He doesn't like tinsel, you see, Phil.
Well, no, I'm a liar. He loves tinsel. Big child, really. And were he, some morning, to wake having been wrapped up all in tinsel, he would enjoy that very much, and probably go about swinging his arms and pretending he was a Hillin or a Great Crested Snart of mating age or something like that. Not a Christmas tree, though, that wouldn't cross his mind.
"I take it this is The Doctor we're talking about, yes, River?"
Oh, Phil, who else?
But anyway, to clarify, he hates tinsel on the Tardis. And with good cause too; it gets into things and sticks and is made of glass which has on occasion been known to be a non-conductor and break things. She's a delicate machine, for all the abuse she takes. Break one thing and it all goes along.
"What's tinsel got to do with anyth- Don't throw that!"
I'm getting to what tinsel has to do with anything; I was just giving you the background and you, Doctor Phillip Frungle, would be well-advised not to interrupt again.
What tinsel's got to do with, or what's got to do with tinsel, matter of fact, is what happened the day before Christmas Eve. Now as I'm sure all you Stormcage boys know, my husband came to get me. He parked his craft like any other visitor, made his way down here like same, then soniced the locks and off we went.
Point is, we were in something of a rush, what with the stunners and sirens. It's the best part, is the rush. The heartbeat bit, all hand in hand and no defence but each other. It's a thing of beauty, Phil, you should try it sometime. Point is, he wasn't gone from the Tardis very long. There was no messing about around the cell. Or in the cell. That's been known to happen. Nothing to get the boys up there watching the CCTV all excited.
And don't think I don't see all those cameras turning round anytime that should be happening, gents.
Ten minutes, tops, is about my point here.
And in the space of ten minutes my mum had basically managed to coat the console room in tinsel. And her and Dad, they jump out, with their big well-meaning smiles and shout, "Surprise!"
Which I thought was meant for me, since I wasn't aware they were even going to be there, but I'll get to that. That was a whole other balloon, Phil, and yet to burst.
Tell me, though, Doctor Frungle PhD, what would you have done? Even under the tinsel-hating, potentially-life-threatening circumstances? What would you have done? I'm asking you, Phil, because you seem like a reasonable man, and polite and genuine and that kind of thing. Would you, for instance, have smiled, and been appreciative, and quietly removed tinsel from any sensitive places before taking off? Or would you, perhaps, have had a quiet explanatory word with the young lady who is supposed to be one of your closest friends and done everything nice and civilly?
Or would you, and bear with me on this one because it might not make much sense to a sensible person like you or me, have just asked straight away, and not so much asked as ordered, that it all be taken down right away? And upon that young lady's refusal to do so, would you then have begun to take it down yourself?
"Probably not that last one…"
No, of course you wouldn't have, Phil. You're sane. You're normal and you think about other people and their feelings, Phil. You don't know what a relative rarity you are.
"So what happened, River?"
Well, he's going about like a madman, tearing down tinsel, and Mum, at first, she thinks it's all a big joke. Followed him around, called him a Scrooge, you know the type of thing. Then she started putting it back up behind him. And he wasn't happy about that. So he finally decided to explain to her the whys and wherefores of not hanging tinsel off the time rotor or stuffing it down the transdimensional regulator. 'Finally' being about five minutes too late and in entirely the wrong tone and volume of voice. She got annoyed, started shouting back, how he makes her feel like a child sometimes and he says, because he's an idiot, Phil, a beautiful idiot but an idiot nonetheless and I make no bones about that-
"What'd he say?"
He said, 'You are a child'.
Which is fine. He's nine-hundred-and… something, not sure when he was coming from. But that's not the way she took it.
Then it turned nasty. There's me standing, having thought this was going to be the start of the Christmas holidays, and Dad didn't know where to put himself, and they were scaring the little one, so-
"Wait, what, hm? Hold on. 'Little one'?"
You can stop flicking through the file, Phil, you haven't missed anything there. There's a girl at that particular point in time. She's on board with him until he knows she's not going to kill him anymore.
"But you-"
My God, you're obsessed. That's not true, Phil, that's not happening. Anyway, this other girl was a different assassin altogether. Jessica. And she's not really like that. She's a sweetheart, really, but it's all left her a bit wary of conflict.
"Where was she?"
Well, first she tried to follow him. Wanted him to calm down, doing her level best. He thought she was there to help, of course, and started handing her the tinsel, which Mum kept taking off her again, which just left her even more stuck. Eventually she sat down under it all. Completely lost. Would have cried if she understood the concept.
Oh, don't look at me like that, Phil. Keep up or just let it go.
Anyway, ultimately Mum stormed out and Dad went to see to her, and he walks up to me, the Doctor this is, and apparently doesn't see that I'm about to kill him and says, "Oh, sorry about that, River, silly humans blah blah not like us blah clinging to antiquated tradition blah-di-blah."
And I'm like, "Those silly humans just happen to be my parents."
He gets all cagy then and holds onto my arm and says, "You're not going to flounce out too, are you?"
Says I, "No, but you're going to go and apologize to Mummy," and he refuses. Which led to… something of an argument.
"Why do I get the feeling you're holding back a touch there?"
Well, there was the tinsel thing and then there was the fact that Mum and Dad were there. He usually gives me a bit of warning if it's going to be a family affair. It isn't always, y'know. Generally we have Christmas on a secluded white sand shore somewhere, or something equally lovely. It's a holiday, you know?
Anyhow, suffice to say, Phil, it ended with both of us headed in opposite directions looking for the same first aid box.
"You threw something."
I did. I'm into it lately. Experimenting with long-range combat and finding it pleasing.
Anyway, he was going the wrong way.
So I was passing the morning room. And inside there's this fevered little rustling noise. So I put my head around the door. Jessica, Phil. Little Jessica kicking the living daylights out of a heap of tinsel and telling it off under her breath for being bad and getting Amypond in trouble and making Doctor angry. "Shiny snakes am having been bad," she said to me. Break your heart if you let it…
"Sorry… what age is this girl?"
Nobody's sure. Fifteen, sixteen? Thereabouts… You're staring at me again, Phil, what's the matter?
"'Shiny snakes'?"
Oh, right… Yeah, best just go along with that. Actually, think about that, and then think about how difficult it would be to explain anything to somebody whose concepts are so far up the left. Especially trying to change their mind about anything.
I decided, being the bright and selfless sunbeam of a soul that I am, to save the day. Not to let Christmas get off on the wrong foot. It was gracious of me, I know. I was fully within my rights to throw a strop the same as anybody. I had more of a right than most of them. You'll agree with me, Phil. You'd have to, as a man with the facts. The facts agree with me. But I didn't. No, I didn't succumb to the easy way out, burrowing up and being all bitter and selfish and never thinking of anybody's feelings but my own, meaning well most of the time and just going about it all wrong, and you just have to know how to take him, really, but God he makes it bloody difficult sometimes-
"River?"
Hm? Oh yes. Day-saving.
Please Mummy, shut the Doctor up and calm Jessica down, all at one fell swoop.
See, I know the Tardis better than Mum. The Doctor, too. And he, of course, was off in the wrong direction hunting for a sticking plaster. So I snuck Jessica back to the console room, and I showed her where it was safe to put tinsel. Round the banisters and railings, round the monitor. Round her head. All came up rather festive, in the end. And perfectly safe. And suddenly everybody understood what all other parties had been trying to say. Compromise reached, equilibrium restored, peace and goodwill to all bloody men.
"River, you're smiling."
"Well, it was nice, Doctor Frungle. Just because I'm a diagnosed psychopath doesn't mean I can't enjoy the odd nice memory every so often. Honestly, I'm sick of this kind of self-fulfilling treatment from your profession, it's-"
"No, I mean… We're having this conversation because you came back still very annoyed."
"Yes. So?"
"And you're smiling."
"Oh. Oh, I see what you're getting at. Oh, Phil. Poor, sweet Phil. You think that's the end of the story. That The Tinsel War began and ended on that one little skirmish. Oh, you're a dear, you really are."
[For poor, sweet Madis, who has been around from the start and so supportive (Lord love her wits) and who once made the silly mistake of telling me that character conflict was her favourite kind of conflict. Merry Xmas, hon.]
