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It’s always a faff when your daughter writes a horror story about a man called Hollowface, in a magical house that appears to make it come true, isn’t it? I mean, she’s a lovely child and everything, but would it have killed her to come up with a story in which oodles of dollar bills came raining down from the ceiling with no painful consenquences whatsover?

Luckily, her dad’s Clive Owen. He can sort it out. Hopefully…

I know it’s been said before, but should the producers of Doctor Who be thinking of an older replacement for Matt Smith, they could do worse than Serious Clive. Just a thought…

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Filed Under: Clive Owen, Intruders
By Fraser McAlpine