Three sugars for the Doctor, none for Miss Grant. He likes a running supply of Jaffa cakes in the afternoon. Excitement round here today because of his invite. Christmas in his big house in Norfolk. Very nice. Room for all. YES MASTER. BLEEP.
The Brigadier’s not best pleased about the Christmas plans. He’s got the Cryons in today. Cream horn for the Brig, though not when he’s in a meeting. A cup of Earl Grey and a bleak-looking plate of Digestives. I UNDERSTAND MASTER. BLEEP. Doesn’t want to look like he’s flashing government money about. Course the Minister in with him goes demanding bleedin’ doughnuts, don’t he?
Last week it was Axos in the building, causing a rumpus, then the Master made a fleeting, deadly visit over the weekend, and the week before Gawd knows. The whole bleedin’ building’s had to be frozen because of these visitors from, where was it? Telos. On a diplomatic mission or something. The Doctor’s been in with them, but he doesn’t have much patience these days. He’s keen to work on his whatsit, dematerialisation circuit. THY WILL BE DONE, MASTER. BLEEP. I slip him an extra packet of Jaffa cakes when I can, poor old thing. I can understand how he feels about this exile business. One afternoon when we were locked in the attic (by the Master) he told me all about it. Well, I did sympathise. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never see Hastings again, which was where I was born. BLEEP. I WILL NOT LET YOU OR YOUR ALLIES DOWN, MASTER. BLEEP BLEEP.
I went in with the tea about an hour ago and the Brig was ushering the Cryons out, back to their ship. Funny-looking women. Captain Yates usually has the interviews with the lady aliens, have you noticed? Very fond of a ginger snap, Captain Yates. In fact, all the ladies end up in Captain Yates’ office. Just saying. Don’t mean nothing. He’s always seemed like a perfect gentleman to me. BLEEP. INDEED, MASTER.
Course, I felt more special when I didn’t know the Christmas invite was for everyone in UNIT. But never mind. And then it had a bit less appeal when it turns out the old Doc’s saying there’ll be some dreadful invasion happening on Christmas Eve and he wants everyone to stick together during the bleedin’ festivities. Cybermen or something. Again!
Been down in the lock-up, downstairs. Sergeant Benton trying out his numbers for the Christmas Party. Singing ‘My Way’ to the grisly bunch of ne’er-do-wells they’ve got banged up down there. Those Silurians give me the pip, they do. I don’t mind monsters as a rule, it’s just the ones who try to hypnotise you. They’re the ones that get my goat. BLEEP. I’ve been under the ‘fluence more times than I care to remember. And they always try to make me turn against everyone in the organization, which can be a right palaver to explain. Murdering visiting dignitaries, blowing up UNIT HQ, nobbling the Doctor’s Police Box and what have you. I WILL BE THERE, MASTER. THEY WON’T SUSPECT A THING. BLEEP.
Now it’s not even December yet and I’ve got tinsel on my hostess trolley and I’m wearing a party hat whatever Lethbridge-Stewart says. Well, roll on Christmas, I say. Even if it looks like we’re gonna be working right through the season. BLEEP.