A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood. The mouse saw a TARDIS, which was in the process of being abandoned by four eccentric travellers, none of whom were dressed for hiking.
The group had a flat structure, which meant that one of them was in charge and told everyone else what to do. This was how they ended up at a mysterious log cabin with three locks on the door, although it was fine to pick them because this is Doctor Who and breaking and entering is perfectly acceptable when you’re a Time Lord.
The house was occupied by a blind teenager hiding inside the wardrobe along with Hitler and several copies of ‘Fury From The Deep’. She was frightened because her father had left her.
“Maybe he’s left yer,” suggested Ryan, prompting a furious Yas to sock him on the jaw.
“What? I’m only sayin’ he’s probably abandoned her – ” Sadly this sentence remained unfinished, because Yas had just kneed him in the gonads.
“None of that, here, Ryan,” said the Doctor, scribbling HER FATHER IS PROBABLY DEAD on the wall so they could all have a good giggle about it.
In the upper room there was a mirror which offered no reflection. Graham and Ryan considered the possibility that they were both vampires, which would explain why Ryan didn’t seem to have a pulse. Graham munched on his cheese and pickle sandwich and hoped the red stuff was beetroot.
The Doctor examined the mirror. “Shall I break the glass?” she asked.
“Why not?” replied Yas. “You already did it to the ceiling.”
On the other side of a mirror there was a long tunnel that looked like the Peak District because it probably was. Inside was Kevin Eldon wearing makeup that was at once instantly familiar and very slightly rehashed.
“I’ll take you through these tunnels if I can have the sonic vibrator,” said Kevin.
“Why do you want that?” asked Graham, which prompted a lecherous grin.
It was just then that the killer moths attacked. This was fortunate, because Kevin was frankly a dickhead.
At the end of the passage was the same room but the grips had moved some of the furniture. Downstairs there was a man wearing a Slayer t-shirt, and two dead women. Neither of them knew what they were really doing there, although this may have been a reaction to the shooting script as much as anything else.
Thankfully the Doctor had figured out that there was another facet to the creation of the universe that the show hadn’t done yet, and that it was responsible for everything, and conveniently well-intentioned.
“How do you know all this?” asked Yas.
The Doctor mumbled something about having seven grandmothers and then made a Zygon reference, which had tabloid journalists reaching frantically for their iPads, although it also had the unfortunate side effect of setting the internet on fire.
Elsewhere Ryan had allowed himself to be hoodwinked by Hanne, who then led him through the mirror into the passage.
“I hate you,” said Hanne, for no very good reason.
Ryan was in the process of composing a witty retort when the moths attacked again. They knew they had to make the most of their screen time, because union rules forbade them appearing at the finale.
One thing led to another, and everyone met up in the mirror cabin.
“You ain’t my real mum,” snarled Hanne with the ferocity of an Eastenders actress.
Ryan blinked. “How can she tell?”
“It’s ‘cos she’s blind,” replied the Doctor. “It’s like her superpower, innit?”
“Isn’t that a bit exploitative?”
“Stow it, Call-of-Duty,” she snapped.
Graham looked over at his dead wife. “You were much nicer before you fell off that crane,” he said.
Grace had recently watched Infinity War, and took this as an opportunity to try out her Iron Man impression. It really was quite good.
The Doctor was struggling with the mirror. “We’ve less than ten minutes to go before the credits, and they haven’t done the throwback gag yet,” she muttered. “Yas, can you drop in a Pertwee reference?”
Yas obliged, although she was too young to really understand how these things worked.
Isolated from her friends, the Doctor wandered through a cost-saving white space to be greeted by the sight of a frog on a chair.
“Hi-ho,” said the frog, “and welcome to The Muppet Show.”
The Doctor cocked her head. “I thought the Brexit debate was next week?”
“Be my friend,” pleaded the helpless frog. “We can make brownies and everything.”
“How are you with French food?” asked the Doctor.
The Doctor left, but not before blowing a kiss to the frog, who promptly turned into Mathew Waterhouse; one of the few times that shedding the body of a lime green amphibian cannot be said to be an improvement.
On their way back to the TARDIS, the gang discussed how they could have had such a cracking story last week only to find themselves caught up in something so gut-wrenchingly tedious.
“They did say everybody would be talking about it,” said Yas, being the only one who subscribed to the BBC Twitter feed. “Just not necessarily in a good way.”
Graham looked over at Ryan. “So is that our character arc done now?”
“Probably,” said Ryan, adding “Grandad. Can I go back to making zimmer frame jokes?”
Graham sighed, and unwrapped another sandwich. And off they went.