for their photos: Colin and Sylvester posing in all manner of odd poses holding the plaques for their illustrious predecessors.

I wonder what must have been going through their minds ... do only dead actors qualify for plaques at BAFTA? How long would they have to wait before they too were honoured in this way? Will each Doctor get a plaque as he snuffs it? There are unsettling parallels with The Five Doctors here - immortality is gained by being turned into a mask set into the wall.

After this, the guests all vanished again, whisked away by the ever vigilent DWAS stewards to some unknown hospitality room where maybe the tea was nice and hot, and there was more than one cup to be had. Sad to say I never found this mythical place.

By noon, I was getting pretty hungry, and decided, after realising that there was no decent food or tea to be had at the BAFTA building, to nip out to a nice little café down the road where I enjoyed a plate of steaming chili con carne and a really hot cup of chocolate.

Thus nourished I made my way back to BAFTA only to be prevented from entering by the security guard. I had not been given a badge, you see. Luckily at that moment Vicki Thomas, chief press guru from BBC Worldwide appeared on her way out. She kindly gave me her badge so that I could get back into the building ...

Upstairs, an author signing was in full swing ... but, as before, there were no stewards in sight. Feeling slightly fatigued again, I decided that I couldn't face pushing through hoards of people and squeezing onto an already full table, and so I sat quietly and chatted to some friends until my head started buzzing too much and I had to excuse myself to go somewhere quiet.

Suddenly, and without warning, a steward appeared and asked if I would be signing later. Well, yes. This kind person, promptly vanished and I decided to carry on chatting to the wonderful David Owen while seated beside the tables where the signing would be. This seemed to perturb some of the organisers, and I was twice told that the signing wouldn't be for another 15 minutes ...

I knew this, and wasn't sure why they felt the need to remind me. Then I noticed that the stewards were quietly removing all the alcohol from the tables (left over from a mammoth signing of 'real' guests just before) and replacing it with water.

Odd, I thought. Normally you'd turn water into wine, but perhaps DWAS works the other way round. Either way, my requests for a nice hot cup of tea went unheeded - it seems there was no tea to be had in the building by now, although there seemed to be no shortage of wine for the Doctor Who cast.

And so to a happy hour or so of signing and chatting to those brave souls who came up to BAFTA just for this. Those who had actually paid to attend were upstairs somewhere being entertained by Sophie Aldred, while these other kind people were actually pleased to see the few who were gathered to sign stuff for them.

It was nice to meet some people from 'online' - I'm always rather taken aback at this. I think that deep in my mind I'm convinced that all the folks on rec.arts.drwho don't really exist, and there is just me, and some other chap with lots of different e-mail addresses that keep the whole thing going. Still, it's nice to actually be proved wrong and to meet some of the people whose strange missives occasionally appear in my e-mail bucket.

During the signing, my state of health seemed to improve. I found myself smiling and not coughing; laughing and not sneezing. One of the miracles of modern fandom is that when you're in good company, you feel good.

After this, it was time to make my way home. Still unsure of exactly what had gone on for the rest of the attendees, uncertain of where all the guests had gone to from time to time, but pleased that everyone I met seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Doctor Who gatherings are strange affairs, and, I feel, are best enjoyed when you're not in the throes of flu. So ... happy birthday Doctor Who, and well done to Gary Gillatt for actually arranging the event so that folks had some way of communally celebrating the anniversary.

Excuse me now, but I've some coughing and sneezing to catch up on.