The thirty-fifth time he bounces into the room with glee. A hundred terrible thoughts whirl through my head: Martha's been captured, the Doctor is dead, Tish has been shot, the earth has exploded. They become more and more wild until:

"I've thought of a new way to kill you."

Oh, that's a relief.

After I wake from that death I vow never to pass an opinion again before the event has happened.

The next three deaths I spend on my knees. He lets the chains run out and… wait for it, knocks me round the head with a shovel. Not as half as painful as it sounds.

The first time it's the top of the head. The second, the bottom and the third both sides. No one can say that that man doesn't like variety.

He's never there when I wake. But he always returns within minutes to bash my head in again. I have no rest and no peace. But they are quick and I thank god for that.