There's a police box in my garden.

Don't ask me how it got there. I haven't a clue, unless one of my mates put it up after I passed out pissed on gin.

I had put the kettle on and was reaching for a fag. And there it was, faded blue paint and gumball on top. I closed my eyes and gave them a quick hard rub. I hoped it was only a flashback - still prone to them when the hangovers are vicious - and that when I opened my eyes it would be gone.

No such luck.

I lit a fag and went back to the kettle. No sense thinking about the police box in my back yard. Might at well have some strong Earl Grey - Mum taught me how to make it Army style - and finish my fag before finding out which git - gits - stole a police box and dropped it on Fiona's cucumber plant.

"Paul?"

Fiona walked into the kitchen, hair bunned for work, shoes in hand, suit painted on her body.

"Morning."

"Which one of your mates did it?"

"Haven't figured that part out yet. Give them a good bollicking when I do."

Fiona sat down, put her shoes on. Can't even bloody tell the bird had more to drink than I did.

"I'd went to bed before you did," Fiona said.

"I know that, love." I fixed my tea, joined her at the table. "Didn't even know they still had the things."

"Anyway. I'd call the constable. Let him know where it ended up."

Fiona pecked me on the cheek and took off for work, a solicitor's office. I lit another fag, found my slippers. The cold breeze helped beat back my hangover.

***

I touched it. Solid oak. Must have been a bitch to get it over the wall. Couldn't have fitted through the gate...

I touched it again. It vibrated - purred like Fiona does after a shag. I pulled my hand away and stared at it. I dropped the fag into the dirt and stamped on it, eyes still on the police box in my garden, inches away from my nose.

"It better not have been you, Larry. I'll give you a good kicking for this one."

My hand touches it again. Fiona, like a cat. Can I call a police box Fiona? The purr - hum, think of it as a hum - is reassuring, comforting. I think back to days of youth, and old Whiskas sitting on me, nuzzling my chin, as I'm watching Time Tunnel on the telly (what a menky show that was).

"Cor, Whiskas! didja see that?"

Whiskas isn't here, I remind meself. I take my hand off the police box. Since when do police boxes hum? I move to the front of the police box. I open the little door where the telephone is, pick up the receiver. No dial tone.

"Hello?"

"Yes?"

I dropped the receiver. What in bloody hell is going on? Gotta be all those drugs I took coming back to haunt me. Experimentation, bollocks. Brain damage more like it. That and cheap gin. I think about going back to bed and waking up. It has to be a dream, innit?

Just to calm my nerves, I pick up the phone.

"I didn't mean to startle you." Sounds like my old girlfriend Lis.

"Hello? You still there? Hold on a second."

The door opens and in the opening is a slumming art student. Has to be, right? Only a slumming art student would wear her hair that long and straight and out of fashion. Only a slumming art student would wear a gypsy dress and bells on her ankles. Only a slumming art student would be caught dead wearing a giant straw hat like to one that frames her head like a halo.

But the voice is drenched in royalty.

And then a head pops out above the slumming art student. Wild curly hair, huge blue eyes. Probably her professor and lover. Five quid says he has leather patches on the sleeves of his coat.

"Hello," he says.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"What are you doing in my garden?" I ask.

I'm in love with the art student, but why do I feel like vomiting on my slippers? Methinks the gin wants to have another go at me. (Note to self. Quit acting like a college student or a club kid. You're 30, you git!) I shake my head and look down at the ground, take a few deep breaths.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Too much gin. Paying a price right now." I squat on my haunches. "You still haven't answered my question. Did Larry put you up to this? Is he still sore about what happened last month?"

Long story short, but Larry woke up in one of Fiona's Mum's dresses and wearing a Hitler Moustache in marker. Took some snaps that I passed around the office. Poor sod couldn't handle his booze. He called us all sorts of names, but I never copped to it. More than likely, someone grassed. Probably Liam, who had his head shaved last week after a pub-crawl.

Still, a police box was too strange and surreal, even for Larry.

"Who's Larry?" they both ask.

The art student is next to me, bells on her ankle jingling. "Let me help you."

I don't resist. There's a lot of strength in her petite body. But I'm up too fast and the police box and these two strange pranksters are spinning and shaking...

***

"Doctor, he's coming around."

On the couch. There a sheet over me. I open my eyes, and the art student is sitting cross-legged on a footstool, her toes peeking out of the hem of her skirt. I smell the Earl Grey, hear the kettle and the bells.

"Good, good."

There's a grey-sleeved arm holding a cup of tea in front of me. I manage a weak smile when I see the brown patch on the elbow. Five guineas for me. I take the tea and sit up a bit.

"Thanks. So, where did you get the police box?"

"Actually, it's mine," he says.

"So what is it doing in my garden?"

That was pathetic. Tried to sound righteous, but ended up sounding like some whiny git.

"Sorry about that. I had to make an emergency landing."

I pause before I swallow a mouthful of tea.

The arm was back in my face. We shook hands. Crikey, his grip is strong.

"I'm the Doctor, and that's Romana. We're travellers."

"In a police box?"

"Yes - well no. It only looks like a police box."

"Doctor," she says.

"What?"

"I thought we agreed not to talk about the TARDIS in public?"

"You agreed to. Why should I care. I'm not ashamed of being a Time Lord. Aren't you proud of being human, hmmm?"

I realised after a moment this Doctor bloke was looking at me.

"Never thought of it that way, but sure."

"See, Romana. So be proud of being a Time Lord."

His eyes were about to bulge out of his head.

"Look after our friend."

And he was gone, scarf flapping behind him.

Romana clambered off the stool, padded over to me, jingling with every step.

"Soap actor?" I ask.

"No. He was telling the truth."

"Bollocks."

She smiled. I wanted to propose marriage.

"Your smile's a lethal weapon."

"Fascinating. Why do you say that?"

She tossed her hair back with a royal flip of her neck. I ripped off the sheet and swung my feet on the floor.

"Because you can melt a man's heart with it."

"Are you talking literally or metaphorically?"

Too much time in the library. Has to be.

"Metaphorically."

She joined me on the couch, legs crossed at ankles.

"So it's because of perceived positive physical attributes that you see in me. Correct?"

"Yes. You're a striking woman."

"Gallifreyan."

"You don't sound Irish."

"No. Gallifreyan. In the constellation of Kasterberous."

I'm torn between the art student's beauty and insanity. I get off the couch to avoid temptation. Fiona wouldn't stop at killing me if she ever found out.

"Are you feeling better?" she asks.

"Little bit. As I said, too much gin last night."

"I see," she says, leaning forward.

Her eyes lock onto mine. My heart races.

"Constellation of Kasterberous?"

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

"In the centre of the Mutter's Spiral. What you know as the Milky Way."

"And the police box?"

"Our ship. The Doctor needed to make a few repairs."

"A spaceship in a police box."

I shake my head. This is all too much. I'm already planning my counterattack on Larry - Menky Git. Shave the bastard's head next time.

She gets off the couch and offers her hand. "I'll prove it to you."

Why not? Might as well humour the bird. I take her hand and follow her through my kitchen and out the door and into the garden, all the time listening to the bells on her ankles ring sweet lusty tunes. Gotta buy some for Fiona to wear. Sod it, if she thinks I'm a pervo.

There's music coming from the inside of the police box... no, can't be... yeah. Making Plans for Nigel. At least this Doctor bloke has taste. Could be playing some Stock, Aiken & Waterman bollocks (one point against Fiona, but I'm working on that). She drops my hand and walks into the police box, now blaring out Radio Radio. Knowing my luck, I'll walk in, get knocked out and wake up in one of Fiona's dresses at the bus stop.

Still, a few more minutes with the art student and the music would be worth it...

***

"Paul."

What!

"Paul!"

I'm on the couch again. Fiona's looking at me like my mum used to when I was sick.

"You all right, love?"

"I think."

"The police box is gone."

What happened? I see a big white room, a weird looking table with levers and buttons with a plastic column in the middle. Then it's gone. I'm back in my home again.

"You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah."

"So, was Larry behind the police box?"

"Nah. Nothing like that."

"Paul."

I know that tone. Not going to tell Fiona the truth. She'll commit me. But what to say? A bollicking is on the way, unless...

"Just some yobs from the school. Called the constable and they picked it up this morning."

Fiona kisses my forehead. I feel a surge of energy and pull her onto the couch. We spend a couple minutes snogging. For a moment, I think about the art student, but it's really Fiona dressed as a gypsy. For a second I hear jingling.

"Do you like bells?"