Howling beside her, he pulls the lever. After a night fighting werewolves he thinks a good rock and roll show is just the ticket, mentally begs the TARDIS to cooperate. When the thrumming stops, they fall out the doors, laughing still–he thinks she growls one last time as they tumble into the street–to July 4th, 1976. No American Bicentennial for them, no: they are in Sheffield (good old girl, his TARDIS). There is nothing quite as punk as coming right back to England after being exiled by Queen Victoria, he tells her, grabs her hand and pulls her toward a dingy little brick building.

He tells her this is the Clash's first show, that they are opening for the Sex Pistols pre-Sid Vicious. She looks impressed and he's proud. Of course she has good taste. She jumps to the music, throwing her hands in the air, and Johnny's in good form and she shakes her head and lets her now wavy hair (oh, he likes it wavy) whip around her and he can almost hear the tiny sonic booms.

They leave the club late, Rose wants to give Joe Strummer a hug so she can tell her mum later, and he pretends not to be jealous by asking Johnny what he thought of the Ramones show last month. They stumble from the club, drunk on joy, and he walks behind Rose, hands in his pockets and duster swishing, and watches her bounce back to the TARDIS. She shouts that she is an anti-christ, an anarchist, that she doesn't know what she wants but she knows how to get it. She hits the door as she screams she wants to be anarchy and bumps it open with her bum. And oh, he knows what he wants, but he doesn't quite know how to get it. He wonders if the TARDIS sent them back to Scotland because she doesn't like Ian Dury much (she is a very picky space ship), but he does because he is a blockhead and Rose is shimmying around the console, now asking the air–or him, in his dreams–to hit her with his rhythm stick. And she called him a big punk with a little rockabilly thrown in but she is sex, drugs, and rock and roll.