There used to be 305 of me but the rest were decommissioned and replaced. It takes six pilots to fly me properly, only happened once at the Medusa Cascade.
My interior's in a state of temporal grace though on occasion that gets circumvented. Inside me there's a surprising amount of space because I'm dimensionally transcendental.
I've withstood falling down for miles and miles, suffered 3000 degree heat without scorching, hit by the Titanic when I was in mid-flight, every time he's sure to fix me.
The last Type 40 in the universe, but there's still so much to see. But I'll be going on adventures so long as there's huon energy.
My chameleon circuit hasn't worked since 1963 but the Doctor won't give up on me.
(Ya está, ya está, les juro por Dios, no más Trock por hoy)