Rose was sitting on the TARDIS chair with her feet up against the console when the Doctor came in from the back wearing a Roman toga.
"Right, are we off then?! No place better for architecture than good old Roma." He grinned, Rose looked up at him, stony-faced and silent. "What?"
"Do we have to?" The Doctor seemed stumped by the question.
"What do you mean?"
"Well… can't we have a vacation?"
"A vacation?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Well. Think about it. If we go, we'll be yelled at, slapped, find a new race of egomaniacal beings intent on destruction, or just plain screw up through ill-advised good intentions and end up being chased by the local monarch, end up in completely the wrong place at the wrong time resulting in separation/near-death experience etc., find some new dimension where the Daleks will somehow have reincarnated themselves into a new scarier version where they are even harder to kill than before, or if we don't do that we'll somehow start a chain of cataclysmic events that will rip a hole in time and space and most probably blow up the Universe."
The Doctor stared at her, dumbfounded. After a few moments of silence, he shrugged, "Fair point."