He glanced at his watch with a sigh. If only he had done what he normally did. That is, arriving late, rather than three hours early. He couldn't risk leaping forward those three hours, he could've ended up in an entirely different century, and that would've been so completely frustrating. So, he picked up a copy of the Time Traveler's Wife, leaned against the TARDIS, and waited.
The book was becoming increasingly depressing, and he was becoming increasingly more interested in ice cream than in waiting. How much longer was it?