'You wouldn't really?' asked Rose, in the early hours of the morning of December the 11th.

'Try me,' he challenged, putting his hands behind his head.

They were lying in bed, resting in between bouts of ferocious lovemaking, and she had taken the rare opportunity of finding her mouth not otherwise engaged to try to have a conversation.

'Anything though? Anything at all?'

'I'd do anything once,' he replied. 'Comes with the territory. Like I said — you've got to jump in, use the wrong verb. No point in travelling if you won't try anything new.'

'I'll hold you to that then,' she said, just before he reached out and started to show her again just how many things he had already tried.

Ten minutes before midnight on December 12th she found a way to test him out. They were standing in the middle of a tight press of men, in the middle of the dance floor, in the middle of G.A.Y., a thriving one night a week venue in the heart of glamorous London's West End. She had been there once with Shireen when both of them were on a break from their then boyfriends and looking for a laugh. It was a great place to come if you were a straight girl. Possibly not so great if you were a straight Time Lord though, she thought, reviewing the expression on his face.

'You said you'd try anything once,' she shrugged. 'Just find somebody you like and ask him back to the TARDIS. No big deal. Oh — but I want to watch.'

He glowered at her. 'And what gives you the impression that I'd enjoy that?' he asked.

'Well,' she said looking him up and down. 'Let's see — skin tight black jeans, nearly shaved off hair, obsession with leather jackets, obvious control freak. You fit right in.'

She was still laughing when his back disappeared up the long flights of stairs on his way out of the club. Clearly, there were some things that he wouldn't even try once.