"Sorry, Doctor, required paperwork for all UNIT personnel, I'm afraid."
"Perfectly all right, Sergeant. What do you need to know?"
Benton gazed at the top sheet of paper in the typewriter. "Right. Full name?"
"Hmm, well, that's a bit difficult. Haven't used it in years, you see. Just call me 'the Doctor', that'll be fine, Sergeant."
"Ah. Back to John Smith, are we? Rightio. Um, home address?" The Doctor's eyes narrowed, and Benton, trying to save time in avoiding the angry outburst against the sins of the Time Lords, suggested, "17 TARDIS Avenue, W. 3? No? Well, better put UNIT barracks, then. Age?"
"Seven hundred and... no, not quite that yet, I shouldn't think. Six hundred and.... I'll get back to you on that, Sergeant."
"Date of birth, then?" the sergeant asked hopefully.
"Oh, about six or seven hundred years ago, I expect."
Benton blinked for a moment, then resolutely typed '7 July, 1919'. "Place of birth?"
"Next of kin?"
"My granddaughter, Susan."
"Let's see, she called herself Foreman last time we were in this century." Pleased at the straightforward answer, Benton pecked out the name, then with a sigh corrected all three copies when the Doctor added, "I believe she got married, though. Now what was that chap's name? Cameron, Kimbell, Campbell, that's it. Susan Campbell."
"She doesn't live on some other planet or anything, does she?" the sergeant asked hopefully.
"No, no. Nothing like that. She lives in London."
The harrassed Benton gave a sigh of relief. "Well, that's great, Doc, that should just about do it. What's her address? Whereabouts does she live in London?"
"About two hundred years from now," the Doctor replied cheerfully.
"Oh, bugger it!" The sergeant ripped the paper out of the typewriter and left.
The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Funny, that's the same thing the Brigadier said."