Curse of the Plastic Nurses of Doom

Hello, the Doctor here. How are you, my dear?

Life here isn't that bad, you know. Of all the Doctors I know what it's like to feel confined, so I'm more able to put up with it. I was exiled to Earth, in the 1970s (or was it the 1980s?) which anyone with the basics of Earth history would know is pretty dire. You just have to make the best of it; if you can't beat them, join them. Being an anti-establishment figure is all well and good when you can get in the TARDIS and be off, but when you're stuck, you have to make compromises. I learned to fit in, to get to know the right people. On Earth, it's not so much what you know but who you know. Being here is not that different really.

So I don't fret too much about life here. I pass the time with the inferior versions of myself, I work on Bessie and the Whomoblie, I sometimes wander over to the Ex-Officers Retirement Home and see old Alastair and Benton. I get my hair done in the salon. I order a new suit with matching cape, shirt and bow tie. There are worse ways to spend a life.

But there's a bit of a flap here at the Ex-Doctors Retirement Home. We've had a change in management, with dear old Doctor Legg replaced by some new fellow. Haven't seen him yet, but when I do, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, let me tell you! I don't know what he's said to the nurses but they're acting very strangely today. I went to go to the garage to do a bit of tinkering on dear old Bessie (she's never been the same since my gnomic seventh incarnation went galavanting around in her - the man's a positive menace), only to find Nurse Chapel standing at the door in my way.

"Excuse me, my dear," I said giving her the full Doctor charm.

"Go back to the day room," she replied in a rather monotone fashion.

"You don't understand, my dear," I said, still exuding calm and charm. "I need to have a look at old Bessie. I do this every morning, remember?"

She just stared at me. Maybe she's ill; she looked a bit shiny, waxy almost. "Go back to the day room," she repeated.

What's wrong wirth Nurse Chapel?

"My dear," I said in my commanding voice, the voice that made middle ranking civil servants tremble back in the day. The voice that used to show Brigader Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart who was boss. "I have no intention of going back to the day room. I am going to the garage." And with a swish of my cape, I politely but firmly went to shoulder past her.

Imagine my surprise when I found myself flying across the air and landing, with an undignified crash, in the middle of Doctor Bill and Doctor Colin's game of backgammon. I pulled myself to my feet, dusting pieces of wood from my best velvet.

"Damn it, Chatterhorn," spluttered Doctor Bill. "I was winning!"

A crowd had gathered now. Even Doctor Tom, sleeping off a hangover had stirred in his chair and was looking on. I drew myself up to my full height and approached Nurse Chapel again.

"Madam," I said. "It is not in my nature to attack one of the fairer sex, but I must warn you, I know Venusian Karate and I am not afraid to defend myself if you attempt to molest me again."

"Chance'd be a fine thing," I heard Doctor Tom mutter.

Then a very surprising thing happened. Nurse Chapel raised her arm, pointed at me and then her hand fell away on a hinge to reveal a gun.

"Fookin' 'ell," shouted that uncouth yobbo Doctor Chris. "She's a fookin' auton!"

Good grief! The nurses are bally plastic!

He was right, and I looked around the room to see all the nurses approaching me, guns protruding from their wrists. They were all autons: living plastic creatures, the product of the evil Nestene Consciousness. This was a most unexpected start to the day.

Dear old Dr McCoy came around the corner and started to approach Nurse Chapel. "Christine? Are you OK? It's me, Leonard."

"Stay back, Sir," I commanded. "That's not Nurse Chapel. She's an It - an infernal plastic monstronsity!"

To prove my point Auton Chapel helpfully fired her gun hand and blew the chaise next to Dr McCoy into several hundred pieces.

"Fair enough," said Dr McCoy and shuffled off.

"This is intolerable," I boomed. "I demand to see who is in charge here!"

"You tell that spastic auto...phone!" said Doctor Bill.

"I was supposed to battle the autons," said Doctor Colin wistfully, "I was going to be in Singapore with the Master... but then we got cancelled..."

Then a strangely accented voice, quiet, yet menacing, came from behind me.

"I believe, Doctor, that you are looking for me."

We all turned as one. A tall oriental chappie, in a cream Nehru suit, stood incongriously in the middle of the day room. The most remarkable thing about him were his hands. They were black metal.

"I am in charge here now," he said in his infuriatingly calm voice. "I am Dr No."

Dr No in charge? Tune in next time to see what happens next!