[ The Doctor, meanwhile, straightens his jacket and readjusts his bow-tie; this is also a reflexive motion, but not so much for intimidation nor for tactical anything.

Besides, Kovacs has just twisted it a little out of place, and no one likes a wrinkled jacket either. ]

‘Dry and stale’? ‘Disappointing’? Hah. [ None of those words strike familiar, but oh, all right, maybe some other part of his memory's being jarred a little and he's remembering the conversation with some clarity.

Who had he even been speaking to, anyway? There was discussion about Braccia, yes, and the mission and a teasing question about his snogging Kovacs, which the Doctor wasn’t going to deny by any means, it did do the trick, didn’t it? And the Doctor is very fond of Kovacs, of course, though perhaps he might have described their quick snog as ... ah.

'Well, it was all right, I suppose. Bit rushed, really. Not nearly the best, but let me tell you about the time I very nearly married Marilyn Monroe —'

The Doctor clears his throat. ]

Those were not my words. In fact, I think there’s been an unfortunate game of ‘broken telephone’ playing around the room.