He cut a flamboyant figure, striding across the muddy ruts of the ploughed field, that ridiculous cape fluttering in the cold winter wind. Who wore velvet jackets and lace cuffs to investigate something odd going on in the depths of the countryside?
The Brigadier shook his head; the Doctor was unique, you had to give him that, and somehow he never looked less than immaculate, with his ruffled white shirt and ever-present bowtie. Watching the man approach, the Brigadier wished he knew the Doctor’s secret. Standing here he could almost feel the mud leaving dirty smudges on his uniform trousers.