Culture ClashIan and Barbara find it harder to adapt to interstellar culture than they'd thought. Even trying to be polite could get you into trouble.
"Chesterfield, if you cannot behave like a civilized person, then please keep your mouth shut!" The gray haired old man glared at him over a beaky nose.
Chesterton's mouth fell open. "I merely asked it how its day had been!" He waved his hands in exasperation at that unfair accusation.
"It was entirely none of your business how his day had gone. It was inarguably nosy of you to inquire." The Doctor stuck his thumbs behind his lapel and frowned disapprovingly, like an old schoolmaster.
Ian turned and stared in disbelief at Barbara. She shrugged her shoulders, as confused as he was. He turned to look at Susan, only to find her biting her lips together and giving him a pitying look.
"What?" He stared around the console room as if the whole universe was against him. He threw up his hands again. "It was a purple octopus with a parrot beak, wearing
ClambakeThe Second Doctor, Jamie and Victoria are digging for clams on an alien beach, but things aren't always what you expect with the Doctor around.
Jamie was bare-chested, wearing a pair of baggy, drawstring, 20th Century swim trunks that came down to his knees. Victoria was wearing a light Victorian summer dress, complete with wide brimmed hat. She was scooping a hole in the sand with a large bowl.
Jamie looked over at the Doctor, who was sprawled on a weathered Adirondack chair up the beach, his ratty black coat spread open to reveal his much washed white shirt, a dusty bowler hat over his face, "getting some sun."
"Are ye sure about this, Doctor?" Jamie called worryingly, gesturing down at Victoria who was digging at his feet. "This doesna seem to be a way to get a good meal."
The Doctor waved a lazy hand. "Keep digging. I assure you, it will be worth it, Jamie."
Victoria looked up and wiped a forearm over her sweaty brow. "Have you never had clams, Jamie? They're very good."
Puff The 3rd Doctor's always getting chased by monsters, one way or another.
"Jo, get in!"
The Doctor blazed by in Bessie. Jo stepped aboard. Thanks to the inertial dampeners it didn't rip her leg off. She climbed over the footboard into her seat.
She twisted around and stared behind them. "What is that thing?"
"Nervalan Puff Monster," the Doctor answered.
It didn't look puffy. It looked like some sort of alien greyhound, eight feet tall at the shoulder and smooth as a lizard. Narrow head full of jaggle teeth, lean hips, long tail, and a narrow ribcage that expanded and contracted to an alarming degree, stretching like the skin of a frog with every breath.
Bessie was going 80 miles and hour. "It's gaining!"
"I know," the Doctor said with exasperation, "I'm not trying to outrun it."
Jo turned back around and grabbed the side of the windscreen. "Where are we going?"
The Doctor's hair and ruffles snapped in the breeze, Jo tilted her hair out of her eyes, keeping one eye o
James Robert McCrimmon was an uncanny young man from all sides. Firstly, he worked as a musician at the largest local nightclub, although everybody of his age had already found much more decent jobs. Secondly, he still hadn't found a life mate, whatever that meant. Thirdly, he stubbornly refused to learn how to write correctly. All of his written statements contained at least one or two spelling mistakes (if only spelling!). And the main thing was that James Robert McCrimmon had appeared out of nowhere. Nobody could figure out where he had come from.
This evening Jamie was playing his trumpet without a droplet of enthusiasm, although it 'made him alive', as most girls said. He couldn't wait till the closing time, for sure. And that was it. When the final note was played and the final visitor left, Jamie hastily packed his property and almost ran out of the club. Nobody followed him. Who would follow a crazy soul at such time?
When the thumping rhythm of much more f