Doc & Co are happy to leave the fate of humanity in the hands of half a dozen childlike primitives with a very limited musical repertoire
When Bill challenges The Doctor on his knowledge of Roman Britain, he transports her and Nardole to a desolate Aberdeenshire hillside so that he can establish his credentials on the fate of the famous lost Ninth Legion as a former Roman farmer, governor, juggler, and Vestal Virgin Second Class.
But something is gravely wrong: they’re in Scotland and it’s not raining. No midges either. Either they’ve landed on the one summer day every decade, or a wee embryonic gatekeeping ginge has let a light-eating locust through an inter-dimensional rift, in a classic case of Romanes eunt domus gone wrong.
As our heroes dodge between the spears of the prehistoric Picts and the swords of the cowardly centurions, can they get these two childish factions to stop being scared of each other and grow up, in time to stop the stars from being eaten and finally give Earth’s chatty corvids something to crow about?