The Doctor demands that the woman uncuff him, and she admits she's lost the key. He's confused, because he still thinks that she's a policewoman, and then terrified as she makes her way toward the secret door without even pausing to worry about it. He screams and screams at her, and she totally ignores him, to the point where he's as scared as he is annoyed, and he realizes that the screwdriver's probably close to the door, where she knocked him out. It's not there, just like there's nothing there, and he reminds her that if she couldn't see the door, why would she be able to see the terrible thing, and begs her to get out of the mysterious room immediately.

She finds the screwdriver on a dusty table -- Zero is not a good housekeeper at all -- and the Doctor continues to scream at her from the hallway, struggling against the radiator like a little kid at bedtime, as she gets more and more intrigued and less and less worried.

Of course, there's the thing right behind her: A silly sort of snake thing reared up behind her with a million teeth. Like the Weeping Angels, or their opposite, she's safe as long as she doesn't look at it. But because she's Amy Pond, knowing thus just makes her look at it. It's awful, she screams, it tries to strike, and she comes running back out into the hallway. She hands the screwdriver over to the Doctor while Zero hangs out in the secret door for no real reason, and he sonics himself out. The doorway starts glowing while he rubs his screwdriver, and then she admits that she's not got backup coming, because she's not a real policewoman: She's a kissogram.

Which is when -- as she whipped off that bowler hat and swished her hair around like a shampoo ad -- the internet exploded. Now, the camera has been devouring her since we got here, and there's confusion as to how exploitative (or, in hysterical-speak, how close to being a stripper) this job is, and the Doctor is certainly unimpressed, but there are a few things that make this not an issue for me. One, feminism has been ruined by the internet and no longer means much more than a competitive listing of grievances from the comfort of our armchairs. Two, we are talking about a country that for a hundred years has been watching Benny Hill and giggling about boobies on Page Three. Just today I saw a picture of the Companion Jo Whoever totally naked wrapped around a Dalek, and it was disgusting, and the most interesting thing about British sexuality is still the obsession with little boys being spanked. I write the whole island off generally, because they're better at feminism and somehow worse at sexual maturity than we are, which makes transatlantic understanding this stuff really hard sometimes. But most of all: This is the absolute best clue we have to what Amy is.