Chapter Three

The trio turn into a busy high-street; the Doctor strides ahead of Amy and Rory, leading them nowhere in particular. They are surrounded by the buzz of ordinary people going out about their ordinary lives: young women in brightly coloured coats and dresses strut between fashionable shops, elderly couples hobble off busses and sit on benches, young men in striped shirts and flared trousers watch the women go by, middle-aged men in closely-cut suits pace confidentially down the street, swinging their leather briefcases beside them without a care in the world, and school children, dressed in blazers or skirts, late for school, hurry through the crowd.

'Judging by the wonderful fashion' Amy says, her head turning to follow the women passing her by, 'I'd say we're somewhere in the sixties?'

'Thank you, Pond' replies the Doctor smugly; he stops to straighten his bow tie in the reflection of a shop window, and tugs slightly at the lapels of his jacket. 'This is probably the only place in all of time and space where the TARDIS and I actually blend in.'

'So this is the sixties?' asks Rory.

'That's correct!' the Doctor replies, spinning around to continue striding down the high-street. 'London, nineteen-sixty-three: it's a wonderful year! What is the date exactly?' The Doctor stops in front of a well-dressed gentleman relaxing on a bench, with his legs crossed, reading the morning newspaper. The Doctor bends right down to read the date on the front page, causing the well-dressed man to give him a stern, confused stare. 'Tuesday the twenty-first of May!' He looks upwards at the somewhat overcast sky, the sun attempting to peak out from behind the clouds: 'not what I'd call summer.' Concerned that the well-dressed gentleman has started to fold away his newspaper, the Doctor resumes his stroll down the high-street with slightly more pace than before.

'Hell of a year, sixty-three' he continues. 'There's great music, The Beatles are at number one; I love The Beatles, me. You've got good-looking cars, and cool fashion' looking around to Amy whilst tweaking his bow tie. 'Great spectacles' he tells a passing young man, pointing at his pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses. 'And apparently there's some great television too. I've never really had time for television, though – but you humans do. As soon as something shiny appears on the box you can't stop watching it, like some kind of magpie.'

At this comment, Rory shoots a sarcastic look at his wife. 'Oy!' Amy replies, giving him slap on the arm, 'I don't watch that much tele!'

'And if it's the twenty-first of May, that means that in America, President Kennedy has exactly...' the Doctor makes a quick calculation on his fingers, 'one-hundred and eighty-five days until he returns home.' The Doctor stops in front of shop window at the end of the high-street, looking triumphant and pleased with himself and his clever speech.

'Goes home?' questions Amy; 'you mean... JFK was an alien?'

'No that's absurd' the Doctor replies. 'He's an alien using the President's human body.'

'Why do aliens always infect humans?' Rory asks.

'Because you're never paying attention' replies the Doctor. 'Right then,' he spins around to put his arms around the shoulders of his companions and looks into the shop window, 'what do you want to do?'

'Well,' Amy says, shrugging off the Doctor's arm, 'I thought Rory and I could go exploring? You know, London, nineteen-sixty-three – it's kind of romantic?'

The Doctor's gives her a look of utter disgust: 'I don't want to do that, it sounds boring!' he says in a childish, whiny voice.

'I was thinking it would just be... me and Rory?' Amy replies.

'Oh, of course... right.' The Doctor removes his arm from Rory's shoulder and brushes himself down. 'Do you remember the rules?' he asks.

Amy gives him a disapproving stare: 'rules?'

'Don't stray too far from the TARDIS, don't invent anything that hasn't been invented yet, and don't get arrested.'

'Arrested?' asks a confused Rory.

'It's annoying.'

Amy grabs her husband by the hand and drags him away, skipping excitedly down the next street. 'We'll be good!' she shouts over her shoulder as the pair leave the Doctor alone, standing in front of the shop window, looking in at a children's book called 'Little Red Riding Hood and the Bad Wolf.'

Alone, the Doctor looks up and down the street, in search of possible entertainment. Although nothing immediately catches his eye, the Doctor decides to walk back in the direction he came from, taking a closer inspection of the gallery of ancient relics on display in the shop windows.

Half way down the high-street the Doctor finds an elderly man sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus. The Doctor joins him, crosses his legs, uncrosses them, and crosses them the other way.

'I've never waited for a bus before' the Doctor tells the elderly man, with a satisfied smile on his face. The man ignores him, and pretends to be interested by something in the opposite direction. 'I don't usually have to wait on other people. I have my own... well it's a bit like a taxi, I suppose. It takes me wherever I want to go.' The elderly man shuffles a few inches along the bench, eager to disassociate himself with the Doctor. Undeterred, the Doctor shuffles up next to him. 'I'm very clever, you see' he continues. 'You know, with science, and technology' he boasts, explaining his point further by flailing his hands. 'It must be very difficult for you?' the Doctor innocently remarks. This, however, hits a nerve with the elderly man, who turns to face the Doctor.

'I would very much like it if you refrained from continuing this conversation' he says from underneath a thick moustache, apparently rather annoyed by the Doctor's suggestion. Without the faintest idea of what he's done wrong, the Doctor stands up and continues to walk back along the busy high-street towards the TARDIS, occasionally looking over his shoulder at the elderly man, who is still rather quite annoyed, and is still waiting for his bus.