A/N: I had a cup of tea last night and this just sort of popped into my head… In the great cosmic flow of timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly stuff, I wonder how the stereotype about Canadians and beer would hold up?
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In a little café at the edge of the galaxy, Donna Noble peered into her cup, catching her distorted reflection in the dark, ruddy liquid.
"It seems ironic," she said.
The Doctor had dozed off in his chair, with his head craned back, stretched out in the sunlight (sunlight provided by no less than three stars, though two were low on the horizon) like a lanky Converse-wearing tabby. His head jerked up at the sound of her voice and he blinked several times.
"Hmm?"
She gave him a pointed look, her lips pressed thinly together, and said, "You did not just fall asleep on me."
"Oh no, no," he replied quickly, "You were saying…something…" He paused for a moment, pursing his lips, and then he brightened a little, "You were saying something was ironic... I just happened to miss what," he added sheepishly.
She rolled her eyes at him and sighed to hide the smile tugging at her mouth. "The tea," she clarified, "The tea seems ironic."
He frowned and peered into her cup also. "How so?"
Donna smiled and hefted her cup. "We're on another planet," she stated, "in space, who knows how far from Earth, three thousand and something years into the future… and the British are still famous for drinking tea."
He laughed, "Trust me; it's one of those long lasting stereotypes."