"S'why I pushed the 'growing skins' aspect, ya plonker. Robot tech has far more things, in heaven and on Earth, than are.....oh nevermind."
Regretfully allows the contact to ebb.
"And no one has your iminitable taste, as it's not a word." Carefully-acting-carelessly bops him about the head, before stopping them just round the corner from the console-room.
"Ready, Mi-Michael? Cause I think I'd best go see what the little spitfire's gotten up to, poking as she is into the TARDIS' ladybits. And YOU have a punch to spike, if I'm not much mistaken..."