A scene from a never completed story

“What's a kipper?” Julie asked as she searched the menu containing her breakfast choices.

“It's a fish,” answered the Doctor, currently engaged in scanning a similar document.

Julie made a face. “I don't think the idea of fish for breakfast would sit very well.”

“It doesn't with me either. This incarnation doesn't seem to tolerate seafood very well. Not that I'm all that hungry in general.”

“You rarely are.”

“True, true,” he murmured.

The owner of the small hotel they were staying in approached their table. He was a tall man with an expressive face, long legs, dark thinning hair, and a tidy mustache. “Ah, Doctor.” That title, 'Doctor', was savoured by the gentleman speaking it, carefully forming it in his mouth before daring to utter it. When they had checked in, he'd been clearly impressed by the title. The Doctor's youthful appearance did not appear to hinder the owner's enthusiasm in any way given the amount of fawning over them he'd done. “I trust you slept well last night.”

“Actually I did, thank you for asking.” At an hour and a half, he felt that he'd overslept a bit, but they were on holiday, so that was acceptable. “How comfortably were you wrapped in the arms of Morpheus this past eve?”

A grin played about the mouth of the owner, evidently pleased by the intellectual reference. “Comfortably enough, when I wasn't being roused by my wife's nocturnal rumblings and roarings.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“As I am when it wakes me.”

The Doctor laughed politely. Seeing that the Doctor had been amused by his minor jest, the hotel owner laughed as well, with considerable more energy than the Doctor had shown. The Doctor patiently waited for the jester to complete his boisterous laughing. This event was not soon in arriving but arrive it did. Once the owner noticed the patiently quiet look on the Doctor's face, he recovered quickly. “Ah, yes, well, nevermind all that. Are you prepared to order your meal?”

“I am, Julie?” She nodded. “I'm not all that hungry this morning. Perhaps a bowl of porridge, some toast, and a glass of milk.”

“Very healthy no doubt,” he gushed as he jotted this information down. “And you miss?”

“I'll try the house omelet, with a side of bacon and toast, and a glass of orange juice.”

“Very good. I'll go and tell the chef.”

As he left to do so, Julie smiled. “What an odd man.”

“Indeed. Fancy a walk after breakfast?”

“Sounds nice, especially since we won't be hunting evil robots or evading energy blasts to do so.”

“It'll be different, that's for sure.”