Doctor Who: The Day of the Doctor by Steven Moffat

Author:Steven Moffat
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

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PLEASE KEEP THIS BOOK DRY AT ALL TIMES OR YOU MIGHT MAKE THE PAGES ALL SOGGY.

A word, then, about UNIT—

No, sorry, we’ve moved on from Chapter Nine. I’m sure you all did your best, it’s a tricky one for the smartest of us. Try again, if you really must, but human brains are not equipped for this sort of thing. Stick to texting and soaps—I do.

Now then: UNIT has strict protocols concerning—

No, really, pipe down. You’ve all read Chapter Nine, every last one of you. I’ve got the records right here, look. Oh, you can’t see, I haven’t turned on the webcam. Well, sorry, I don’t want to use that till later, it’s murder on the bandwidth.

Oh, hang on—just had an email from the publishers. (Well, I say ‘just’. As I explained, I’m writing from ten years in the future so, really, I’m catching up on my messages a decade late, which is pretty good for me.) Ah, now, this is interesting. Owing to you lot whinging so much, they’re adding an extra bit to the book. At the very end, you will find an additional blank page (the cover price will reflect this, I’m afraid). Next time you read Chapter Nine, turn here and make a mark. That way you can assure yourself, whatever the state of your memory, you have read the chapter in question. Satisfied? Good, good.

Now. UNIT has some very strict protocols regarding written material covering any aspect of their various missions—the silly old whelks. Nothing can ever be held on computer, or any form of digital storage. No, the only accounts you will ever find of UNIT activity are handwritten by one or more of the participants. It is their belief, bless them, that handwriting cannot be hacked (hee hee!) or corrupted (oh, my aching sides, stop it!).

Once, during one of my many visits, I asked old Alistair (Lethbridge-Stewart, do keep up!) what was the most important quality in a UNIT commander. He thought for a moment, in his usual grave way, and said, ‘Good handwriting!’

Oh, we laughed. But we always laughed, he and I, right up to the end. The mischief we got up to! But look, you’re not reading this book to hear about two old boys, chortling away together in a hospice, I do realise that—the fact is, I just don’t care. He was a good friend, the bravest of soldiers, and a devil with the ladies till his last day. Gracious me, that man could tango—but as soon as a pretty girl came in, I was shoved straight out of the way.

Kate was the apple of his eye, of course. She could do no wrong by him. Though when she came to see him at the hospice, he’d tell her she was his only visitor, just so she’d come round more often. The old dog! Sometimes I was right there, hiding under the bed.

Now Kate’s handwriting, it must be said, is exceptionally good (ah, see how I slalom back into relevance) as you are about to see for yourselves.

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