"Doctor, when's your birthday?"

"Told you before, Rose, I don't--" Her reproachful eyes pierce his hearts. "Fifeenth Trekhet."


"Alien, me -- remember? Eleventh month of the year on my planet."

"Oooh!" She jabs at the newspaper. "That makes you a Scorpio!"

"Astrology? That rubbish is straight out of the Middle Ages! Thought you had more sense."

"'Scorpios are determined, forceful individuals." she reads. "'They thirst for knowledge, but are secretive, and need to be in control...'"

"That fits," Jack says, grinning.

"'Their intense, magnetic sensuality makes them irresistible--'"

"'Course, primitive superstitions often have a core of truth in 'em..."