The snores were becoming a nightmare. It was time for one of her own.
The TARDIS revved up her main motors like a party girl hiking up her petticoat, then shoved her frame to the left; a comet whizzed by outside, kissing her hull with a chaser of ice and dust. The Doctor's sleeping form slid gently across the floor, skidded, then struck some panels sprinkled with buttons and screens. Then the timeship readied the projection from the barn with Clara, War, 10 and 11.
The Doctor's eyes opened with an incredulous glare as she squeaked, "PORK CHOPS?"