A few situations that came to me when I should have been working.


The Doctor walked briskly down the streets, covered in a fine layer of snow, a crisp chill in the air, but wonderfully warm in his fur coat, a gift from the Tzar in the 17th Century. Now ... a copy of The Times for Victoria, the Scottish Edition for Jamie, and for himself, the latest copy of Beano.

He rounded the corner, making sure he had the right change, when he saw the crowd. Aggravated middle-class women and be-studded Generation X'ers.

They were all carrying signs and placards stating 'FUR IS MURDER!' and similar sentiments.

The leaders of the mob saw him at roughly the same time he noticed they were not carrying red paint, but more solid pieces of wood and lead piping.

The Doctor turned, and legged it, the mob hot on his heels.


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