(The Doctor was in the kitchen. He was wearing a white apron which barely covered his ample form. He was frying bacon over a gas ring.)

DOCTOR: (cheerily) Good morning. Some mod cons at least.

PERI: That smells terrific. (seating herself at the kitchen table) Where are our hosts?

DOCTOR: Trefoil is sorting out his cellar, and Liz went to the farm for milk. I gather there isn’t a Mrs Trefoil. (He shuffled the bacon round the pan with a wooden spatula, letting it hiss and spit in the fat) The bread’s good. Home made from local flour, of course.