Doctor Who: Big Finish - Short Trips [006] - Past Tense by Ian Farrington

Author:Ian Farrington
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
Publisher: Big Finish
Published: 2004-03-30T22:00:00+00:00

Bide-a-Wee

Anthony Keetch

‘Ouch!’

The Doctor grimaced at the sharp pain and glanced down. A small orange crab was indignantly nipping at his big toe. He shooed it off with his walking stick, and it scuttled off seaward.

The Doctor smiled and took a large lick of his ice cream. It really was most delicious, he must try to programme the food machine to recreate it. Susan would enjoy it too, she had inherited his sweet tooth.

He felt a momentary pang.

This was the first time they had been apart since, well, their journeys had begun. But on their first day here she had met four children and a dog, and they had invited her to go camping on a small island which one of them owned. An unlikely story, but they seemed nice children, unlikely to drag her into mischief.

The Doctor inhaled a large gulp of the salty sea air and tutted with delight! He felt an unaccustomed surge of gratitude for the TARDIS for bringing him to England during a glorious summer. Most relaxing after recent events. He hadn’t had a holiday since… The Doctor considered. Had he ever had a holiday? A period where, from arrival to departure, the only problem had been what to have for dinner. Or what flavour ice cream to have this time?

The Doctor popped the remaining crumbs of his cone into his mouth and glanced upward. Not a cloud in the sky, and there hadn’t been since he had arrived. And that sky was the most delightful shade of blue. It really was perfect here, quite perfect.

Well, almost.

But he would sort that little problem out later.

Maybe…

A bead of sweat plummeted off his distinguished nose.

That sun really was very hot, but then it was midday. And as the Doctor was neither mad, a dog, nor English – in the words of the current song – he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket, tied a knot in each corner, and placed it firmly onto his head. That was better.

Besides, there was a gentle breeze to take the edge of the heat.

Now – find a deckchair and have a snooze.

A bowl of something fluorescently green was placed in front of the Doctor. He sniffed it warily then unfurled his napkin and flapped it across his lap.

‘Ah, splendid, Mrs H!’ came a boom from the other side of the brown-panelled dining room. ‘Pea soup, my favourite!’

‘I know, Major.’ Mrs Hutchings smiled at her longest-serving resident. ‘It’s especially for you.’

‘You’ll like this, Doctor,’ the Major barked from behind his impressively cultivated moustache. ‘Top notch grub, always is.’ A chorus of assent rippled through the other guests, none of whom were likely to trouble sixty again.

‘Language, Major, please,’ sniffed Miss Lanchester, a big spinster with a bust on which you could display a tea service.

The Major ignored the old trout. ‘Don’t I always say that, Mrs H?’

Mrs Hutchings smiled and glanced up as another resident appeared in the dining room. Mr Prentice, a man whose features were forgotten as he was being looked

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