Monday, December 7, 2009

8th Doctor - The Company of Friends (i)

Serial 9Z/C – The Company of Jerks
An Alternative Program Guide by Ewen Campion-Clarke
Entry in the EC Unauthorized Guide O' Come Back Lucie All Is Forgiven!


Serial 9Z/C – The Company of Jerks -

This most special of stories begins where the last one ended, with the Doctor – gripped by an insane fury at Lucie Miller daring to dump HIM before he could dump HER – piloting the TARDIS straight to the front line of the Temporal Difference of Opinion.

It soon becomes obvious this was a particularly stupid thing to do.

The Doctor has just enough time to realize this before the TARDIS is caught by friendly fire of vitreous energy blasts that corrodes the very fabric of time itself, destroying the puny strands of canonicity that divide one aspect of the Whoniverse franchise from each other!

Gripping the controls of the TARDIS, the Doctor watches in horror as causality blanks out like a pissed comic book artist forgetting to finish putting drawings in all the little outline boxes...

The Company of Jerks 1/4 – Benny Summerfield’s Audition

The Doctor finally blanks in to discover, to his horror, he has been cast to the mortal coil of the New Adventures continuity where everything is so bloody right-on, PC and angst-ridden that even fanwank comes with a complimentary Greenpeace badge.

There are many clues as to his new location in the multiverse – the slightly smaller periodic table, the artron grain of the time continuum, oh, and the TARDIS has popped into existence right next to Professor Bernice Surprise-Surprise-Ole-Biscuit-Barrel Summerfield!

What the hell is Benny doing in the middle of a coal mine on the ancient world of Epsilon Minima, I hear you ask? Well it turns out she’s being paid the gross national product of three solar systems carrying out an archaeological excavation and, like the professional she is, Benny is standing out being sarcastic and smug in equal measure. Oh, go back to your own spin off you malignant whore!

But if Bernice is irritating, that’s nothing compared to her employer who’s entry in "Who’s Who" consists solely of "very messianic to the point where it just stops being funny". This is Countess Valhalla who runs her business plan of "higher understanding" entirely on the "forbidden knowledge" of "ancient texts" she gets on her mobile phone.

Having drilled with lasers through countless layers of rock for a full five days (that’s two days more than Tony Robinson’s Time Team would do!), Benny, Valhalla and her idiot comic relief stooge have discovered a 50-million-year-old TARDIS key which can be used as a homing beacon to draw in the TARDIS it belongs to.

Which is the Doctor’s TARDIS, just in case that wasn’t already so freaking and unnecessarily obvious that it makes your head bleed.

No sooner has the Doctor been brought up to speed with the events of the last three paragraphs when Valhalla calls in her security bots to seize the TARDIS. And so the Doctor and Benny run up and down some corridors – because after six score and ten NA novels, writers STILL can’t think of anything cleverer to do than this hokey escapism...

The Doctor and Benny finally get a chance to talk and cover a multitude of topics – including the fact the Doctor isn’t the manipulative twat of the NAs so he hasn’t come here with a vast Masterplan up his sleeve; Valhalla’s robots are props reused from an early Jon Pertwee serial no one likes; and that after ten years of spin-offs throughout all time and space, all Benny has to show for it is a rather freaky-looking illegitimate son called Peter.

Benny then points out that since Valhalla wants the TARDIS for nefarious purposes, it probably was a bad idea to run away and leave the time machine with her. Especially as she has the damn key.

However, there are more corridors to be chased down and this time, in the interests of variety, it’s by lions instead of robots.

Back at the TARDIS, Valhalla shows the monumental idiocy of all true super-villains and pressed every button she can find marked "DO NOT PRESS" until weird shit happens and her odious comic relief’s right hand is reduced to two years old. As he is a serial masturbator, this would now count as corrupting a minor and the nameless goon is immediately arrested as a sex offender by some passing Jundoon.

"Random," observes Valhalla, and keeps pressing buttons.

Outside, the mine tunnels vanish and are replaced by some stock jungle background sound effects – which the Doctor justifies dramatically as being the coal mine billions of years in the past. In order to keep the wibbly-wobbly ontological-wonkoligical-paradox fetishists happy, the Doctor throws his TARDIS key into a fern so it will one day be dug up by Benny and thus cause this entire mess in the first place.

"Yeah. No masterplans at all," Benny deadpans.

The Doctor muses on the point – are TARDISes enslaved? Should sentient beings be harnessed by anyone, even a Time Lord? Can such oppression ever be justified? Is Valhalla just an idle rich bitch with absolutely no clue what she’s doing who’s never even SEEN a TARDIS before, let alone actually been inside one?

That last one seems the best bet, so he drop-kicks Valhalla unconscious and resets the defaults on the console, saving the entire created omniverse in as un-involving and convoluted manner as possible and all the while Benny grumbles that she won’t get paid, even after all the trouble she took to prepare an invoice.

The Doctor decides he needs a week on the spa planet of Hedonex in Galaxy VII, where five-handed masseuses work in caves forming natural saunas, where rainwater tastes like champagne and there are springs of warm scented baby oil on permanent offer.

Unfortunately, he realizes that Benny fully expects him to take her with him, giving her the opportunity to blather on and on about herself stuffing up the tranquil atmosphere of the holiday?

Mercifully, it is around this point that the timelines shuffle and everything blanks out once again...

The Company of Jerks 2/4 – Fitz Kreiner’s Audition

Reality finally settles down and the Doctor standing in a bizarrely-decorated TARDIS control room where a hung-over Indian woman is screaming abuse at him for a variety of reasons ranging from getting her geeky boyfriend stabbed to death and vaporized under the engines of a launching space shuttle to the fact he didn’t warn her drinking Bactrian cocktails would make her nasal hair fall out.

The Doctor listens patiently to this litany of tirades, then smashes her head against the roundeled wall until she falls unconscious. At last able to enjoy some peace and quiet, the Time Lord checks the console room and finds the TARDIS is on the planet Entusso.

Entusso is so amazingly identical to Earth in the ethnographic present I’m tempted to think it’s not an alien planet at all but merely some ghastly misprint in the script. Either way, the world outside is obsessed with television and unusually prone to high-profile alien attacks every four weeks or so.

Unsurprisingly, someone is making a big fat profit out of this and that someone is AIDS – Alien Invasion Defeating Services. It’s an unfortunate acronym, but the paperwork’s signed now and they’re stuck with it. AIDS is the rapid-response extraterrestrial call-out service you MUST choose because there are no other alien-fighting companies on the market... at all! Let alone ones offering planetary protection at such reasonable prices.

"If you know bog-all about alien life forms but are a paranoid xenophobe pessimist with a valid credit card, get AIDS!" proclaims the spokesman for the organization, an incredibly-detailed hyper-animation which looks just like the Doctor.

The real Doctor is furious that his likeness is being used for advertising purposes on ten thousand infomercial channels and HE ISN’T GETTING ANY CASH OUT OF THIS!

There’s also the possibility AIDS are actually some overture to an alien invasion, scamming the people of Entusso so they’ll unwittingly lure anti-alien activists to their untimely doom. Either way, AIDS needs to be stopped and the Doctor get his royalties for endorsing their foul, detestable organization!

But before he can even leave the TARDIS, the scanner displays a special edition of An Incoherent Affair hosted by Gem Weston who has an exclusive interview with a git called Fitz Kriener - space traveller
and close compatriot of that world famous enigma, the Doctor.

"Or rather, as he sensationally claims today, Fitz Kreiner is the power behind the Doctor’s frock coat and the REAL thwarter of alien plots both here on Entusso and beyond."

While spectacularly failing to seduce Gem on screen, Fitz reveals that the Doctor is actually an out-of-work actor called John Smith who acts as the public face for Fitz’s alien-defeating schemes.

"You see, I’m the planner, the master strategist – saving the day but shunning the limelight. I had never planned to come out with the truth. But having seen the adverts John’s made recently, well if anyone’s going to get paid for saving the planet, it’s gonna be me, you dig?" Fitz explains, fondling her thighs lustfully.

To prove his wild claims, there follows some archive footage of Fitz and the Doctor fighting the evil alien Trods and, while it might LOOK like Fitz is the one screaming in terror, wetting himself and begging the mighty Time Lord to save the day it is, in fact, COMPLETELY scripted exchange which Fitz planned to the finest detail.

Fitz warns viewers that 'John Smith' is unhinged and deluded to the point he believes he is the planet-saving do-gooder and even endorsing AIDS out of this demented philanthropy! In order to hire a new stooge, Fitz immediately sets up a 1800 number for the public to ring in with donations to the organization Citizens Against Stellar Hostilities, and Fitz happily accepts any checks made out for "CASH".

The Doctor realizes that, in this timeline, he travels with a failed guitarist from the 1960s with a severe personality disorder (though the apparent speech impediment is actually just an atrocious Sean Connery impression) who has done a total hatchet job on the Time Lord’s reputation to cheat the Entusso public out of their hard-earned cash!

"I like this guy already," the Doctor muses.

Storming off, the Doctor eventually arrives at AIDS HQ and is immediately beaten up and gassed before being stripped naked and nailed to a crucifix in the interrogation room where he is met by Commander Helen Femur, professional rabid-alien-killer and the founder of AIDS.

Femur announces she no longer needs the real Doctor to appear in ads for them at extortionate prices, as they have built a convincing android duplicate out of an old cola vending machine, a mop head and a cardboard-cut-out of Richard E Grant.

Not only is RoboDoc much easier on the budget, he also pays for himself twice over as a combined singing telegram and stripper at business functions!

"That’s not how I operate!" the Doctor wails unhappily. "I hate karaoke in public! I never set myself up as your gigolo!"

Femur however intends to use RoboDoc to denounce Fitz as a delusional nutter (not too difficult a task, all things considered), and convince not only the people of Entussa by all sorts of slimy alien bastards that this world is defended by the Doctor and AIDS!

And, rather proving a point at how poorly-defended the planet is, it turns out one of the cleaners at AIDS is in fact one of those self-same slimy alien bastards and has gone on a killing spree, slaughtering everyone he comes across in a rabid bloodlust fever.

"Hey, remember yesterday you asked me for the definition of 'irony'?" asks one telephone operator before he and his fellows are reduced to nasty little puddles of toxic guano.

As the alien monster lumbers towards the Doctor and Femur, Fitz (who has been thrown out of the TV studio and a restraining order placed upon him by Gem Weston) bursts in to save the day... by having a humiliating panic attack and hiding behind RoboDoc.

Just then, the alien trips over its own tentacles and breaks its own neck, leaving the day completely saved by nothing more than blind luck and poor OHS compliance.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Fitz immediately turns on his so-called charm and tries to get into Femur’s ridiculously-tight pants and offers to endorse AIDS, restoring the organization’s credibility, making Entussa wake up to extraterrestrial threats and, more importantly, end up swimming butt-naked in a shit-load of money!

The Doctor is left on the sidelines, totally ignored as Fitz "Intergalactic Man of Mystery" signs a lucrative contract with AIDS as their official spokesman, promising to tell the world about how his maverick genius and the resources, reliability and sheer bra size of Helen Femur have saved the day again.

Grumbling at what a hammy bastard Fitz is, the Doctor is thankfully ripped out of the interstitial nexus and sent hurtling into another dimension altogether before he can be humiliated any more than he already has been during this story.

The Company of Jerks 3/4 – Izzy Sinclair’s Audition

The Doctor snaps back into existence on the village green of Stockbridge, a quiet, sleepy English town and more dangerous than laser surgery carried out by heroin-addicted howler monkeys in the middle of a category-5 tornado!

The Doctor immediately turns to run when he bumps into a geeky 18-year-old girl with her hair in that ghastly This-Life-Style brunette-with-blond bangs and bright purple lipstick. In this reality, the Doctor is accompanied by a girl called Izzy, but unfortunately MUCH louder and irritating than the Izzy we may once have known.

Izzy shouts and rants and generally exposits that the Doctor has used his mighty time machine to take her back to her home town in the late 80s – not to solve the mystery of the flying cigar over Wells Wood or the cattle mutilations at Old Man Harvey’s farm, but to buy an extremely-hard-to-find edition of 2001AD, a period piece overflowing with page upon page of badly-drawn mindless violence.

"Well, Doctor? What do you think?" she asks.

"I think... I think it’s time you got laid, Izzy. Seriously, this sexual frustration is clearly driving you stark staring mad..."

Izzy screams at him he is missing the inherent, extremist satire in a comic that spells "kids" with a Z. "It’s got subtext!" she shrieks, waving a pop-out-eyeball taped to the front cover.

The Doctor shakes his head, wondering if Izzy getting a right royal seeing-to might snap her out of her strange obsession where a missing comic rate rates higher than visiting Atlantis, taking tea with Jack the Ripper or watching John Howard lose the 2008 Federal Election!

Izzy protests that she has absolutely no interest in boys, and when a well-fit eighteen year old blonde would rather be a self-described 'comics nerd' instead, well that can only mean she’s the biggest dyke outside of Holland water reservoirs!

"No hassle," the Doctor assures Izzy. "I know plenty of cute chicks who’d bang you like a dunny door in a cyclone. Did I ever tell you about this blond I knew called Charley...?"

However, Izzy is so far into the closet she has Narnia as her postcode and, despite the clear fact denying her Sapphic tendencies is clearly giving her a nervous breakdown, she storms the nearest newsagents to get her prized 2001AD comic!

Ironically, the only issue has been reserved by Izzy’s past self (or the "weird kid who is so obviously queer it’s tragic" as the newsagent absent-mindedly refers to her) and Izzy’s grip on reality slackens even further as she starts babbling about her comic collection.

The newsagent and the Doctor watch on in horror, both in agreement that this poor human wretch needs hot girl-on-girl action immediately, and since there are at least three gay pubs in Stockbridge, it’s not as if she’s got any excuse. I could make a cheap joke about her being the only gay in the village but... no. I won’t.

Just then two MIBs enter the shop, smash the place up, steal the all-important comic book and then leave. "This is just fucking typical!" Izzy rants, now seemingly believing the MIBs were bit-part characters from a Judge Dredd strip.

"Seriously," the Doctor protests as she drags him out of the shop, "I think you MEDICALLY need sex right now, Izzy..."

His beyond-frustrated companion insists they use the TARDIS to find another copy of her beloved juvenile trash, having absolutely no interest in the bizarre MIB activity they witnessed. Izzy is now so insane she believes the Doctor is the tooth-fairy, so the Doctor decides to not waste any more time.

The TARDIS re-materializes in Soho’s red-light district where the Doctor bodily drags Izzy into the nearest lesbian brothel. This particular whorehouse was recommended him by a former companion, Destrii Anatos the fish girl who is living a simple but rewarding life on Earth in 1988 since her home planet got destroyed.

Izzy, in the demented belief she’s at a comic book studio, tries to offer her portfolio to the numerous prostitutes she encounters. "It’s all girly!" she protests as they undress her, "Where's the pathos?"

The Doctor pops to a café, orders the finest wines known to humanity, picks an argument with the waiter, gets thrown out and returns to the TARDIS to find a very flushed and dazed Izzy slumped outside the front door of the brothel, singing "I Can’t Decide" to herself.

"Well, I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed," Izzy says. "It’s just wrong, alright? A whole world of wrong! Girls shouldn’t bonk other girls! It’s the law! Isn’t that right, Ms. Thatcher?"

The Doctor’s hopes fade fast that his new companion will stop behaving like a retarded child with a horrific nerdy obsession. The only difference between Izzy and the other selfish, obnoxious, nasal-voiced, bespectacled geeks is... um... oh! She’s got nice skin.

"Bloody hell, Izzy, are you ALWAYS going to be this excruciating?! Even I can do better than a two-dimensional stereotyped nerd!"

Vitreous time burns the Time Lord into another continuity, and the Doctor thankfully takes his leave of this shouty, whiney closeted homosexual plunging depths of stupidity that make him pine for Lucie Miller herself...

The Company of Jerks 4/4 – Mary Shelly’s Audition

The ruined TARDIS has crash-landed outside a villa on a dark and stormy night as thunder rumbles, lightning flashes, and in the distance a wild cat does woof. As such, the weather perfectly suits the Doctor’s mood as he stumbles towards the front door.

For this is the Villa Diodati in 1816, and in the ancient traditions of cheap horror films yet to be made, a bunch of irresponsible horny 20-some-things have decided to crash by the shores of Lake Geneva and tell each other ghost stories. After all, what’s the worst that could happen apart from a pre-make of the Friday 13th movie franchise?

Our hapless gang consists of

- Percy Shelly, a junkie snob man-slut

- Mary Shelly, his Goth-chick wife

- Claire Clairmont, her bimbo stepsister with a stupid name

- Lord Byron, a club-footed asshole beatnik poet with a pet bear (not a fetish or anything, he actually has a psychotic grizzly bear as a domestic pet)

and John Polidori, the designated driver and token geek.

As they do the traditional party games like "Drink 8 Bottles of Absinthe And Read A Chapter of Tolstoy Without Mixing A Metaphor" until one o’clock in the morning and Percy freaks out, the Doctor knocks on the door asking for help.

Mary Shelly answers the front door, the Doctor is mortified – he’s been boasting about being an old pal of Shelly’s to every respectable and disrespectable time traveler he knows and now he’s bound be caught out. Deeply embarrassed, he introduces himself as "Dr. Casanova Fronkensteen" and pretends to pass out.

Unfortunately, lying unconscious and vulnerable in front of junkie loonbags like Byron and Shelly is NOT a wise course of action. "It appears we have a corpse on our hands and I propose an experiment after the manner of Signor Galvani!" Shelly laughs insanely.

Still feigning unconsciousness, the Doctor’s confidence that the drunken stoners are joking about electrocuting him with piano wire and a lightening storm. Polidori notes that this is an outrage against nature and degenerate, abject madness – which only succeeds in encouraging the others all the more!

"The tempest is upon us! Come, god of Thunder, unleash your elemental fire! Lightning - the fundamental force of the universe! The ether! The spirit! Strike! It is I - the modern Prometheus! THE PUNT-POLE IN THE GONDOLA OF LIFE!"

The Doctor decides he is completely bloody sick of this and rises up to give Percy Shelly either a stern-talking-to or a vicious kicking to the testicles when suddenly POW! ZAP! KA-BLAM!

The Time Lord is left a scorched, half-melted zombie by a blast of lightning which, oddly enough, pisses him off slightly. He deals with his discomfort by smashing apart every bit of furniture he finds and tries to rip out the entrails of Byron and Shelly, like Charlie Sheen on an all-night bender.

"A demon, an abomination, a blasphemy against creation!" shouts Polidori, rather emphasizing the Charlie Sheen similarities.

Finally, the Doctor gets bored trashing the villa and stumbles back to the TARDIS. Being the only person at Lake Geneva NOT a total fuckwit, Mary follows him to see if he’s feeling a bit less homicidal. All girls like bad boys after all, and you can’t get badder than a semi-decomposed psychotic zombie, can you?

For her part, Mary quite likes the ruined TARDIS which looks rather like a nightmare of buckled girders and crumbling masonry which appeals to her nihilistic pretensions.

Breathless and struggling, the Doctor manages to get the warped and buckled console to send a distress signal. However, even assuming anyone hears it, who is willing to bother to come to save the Doctor from his hideous injuries?

After wallowing in self-pity and misery for a few minutes, the Doctor finds that Mary’s tied him up with some high-stress cables from the console. Mary is mighty kinky and this sort of S&M bondage appeals to her. Unfortunately, this makes the Doctor go ape-shit once again.

"There’s no pleasing somebody," Mary muses glumly, before running for her life out of the TARDIS and back to the Villa Diodati.

Back there, Mary tries to explain the situation to her friends who (typically enough) immediately try to strip her naked and ply her with booze. As the ferocious Doctor tries to break through the window, another police-box-shaped TARDIS appears out of thin air.

OK, kids, this is where it gets complicated.

Since no one else in the cosmos would bother to come to the Doctor’s rescue, thus the Doctor himself comes to the rescue – specifically a version of the Doctor from the very beginning of his eighth lifetime when he was traveling with Sherri and Terri.

Thus, the Past Eighth Doctor is a bit bewildered to find a bunch of 19th Century gothic celebrities hiding from his future self who is answering to the name of "Frankenstein".

The Past Doctor confronts the Present Doctor, intending to induce some sort of somnambulistic trance. He attempts this by trying to calm him down with a soothing Venusian lullaby version of Seal’s "Kissed By A Rose", and when that doesn’t work, he settles for violently head-butting the other Time Lord unconscious.

The Past Doctor is far from pleased to learn from Mary and Polidori that they will electrocute him at some point in his future time-stream for nothing more than shits and giggles. He also accuses Byron of "stealing my look" and threatens to four-dimensionally sue the ass off the total bastard the first chance he gets.

Realizing the end of the episode is rapidly approaching and he really better get his skates on to resolve the plot ASAP, the Past Doctor runs down to the Present Doctor’s smashed-up TARDIS and replaces its vital power source – with a fresh Panasonic battery! Immediately the time machine is restored to its proper organic-funk-coral-groove style and the TARDIS comes to life once more.

And, thanks to that slightly-creepy isomorphic symbiotic pseudo-sexual relationship the Time Lords have with their time machine, the self-repair starts to effect the Present Doctor, who begins to regenerate!

The Past Doctor, Mary, Percy, Claire, Polidori, Byron and his pet bear gather round the bedside, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the Ninth Doctor as the Eighth glows with golden light and begins to metamorphose like melting wax, forming and shifting and healing until, at last...

...he looks exactly the same as the Past Doctor.

How can the Doctor regenerate without changing his face? Is it a bizarre side effect of crossing the dimensions while infected with vitreous time? Is the universe itself holding the Eighth Doctor’s time stream in check because there are more badass things for this specific incarnation to do? Is it just that Big Finish can’t afford an actor of Christopher Eccleston’s caliber?

Yeah, it’s probably just the last one now you come to mention it.

The Present Doctor recovers consciousness. "Oh no, I remember - this happened before, didn’t it? The other way round? I was you! And now, I’m the other one! How wibbly-wobbly and timey-wimey! A temporal foxtrot backtracking through history! DAMN IT, I JUST LOVE ONTOLOGICAL PARADOXES USED AS DUES EX MACHINAS!"

As the two Eighth Doctors argue about which one of them is the older version or the younger version, Mary snaps that the two of them should just shut up and get the hell out of here because even getting smashed on laudanum and absinthe is more entertaining than this cross-temporal stand-up comedy monologue.

"You do have a point, Mary. His very presence could cause a paradox of cataclysmic proportions," says one of the Doctors, and then kicks the other in the bollocks. "Now get out of here before I do something that will have disastrous consequences to the web of time!"

"Fine!" squeaks the other Doctor. "And when I get to be you, I will take great pleasure in kicking myself in the testicles!"

"Yes, I will, won’t I?" the present Doctor agrees. "Now, get out of here, and look after yourself – I won’t always be around to save your lilly-white backside, you know!"

"But I’M the one who saved YOU!"

"So you know exactly what I’m talking about!"

Mumbling that "future me scares me", the past Doctor hobbles off to his TARDIS and leaves his present self to chat up Mary. For her part, Mary wonders how she possibly could make some money out of this truly demented weekend.

"You could turn it into a novel," the Doctor suggests, "Something the newspapers could dub disgusting, depraved and appalling, perhaps? The sort of thing that gets reviews saying 'I have never seen such nudity! Who on Earth wants to see lesbians and John Barrowman’s arse?'"

Downstairs Polidori is telling Shelly and Percy they are a bunch of drug-addled wankers and he wants no more to do with them, Shelly is reminding Polidori he gets paid to help with their sordid whims, Byron is suggesting another game of Grizzly Bear Roulette, and Claire is desperately trying to get Byron to acknowledge the fact he’s got her pregnant and the fact he finds her boring won’t cut much ice with the child support services, will it?

Mary listens to the losers rant on and asks, "Well, the drug-crazed degenerate celebrity holiday’s not really working out, so..."

"Travel with me in the TARDIS? Be my companion in the entirely-platonic-no-strings-separate-sleeping-arrangements sense?"

Mary nods.

"Oh well, guess we can’t have everything," the Doctor shrugs. "Still, hopefully this way you won’t get knocked up like the last two... but I should warn you, Mary, I have insanely high standards and I’ve already turned down three applicants in as many episodes! Frankly, I’m not sure ANYONE deserves a life of adventure, marveling at the perversions available across the universe. On the other hand..."

This is the girl, who combined sex and suicide pacts (she prefers laudanum to flintlock pistols), who eloped with a married man many years older than her on donkey-back, who had to put up with the entire English celebrity circle telling her "Serves you right for dressing like a tart, you harlot!" when she had a miscarriage, who keeps internal organs from ex-boyfriends as keepsakes, and who lost her virginity ON HER MOTHER’S GRAVE.

Quite frankly, the Doctor may never again find someone who makes HIM look positively normal in comparison! Plus, given how screwed-up her life will become on Earth, the danger and horror experienced aboard the TARDIS can only be a considered one last chance for a relaxing break.

And so the Doctor and his new companion depart for future adventures involving the same old crap like Cybermen, Exxons and King Harold at the Battle of Hastings until Big Finish finally stop making this crap.

No comments: