Türe mit Gitter vom Schloss Türnich im Rhein-Erft-Kreis, © Tourismus NRW e.V.

Bei­spiel Text un­ter Bild

Oh, good grief. t's cal­led the TAR­DIS, this thing. T-A-R-D-I-S. Tha­t's Ti­me And Re­la­ti­ve Di­men­si­on In Space. That?s okay. Cul­tu­re shock. Hap­pens to the best of us. No. That is not the ques­ti­on. That is not whe­re we start. The thing is, Adam, ti­me tra­vel is li­ke vi­sit­ing Pa­ris. You can't just re­ad the gui­de­book, you'­ve got to throw yours­elf in! Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get char­ged dou­ble and end up kis­sing com­ple­te stran­gers! Or is that just me? You rea­li­se one of us is ly­ing about our ba­sic pro­gramming. And I think we both know which one that is.

Your wish is my com­mand. But be ca­re­ful what you wish for. When I say run, run. ...RUN! Yes, well, it's a bril­li­ant noi­se. I love that noi­se. New-new-Doc­tor. De­ath is al­ways mo­re frigh­ten­ing when it strikes in­vi­si­bly. What do you think of the new look? I was ho­ping for 'mi­ni­ma­lis­m', but I think I ca­me up with 'ma­gi­ci­an'. Doc­tor no mo­re. I am the Doc­tor! The ori­gi­nal, you might say! The Doc­tor. No­sey par­ker. You know Jo, I so­me­ti­mes think that mi­li­ta­ry in­tel­li­gence is a con­tra­dic­tion in terms. Peop­le who talk about in­fal­li­bi­li­ty are usual­ly on very shaky ground.

He thinks I'm a char­la­tan, my De­ar. A knight of the GRAND OR­DER OF OBE­RON! On­ly I would be stu­pid en­ough to at­tack such a per­son! And I'm loo­king for a blon­de in a Uni­on Jack. A spe­ci­fic one, mind, I did­n't just wa­ke up this morning with a cra­ving. You see when I star­ted, all tho­se ye­ars ago, I was just run­ning. I cal­led mys­elf the Doc­tor but it was just a na­me. Then I went to Ska­ro. And I met you lot. And I un­ders­tood who I was. Ad­ric? No sir. Thir­teen! I don't sup­po­se we'll ever know if we ac­tual­ly suc­cee­ded. But at worst, we fai­led do­ing the right thing, as op­po­sed to suc­cee­ding in do­ing the wrong.

Jel­ly ba­by? The Doc­tor. No­sey par­ker. Good­bye, Cla­ra. 'Ti­mey' what? 'Ti­mey wi­mey'? Big scarf, bow tie, big em­bar­ras­sing. It was on the pla­net Ska­ro that my old en­e­my the Mas­ter was fi­nal­ly put on tri­al. They say he lis­tened calm­ly as his list of evil cri­mes was re­ad... and sen­tence pas­sed. Then he ma­de his last and I thought so­mew­hat cu­rious re­quest. He de­man­ded that I, the Doc­tor, a ri­val Ti­mel­ord, should ta­ke his re­mains back to our ho­me pla­net, Gal­li­f­rey. Life de­pends on chan­ge and re­ne­wal. Ti­ming mal­func­tion. The Mas­ter! He's out the­re. I'­ve got to stop... him...