Fine crippled hands of a surgeon are what makes for good spell casting. Only this time, for the sake of continuity, the good Strange Doctor is a neurosurgeon, never mind the plastic rubbing slapjockey. Still, the flashbacks here proves that no amount of tinkering will escape from the arrogance so embedded in his former life in the white coats and stethoscopes.

Events aren't yet moving like after a night hitting heavy on the dates, a prune salad and some chilli-flavoured fish-fingers for taste. Delving into the mind and matter of the make up of Doctor Strange, the distractions are clear enough to need only a single scan of said pages. Light carries across the beat of the drum with the dubious nature of things hiding in the shadows.

Dead on character accuracy and never once feeling like the pants needs a megadose of that baby oil for the slip on. Subtle jabs delight with the switch kick of statements taking the ear off without spotting the bleed, not too fast though. There are a few pauses and set ups which just read well enough to cast forth a chance for all.

So what is the Night Nurse's name anyhow?