"I've found something!"

The young girl laid down her trowel. "No one hear me? I've found something!"

A few of the older people murmured from their huddle underneath the white plastic canopy a few metres away. The girl sighed. She hated it when they did this. Ok, so she was young and sometimes, a little cocky, but did everyone have to be so rude? "No one interested?"

The others continued to ignore her. The girl picked up the trowel again, "Right," she grumbled, "I'll just keep on digging, shall I? I could have dug my own grave by now!" She continued tilling away at the soil. 'Now, be careful,' she thought, 'There's no knowing how old this is.' She looked at the hard blue solid, protruding from the ground. Just a small glimpse of what lay underneath but promising enough to make her dig further. As she dug, she began to age it mentally. 'Blue – Copper ions. At least a few centuries old then.' She scraped away, gently, eager to see what the mysterious object was, which, as she dug, was proving to be much bigger than she had anticipated. 'Not pottery,' she thought, 'Far too firm.' She took off her gloves and touched it. 'Wood,' she concluded firmly, 'Must be blue paint, then.' She groaned at this realisation – it couldn't be that old. 'Could be iron age,' she thought, trying to be optimistic, 'Like in Heuneburg.' She scraped away a little more at the curious object, buried underneath the ground and then stopped. She came across something soft and white. 'Paper?' she thought, 'Rather erroneous.' She took out her brush and it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't recorded any of her observations. She pulled out her voice recorder from her pocket – then realised it wasn't working and tossed it to the ground in exasperation. 'I'll have to do it manually, then,' she noted and pulled over her bag. Fumbling within it, she pulled out her diary and pen, opened it on the right page and wrote: Found what appears to be blue wooden object. Uncovered paper adhered to it. Paper reads…" and then put the pen down. "Let's find out, big boy," she smiled and took out her brush, sweeping away delicately at the paper. She began to uncover letters – a P! 'Latin alphabet!' she wrote on the open page, 'Possibly Roman artefact.' She continued sweeping – an O, then an L…I…C…E…B…O…X. Her heart sank. "Police box?" she whispered aloud, "Police box?" She threw the brush at it. "I came all this way to dig up a police box?" She cursed her luck. Some joker must have decided to bury it as a gag in a known archaeological site. 'Great joke!' she thought, 'There goes my chance at a future!' She beat her hands against the ground and lay there, nearly sobbing.

It was at this point that she was aware of movement nearby, something animated, in motion. She looked up at her diary that was lying on the ground by her head. From there, it almost appeared as if – yes, the words were writing themselves! She pulled it to her and looked down at the page. Words were appearing on the page in a scrawled, messy handwriting. "Keep digging, River!" She stared in amazement. The words kept writing themselves, then disappearing, and writing themselves again. "Keep digging, River!" She sighed. Keep digging. 'Easy for you to say,' she thought, staring down at the paper, 'I'm the one doing all the work.' But the mystery of the words stirred her and, shutting the diary for fear of distraction, she picked up the trowel and continued. "Why do all these weird things happen to me?" she complained aloud. A stern voice called, "River! Time to pack up! It looks like it's going to rain!"

"I'll be alright!" she called back, "I don't mind getting wet!" This, of course, was a blatant lie but her curiosity drove her on. 'If curiosity killed the cat, then that's one hell of a way to go!' was her philosophy. She smiled as the murmurs of the other archaeologists faded and the silence of the surrounding forest took over. She looked up at the greying sky. It was going to rain. 'Still,' she thought, 'if I hurry, I might just miss it.' She carried on digging.

After three more hours, she threw her shovel down. She had given up with the trowel long ago. She had uncovered the doors of the police box by now and it seemed to have been buried facing up. Suddenly, she heard a rumble. Thunder. Nowhere to take shelter – the canopy had been taken down. But she didn't want to leave the dig alone, worthless as it was. She looked down at the police box. 'I shouldn't,' she thought but she looked up at the dark thunderclouds overhead, 'But that doesn't mean I'm not going to. I'll be dry, at least.' She sat down on top of one of the doors and, with her feet, pushed the other open. It was completely dark inside but the dark had never scared her and she slipped off the door inside.

Next thing she knew, she was falling, a long, long distance, down and down and down. Then, an enormous splash. Light. She kicked at the water. 'Swim to the surface, River, swim to the surface.' She kicked back and held her breath. In a moment, she was at the surface of the water and looking up at a man in tweeds who was grinning all over. "Hello!" he chirped, "You could have knocked, you know!"

She snarled angrily and splashed the water. "Get me out of here, you idiot!" With the help of the man's hand and mostly her own strength, she pulled herself onto the side of what now appeared to be a gigantic swimming pool. She sat on the floor, coughing and spluttering for a moment, the man looking down sympathetically at her. She was on her feet in a second though and with one sweeping gesture of her hand, slapped his face so hard that he stumbled back and she had to hold his jacket to stop him falling in the pool itself.

"Ow!" cried the Doctor, in a hurt tone, "Is that for something I've done?"

She nodded, "Yes," she replied, "It is."