User:DrWHOCorrieFan/Sandbox

Mentions of Iris Wilthyme in order:

• "Once upon a time she had seemed to him a meddlesome, foolish, prattling old woman. And he had told her so on numerous occasions. Their paths had continued to cross over the years and some of the Doctors of old had lost their patience with her. Yet now - only now - the Doctor looked back at Iris with something approaching fondness. It had been a long time. So perhaps he had mellowed after all. Or maybe the intervening years had been so fraught he was able to see Iris for what she had always been: harmless, funny, a dilettante and shameless philanderer."
• "Strange that it should come in the form of Iris Wildthyme, the itinerant journal-keeper and dogger of the Doctor's footsteps. She had known all of his incarnations, known them all. His past would be more real to her than it was to him. She loved to reminisce. Perhaps that was why he was glad she was here on Hyspero."
• "'I was in love with you, you fool!' he remembered her yelling once. For years she had kept that tight little secret down, exploding once and yelling at him in a forest in the middle of the night. She knew it was all impossible, however. No matter how many outbursts and revelations she made. Since that particular admission the Doctor had been warier of her than ever before. Sometimes she overpowered him with her raffish brio. He came away from each of their intermittent encounters somewhat shaken."
• "He remembered being on board that bus and felt a flash of what was almost nostalgia. Christmas dinner with Iris, Tegan and Turlogh. One of their happier meetings."
• "Iris had always been so ridiculously proud of her TARDIS. It had amused him, her pleasure and pride. He remembered the first time he had been allowed to come aboard. And that had happened only because she was so drunk she couldn't see herself home. He had carried her home through a forest and, when he at last climbed aboard her bus, he burst out laughing. Her TARDIS was exactly the same size inside as out. That was why she was reluctant to let him aboard."
• "'She proposed to me once, you know,' he said. 'She did?'. 'In Venice. It was very romantic. I can't remember what stage I was at just then, what face I was wearing - but I was flabbergasted. She proposed at dawn, on the Bridge of Sighs. She was vast then, a huge woman in her late sixties, with a rope of white hair that trailed along behind her. When people tripped on it she would turn and shout at them.'"
• "'You could see that she had been very beautiful in her youth, and she couldn't let go of that. She was caked in white pan-stick and rouge and the purplest lipstick. Terribly glamorous, as if she'd spent years upon the stage. And because she still carried herself like a great beauty, she was.'"
• "She was a woman used to being quite alone. For many years she had travelled by herself, considering herself to be excellent company, the best she could ever hope for. Her own jokes made her laugh, she had wonderful taste in music, art, clothes, food, wines, poetry, prose and places, she always made the appropriate comment, and had the most precise and pertinent quotation to hand. Any possible companion wouldn't stand a chance against the qualities she perceived in herself. Once or twice she had tried out an assistant, to share expenses and nervous energy, to lighten the spiritual and psychological load on the longer, lonelier hauls through time and space. But these people, once invited aboard her TARDIS, only ended up getting on her nerves. And she on theirs, she didn't wonder. They had been humans for the most part, and she deplored their limitations. Their endless what-do-we-do-nows and their come-and-rescue-me's. And for a while she had travelled with an obtuse shape-shifter who loved nothing better than to spend much of his time as a tippy and garrulous penguin."
• "After all I've survived! Giant spiders on Metebelis Three, the Cybermen tombs of Telos, the Drashigs in feeding frenzy on their fetid swamp world."
• "Iris wrote in thick, coloured hardcover books, on creamy unlined paper. She had hundreds already filled with her crabbed handwriting, her densely allusive and florid prose. Her current volume was a relatively new one, beginning with notes stolen in a free moment during her recent escape from Xeraphas."
• "She thought they ought to be together, simply because they both knew what it was like to live at risk. For most of their lives they had clung to the margins, inching and then zipping along the various interstices that bound the rest of the world together. They had made their homes in cafes, spacecraft, streets, offices, jungles, bookshops, volcanoes, emergency military headquarters, dungeons, deserts, gleaming control rooms and dank and dripping tunnels. They had lived by their wits and come through the most fearsomely difficult escapades."
• "In a way Iris considered herself the very opposite to him. She embraced the very ordinary things, and celebrated them. They were what she had left stifling Gallifrey for. She wanted the stink and the swelter of the everyday. And she blessed the Latin poet Terence who said, 'Nothing human is alien to me.'"