The Doctor Who finale is nearly upon us, and there are more questions to be answered than ever before. Two mysteries await their endgame – the true identity of Clara Oswald, the impossible girl, and the even more tantalising MacGuffin of the Doctor's real name. But behind the scenes an even greater question lurks. In its 50th year, its biggest ever, is Doctor Who dropping the ball?

Series seven (or 33) began with epic bluster. The previous run was criticised, not entirely undeservedly, for the convoluted puzzle box that was the River Song storyline. This time, it was announced, they were going to go the other way – no two-parters and no long-running storyline, but a bam-bam-bam of big, blockbusting, one-off stories. "Don't tell me the plot," Steven Moffat had apparently said to pitching writers, "show me the movie poster!" Indeed, each episode has been promoted with a mocked-up movie-style poster of its own.

On the forums, bars and convention floors, fans seem grumpy. They're unhappy about the scarcity of episodes, with the series being split over two years. They're unhappy about the breakneck speed of the stories. They're unhappy that the mystery of Clara's true identity hasn't been as front and centre to the run as was teased. One blogger dramatically announced that he was "breaking up with" the show.

Doctor Who fans love nothing more than to moan, but out of 10, this series has been a steady stream of sixes and sevens, with the occasional eight. There haven't been any stinkers – personally I was delighted with the warmth and poetry of the widely loathed The Rings Of Akhaten. But we haven't had anything truly superlative either, such as The Impossible Astronaut or The Doctor's Wife.

While the stories have been consistent, fandom has not. Most people loved the haunted house spooker Hide, but Neil Gaiman's Cyber-adventure was either a series highlight or an awful nadir, depending on which review you read. A particularly bizarre review of Cold War in the official magazine even questioned Mark Gatiss as a Doctor Who writer, on the grounds that he was already a bit too good at writing Doctor Who.

After rewatching the series over the weekend, it strikes me that, actually, they've barely put a foot wrong. The guest stars have been better than ever: which other show could tempt David Bradley, Mark Williams, Rupert Graves, Ben Browder, Adrian Scarborough, Celia Imrie, Liam Cunningham, David Warner, Dougray Scott, Jessica Raine, Diana Rigg, her daughter Rachael Stirling and Warwick Davis, all within one season?

A huge amount has happened to the overall plot, with the departure of Amy and Rory getting a storyline of its own, emotional fallout and all. And Matt Smith just gets more and more magnificent – he fizzes with the comedy and stirs with the tragedy. His Doctor is a complex man; we've seen a great deal happen to him, and week after week, Smith owns it. So let's be frank: the show is as good as it's ever been. In lots of ways, it's better.

I think there's something else going on here. We're suffering from pre-50th anniversary wobbles. Fans are getting so worked up about what may or may not happen in the November special that we've forgotten how to enjoy the series as it is. We're going through a hellish, year-long Christmas Eve, and we're in danger of ruining things for ourselves.

It's time to take a deep breath. November is still five months away. We've got a series finale to enjoy tomorrow, and – spoiler alert – I can reveal two things: Moffat is not lying when he says nothing will ever be the same again, and this episode is at least a nine-and-a-half.