'Keep out of this, girlie,' McCavity hissed. 'Or you’ll be next.'

'Girlie?' Rose struggled to her feet. 'Girlies fight dirty with nails and teeth and kicking.' She glared at McCavity, and he took a step backwards, suddenly worried by what he saw in her expression.

Martha: What are you doing?

Doctor: I’ve no idea. What are you doing?

Martha: Watching you talk yourself into an early grave.

The Doctor just threw a look at Donna that he thought said 'help' but Donna clearly took to mean 'no, it's OK, ignore me, oh and right now would be the time to pick a really good fight with your mum'. So Donna did.

'Never did trust satnav,' sniffed the Doctor.

‘You can't navigate your way through deep space without a proper guidance system.'

'I've got a proper guidance system,' the Doctor retorted. He tapped his forehead. ‘Up here. Trust me, I never get lost. Well, hardly ever. Well, not often. All right, sometimes, perhaps … but more often than not I …' He started to tap his pockets. 'Where did I put my glasses? I've left them somewhere…’

SUGAR: Can’t you hear it?

TENTH DOCTOR: Like distant voices crying out from a very long way away?

SUGAR: Yes!

TENTH DOCTOR: No, I can’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t. Auditory interstitial echoes could be part of this phenomenon. Whether you can hear them or not could depend on how neurotypical your mind is.

SUGAR: What are you saying exactly?

TENTH DOCTOR: I’m many things Sugar Macaulay, but neurotypical has never been one of them.

'Shut up. How was Kate Bush?'

The Doctor's eyes went slightly misty for a moment. 'She seems to have written rather a lot of songs about my life,' he muttered gruffly. ‘Although it is entirely possible everybody there thought that.'

(The Doctor shows Rana the psychic paper)

TENTH DOCTOR: There you go.

RANA: It says you’re from the British Museum.

TENTH DOCTOR: Really? Well that’s awful. But yes, John Smith, British Museum. Glad to be of service.