"I always thought Paris Hilton must be an alien," mused the Doctor as they watched the former celebrity melt into the ground.
"All Humans are aliens," said Romana, pedantically.
"I meant different alien." He shrugged. "Something about the eyes. And skin. She had strange skin."
"She was a fantastic shag, though," said Romana.
"Yes," he nodded, "she was. Shame we had to melt her like that."
"I knew there was something funny about her when she produced that tentacle."
"Oh, but what a tentacle," sighed the Doctor, reminiscing. He made a mental note to get a companion with tentacles as soon as possible. "We should have melted her into a bucket," he said.
"We could have sold her on ebay," said Romana, who was clever like that.
"You’re not allowed to sell people. I tried it once and they closed my account."
"We wouldn’t have to say it was her."
"What would be the point then? No, I just thought we could have kept her in a bucket and carried her about with us and if people asked what was in the bucket we could tell them and they’d think we were amazing."
"You know," said Romana, "this is the sort of thing that makes me really glad I didn’t die when you blew up our planet."
"Oh, for- You always have to bring that up, don’t you?"
"It’s my only reason for being here," she said. She had an emotional moment, but shrugged it off before it got silly. "Let’s go kill some more celebrities."
"Do we have to shag all of them?" he asked, once they’d dealt with Britney Spears.
"Best way to find out if someone’s an alien," said Romana.
"Bit time-consuming, though. And it doesn’t help you work out if they’re evil or just on holiday."
"Yes, I must admit I wasn’t too sure about dear Britney. Still, better safe than sorry."
"No second chances," agreed the Doctor.
"How do snakes get on a plane anyway?" he asked, holding a cobra at arms length. "They don’t even have passports."
"Shush, I’m trying to work out how to fly this thing." Romana bit her lip rather sexily and stared at the instrument panel. "Where’s the temporal stabilisers?"
"They don’t have those," said the Doctor, with some certainty. He quite like the cobra, actually. He decided to call it Angus. Perhaps Romana would let him keep it.
"You can’t keep the snake," she said.
"I don’t suppose you have any experience with these things?" she asked.
"Well, I used to know an air stewardess."
"Well, she left me."
"But did you pick up anything that might help at this point?"
The Doctor ruffled his hair and thought for a moment. "I could serve some drinks? That might calm people down after that snake incident." He shoved the cobra into a pocket to deal with it later. It bit him, which he decided to take as affectionate. "Look," he said, reasonably, "Humans can fly planes and they’re not as clever as us so it can’t be that hard, can it? Just aim it where you want to go and then we can sort out landing when we get there."
"What about all these motherfucking snakes?"
"Angus is getting a bit twitchy," said the Doctor, staring at something under the table.
Romana looked at him over her wineglass. "If you’ve named your cock I’m going to have mock you for the rest of your lives."
"No," he said, fumbling in his pockets, "Angus." He dropped the snake onto the table. "I don’t think he likes this heat. Why did you have to fly us to Cuba anyway?"
"Is that where we are?"
"Either that or Belgium. I’ve never been able to tell the difference."
"I wish Britney were here," sighed Romana. "She was very supple."
"Is that all you think about? Shagging celebrities?"
"Oh, shut up and play with your snake."
"Posh and Becks," said the Doctor, still slightly shocked. "I’d have suspected one or the other, but not both of them."
"I’ve never understood why she’s the famous one," said Romana.
"She was skinniest. Thing you have to remember about Human history is that they spend the first bit looking for something to eat so they don’t die and then the rest of it’s just them trying to throw up their dinner without anyone noticing."
"I always liked the red one most. She had a good pair of lungs on her."
"I quite liked the young-looking blonde," said the Doctor.
"I bet you did."
"Casting your aspersions all over the place like that! Besides, you’re not blonde. Anymore."
"Yes, but I am about a third of your age and you keep trying to get me to buy peroxide every time we’re in a chemists."
"So? I think you’d look nice. Be a bit of a change for you."
"And you keep complaining that I look older than you."
"Angus hates you, by the way."