SHIVANI: You know, when I first met you… I thought you were strange. The way you answered my

questions. The way you look. I was a bit frightened of you.

DOCTOR: Ah. The curse of the immigrant.

SHIVANI: Me?

DOCTOR: Me.

SHIVANI BAJWA: Can I help you?

DOCTOR: I'm looking for my grand-daughter. She attends this school…

SHIVANI: What's her name?

DOCTOR: Susan.

SHIVANI: We have quite a few Susans. What year is she in?

DOCTOR: 1963, madam. The same as you and I and everybody -

SHIVANI: No, I meant… How old is she?

DOCTOR: Ah. She is 73 years old.

SHIVANI: (A pause) Are you…

DOCTOR: Worried?

DOCTOR: Nobody is the sole engineer of their life. Every

future is dictated by a million decisions taken by other people, many of whom we haven’t met and

never shall. We are adrift on a sea of random. A tempest of chaos rages around us and all we can do

is… try to steer through the storm. Paddle with all our strength to where we want to be and resolve

to make good progress when the wind is behind us. And to hope – desperately, fervently hope – that

we’re not blown too far off course when the gales conspire to confound us. Hmm?

DOCTOR: I’m looking for my granddaughter. She attends this school…

SHIVANI: What’s her name?

DOCTOR: Susan.

SHIVANI: We have quite a few Susans. What year is she in?

DOCTOR: 1963, madam. The same as you and I and everybody...

SHIVANI: No. I meant… How old is she?

DOCTOR: Ah. She is 73 years old.

SHIVANI: Are you…

DOCTOR: Worried? Of course! She mustn’t try to walk home through that!