Tempus Obliti
"You've never had a spanner like this thrown in you! I'm the banana peel beneath your foot, the joker that ruins your straight flush, the coin that always comes up heads and the gun you didn't know was loaded. I am the Doctor!"

He wriggled, catlike, a blissed-out smile spreading across his face. Defender of the Laws of Time, Protector of the Galaxy, and the biggest back-rub slut she’d ever seen.

"It's like being a hyperactive child mainlining caffeine, being you!"

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man-with-the-bluebox said:
"Oh...Oh! Well. This is..." The Doctor tried to refrain from a nervous giggle, failing quite miserably. "You're The Doctor! That's.. amazing! Fantastic really!" He pointed at the man, not really able to believe his eyes. This was certainly a bit curious indeed.

“Ah, hello.” The Doctor smiled, and if he looked bit silly, a bit little boy like, well, that was only to be expected, wasn’t it? He was, in fact, a keen supporter of looking a bit silly. 

“Am I? Wonderful! I seem to forget from time to time.

“Have we…?” 

He was busy negotiating the terrain of his left coat pocket-a usually dangerous and difficult affair-and only began to pay attention after he came up with a mousetrap instead of a bag of sweets. Not nearly as nice for sharing, but it did manage to bring his thoughts back round to where they belonged.

“Oh! ow! Oh, oh, oh! Hello.”