I am in mourning.
After much scrutiny, analysis, Googling and a fair bit of scrubbing back and forth in sheer desperation, I cannot find one single egg in ‘The Angels Take Manhattan’. I was convinced that this was it: that eggs would somehow be crucial to the story, that there would be some sort of gigantic cosmic chicken that would reach down and squash the Angels flat at the Eleventh Hour (you see what I did there)…hell, anything poultry-related would have done. I could even have coped with the return of Margaret Slitheen. But zero. Zilch. Zip. Not an egg to be found anywhere. It’s like a Russian supermarket. And it’s bloody annoying, because we were so close. You let us down, Steven. I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.
I was in need of a lifeline, and Gareth provided one: late in the day, when the Doctor says “We could’ve blown New York off the planet. I can’t ever take the TARDIS back there. The timelines are too scrambled.”
OK, that sort of works…