(Clare) went back into (Professor Chronotis’) study and began opening drawers, peering under tables and rifling though sideboards. There was nothing nothing but sadness and confusion. Heaps of paper, tattered files and random odd objects like an orange, a catapult and a loose cassette tapes marked Bonnie Tyler’s Greatest Hits. Clare huffed. Bonnie Tyler had hardly had enough hits to warrant such a collection. I mean, she thought, apart from “Lost in France” and “It’s a Heartache” what had the woman done? She looked closer at the cassette. There were more song titles printed on it, songs she didn’t recognized She squinted at the little smudged white letters of the copyright information. She blinked and squinted again.
This compilation © 1986
Clare was at a loss. Why would anybody bother to make such a thing, have it done so professionally, then just leave it lying around? Clare tapped the cassette with her fingers, intrigued.
The simplest explanation? It was for real. It did come from 1986, somebody from the future, somebody who could travel in time, had brought it back with them.
No, no, that was the stupidest explanation. If somebody had traveled from 1986 wouldn’t they have brought something more impressive from the future? A new kind of digital watch or a videophone? Not Bonnie Tyler’s Greatest Hits.
She just didn’t know what to think anymore

Clare as she goes through a Time Lord’s study in 1979 Oxford

Chris set off down the twisting corridors of the TARDIS. This time there was less urgency to his mission and he took time to open a few of the doors that led off the corridors. Some of them gave on to other, seemingly identical stretches of twisty white, and he was very careful, as befitted the proud owner of the 7th Bristol Scout Pack award for Orienteering 1966, to close them firmly and ignore any temptation to stray from the path. As before, he could remember Romana’s instructions exactly.
Some of the doors led to rooms. There was a cricket pavillion, which somehow actually smelt of new-mown grass and linseed oil. Another door led to a huge empty cinema in which was playing a black and white Lone Ranger film. Chris flinched as he bumped into a large-bosomed usherette. He apologised, only to realise the figure was a cracked dummy wound around, for some reason, with dead Christmas tree lights, with a cabbage for its head, a stuffed parrot on its shoulder and a cleaning lady’s bucket, filled with popcorn, slung over one arm.
He peeked through yet another door to find an enormous room filled with shelves packed with balls of multicoloured wool, a huge plastic pick-and-mix dispenser with jelly babies in every tray, and a pile of entangled yo-yos.

Chris Explores the TARDIS, “Shada”