So the owner of the building itself was a man named Mark, who used to use the bedroom the Doctor will be using now but he got a large inheritance from an uncle he'd never heard of. (See? Although it's weird to think that, without even knowing good old Craig, the Doctor sent random Mark off on a whole new adventure.) The Doctor flashes psychic paper at Craig, and what it produces apparently includes a reference from the Archbishop of Canterbury, about which the Doctor gleams: "I'm his special favorite! Are you hungry? I'm hungry."

The Doctor whips up some delicious omelets for them both, continuing on as something between a blur and that dotted-line thing that happens in Family Circus sometimes, asking questions about all kinds of things, such as Sophie -- with just enough of a knowing wink that 's barely either; he's clearly got Craig's number this entire time -- and where they work -- a call center, which the Doctor thinks might come in handy -- and Craig starts blabbering about how their business model is totally outdated, and he knows exactly what they should do, but they'll never listen to him, etc. The Doctor assures him, once he winds down, that this happens with him all the time, because of his face. That face he's got. Craig asks where his stuff is, and he can't keep the smile out of his voice for anything: "Don't worry, it'll materialize. If all goes to plan."

Meanwhile, Amy and the TARDIS are not quite on speaking terms.

Craig, deeply satisfied, thanks the Doctor for the omelet, which he says he learned to make in 18th century Paris. "No, hang on, that's not recent, is it? 17th? No, no, no, 20th. Sorry, I'm not used to doing them in the right order." Funny last week, funny still this week. Craig asks if the Doctor has been informed how weird he is, and he looks at Craig like it's a blind date gone terribly right: "They never really stop. Ever been to Paris, Craig?"