Iris Wildthyme busied round her curious red London double-decker bus TARDIS, ticking things off on a dog-eared list attached to a Mr Men clipboard. She gingerly poked the gold fountain pen she was writing with through her tangled mane of long blonde hair and eventually rested the pen behind her ear, smudging her cheek with blue ink in the process. Nibbling delicately at one pink-painted fingernail, she began to recite her jobs for the day.

Sprawled across a couple of seats was Iris's current companion, a handsome young fellow by the name of Tom. He was idly flicking through a pile of old Look-In magazines he'd found in one of the TARDIS cupboards. He looked up at Iris and wrinkled his nose suddenly.

"Iris," he began.

"Just a minute, dear. Now, first off, drop in to see Father Panucci about the wedding arrangements. Do remind me nearer the time, Tom darling, to check the fashions for the period. I don't want to be caught wearing anything remotely similar to anyone else. It's not a white wedding, so perhaps a little something in purple latex. Hmmm, maybe not. Don't want to give the Don another heart attack now, do we?"

"Iris."

"Hush. Second, those Drommedian Kilbots on Ahn. I'm pretty sure I've got an upgrade floating around the Data banks somewhere that will make them sound like Larry Grayson on Helium. Once the local populace hears them trying to order them around like that, they're bound to take up my suggestion for an uprising. Don't suppose you've given any more thought to my suggestion about staying behind and being their leader have you? No."

"Iris."

"In a minute! Now, that bomb in the Millennium Dome. It seems the powers that be have decided that we might just as well wait for the Daleks to destroy it in 2164. Apparently they've worked out that the extra billion grummas of energy they expend in destroying it saves an estimated 23,000 Londoners lives." She beamed happily. "Nice to know the Dome turned out so useful after all. Oh yes, remind me while we're there to pick up a teddy bear or something from the souvenir shop for little Jimmy's birthday, won't you?"

Tom shook his head and started to waft the Look-In he was reading in front of his face, as smoke started to drift slowly through the TARDIS.

"And this note from UNIT HQ..." she chuckled to herself. "'Corn Circles Must Cease'. Signed in red ink, no less. Alistair must be cross. Obviously my little ruse to put the blame on the Doctor failed..." She stopped and sniffed the air. "Tom, can you smell burning?"

"Yes, Iris. It's those sausages you were cooking for our tea."

"Bugger!" Iris flung the clipboard aside and dashed off. "Why didn't you tell me?" she cried.

Tom shook his head again and got on with reading the amazing adventures of The Tomorrow People.

Iris returned coughing and spluttering clutching a smoking frying pan with the blackened remains of their supper burnt firmly into the metal. She waved a hand in front of her face to clear the fumes.

"Corks. I was looking forward to a nice sausage sandwich too. Oh well." She tossed the pan under the nearest seat. It clanked against the other three ruined pans she'd thrown there earlier. "Curry? I know a nice little place on the Khyber Pass."

Tom tutted sulkily and sunk further into his seat. "I suppose so." He had been looking forward to a sausage sandwich as well. Trust her to ruin things.

"Right then!" she said brightly. She chortled to herself suddenly. "In fact, you could say... a curry on, up the Khyber? Huh? Huh? Oh, my wit is lost on you."

Iris came forward and slipped into the driving seat. She set the controls for their new destination, pausing only briefly to check her make-up in the mirror and fluff her hair.

"A woman's work is never done," she sighed deeply and, picking up the clipboard from the floor, started work on her itinerary again.