Things To Do In Blackpool by Babel
	"OOF!" "... and I'll take that, thank you very much!" The Doctor grabbed the misshapen lump of machinery (which closely resembled a squashed mobile phone) and promptly legged it, hotly pursued by a policeman, a Nun and a bloke dressed in a lion suit. To find out how this state of affairs came about, we must go back in time twenty-four hours . . . ... to a canal side bar in Castlefield, Manchester. You know, one of the trendy ones that TV producers love to use in cutting edge dramas; lots of glass, tables outside, and impossibly good-looking bar staff serving a well-heeled clientele. It's a pleasant early summer's day and at one of the tables, a man looks up from his drink to look at the ducks swimming by. He's also tinkering with a small piece of machinery using an odd tool. The man is dressed somewhat eccentrically. He's wearing a bottle-green velvet frock coat, a waistcoat, cravat and grey trousers. His hair is collar length and curly, yet for all his anachronistic appearance, it somehow fits. He seems right at home with the ducks and the canal and the bit of machinery in his hands. "Another drink, sir?" a waiter asks. "Hmm? Sir?" The Doctor looked around. "Oh, you mean me! I'm not a 'sir'; I'm the Doctor. And yes, please, I'll have... a pint of Boddingtons beer, please." "Boddingtons it is. Would you like to order some food as well?" "Um. Any pork scratchings?" The waiter shook his head. "Oh. Oh, well then, I'll have a bag of cheese and onion crisps, please." The waiter left and the Doctor returned to his tinkering. It wasn't every day that he attempted to repair the wotcher-macallit circuit (even the Doctor had forgotten the proper name for it) from his TARDIS. It had failed just before materialization and it had been a rough old landing, sending bits of furniture, various odds and ends and one Time Lord flying across the console room of the TARDIS. A quick check with the fault indicator pinpointed the trouble and the Doctor had set to work. After some hours of frustration, the Doctor had decided to bugger off to the pub to see if a drop of alcohol could help his concentration. It wasn't working. His pint and crisps arrived and as it was a warm day, the Doctor took his shoes and socks off, rolled his trousers up and sat by the canal's edge, dangling his feet into the water. Now you might be thinking to yourself, "yes, this is all very good and tells us a bit about the Doctor, but it isn't very interesting, is it? It's a short story, for crying out loud, and you're just wasting time talking about paddling!" And you'd be right, but something exciting is about to happen - - A crazed scientist, complete with white sticky-up hair and a lab coat just happens to be walking by the canal. He spots the wotcher-macallit circuit lying on the table, where the Doctor left it, and an evil glint lights up his eye. "Advanced technology, by the looks of it! And lots of blinky lights too, I wonder what it does?" With a cackle (a sinister one, naturally) he pockets the circuit and jogs off. A few minutes later, the Doctor returns to the table, immediately noticing the lack of any bits of machinery whatsoever. "Oh, well, that's messed things up. Now I'll have to find the bloody thing, won't I?" the Doctor says, scowling. He puts his socks and shoes back on and hurries off in completely the opposite direction to the mad scientist. Some hours later and our erstwhile Time Lord is no nearer to finding the wotcher-macallit circuit. Well, why would he be? He didn't see the scientist nick it, did he? But WE did. We know more than the Doctor knows! Before you go getting delusions of grandeur, this is merely a story telling convention, not an indication of superior intellect to the Doctor. So. We know the Doctor is racing around like a headless chicken in an effort to locate his missing property. What of the scientist? Oh, dear. He's just met the previously mentioned bloke in the lion suit, who is in fact the most ridiculously disguised mugger in history, who's relieved Prof. Far Too Stereotyped of the wotcher-macallit circuit. He runs off delightedly and straight into a passing Nun. "Growl!" he says. "Goodness me!" she says. "Evening all," the just-arrived Police Constable says. "What's going on 'ere, then?" The bloke in the lion suit puts his hands up (one of which holds the wotcher-macallit circuit) and the Nun blesses the constable. Everyone spoke at once, no one understanding a word that was said, until... OOF! " ... And I'll take that, thank you very much!'" The Doctor grabbed the misshapen lump of machinery (which closely resembled a squashed mobile phone) and promptly legged it, hotly pursued by a policeman, a Nun and a bloke dressed in a lion suit. (Apologies for the blatant switches of tense. Well that is to say I'm not apologising for it; simply making you, dear reader, aware of the fact that I know I'm doing it and couldn't give a monkey's.) "Lions and muggers and coppers, O My!" the Doctor pants as he races for the sanctuary of the TARDIS. In he pops, shutting the doors in the faces of the motley posse. He looks at the wotcher-macallit circuit, which is STILL broken, frowns and bashes it a couple of times on the console. A few red lights turn to green, the circuit is restored to its rightful place and the TARDIS takes off. Job's a good 'un!