SORRY SORRY SORRY!

Marie managed to post from Uganda. I have no excuse, none at all.

ARGH. Lots has happened since I last posted!

- I've gone back to school and am already immersed in Year 13, which is stressful, tiring, busy, and invigorating at the same time.

- After an eternity of dithering and guilt I skipped a lesson to go and get a Stephen Fry book signed, details of which are here at my livejournal. (Yeah, I know.)

- I went to see John Barrowman and Russell T Davies at the Cheltenham Literature Festival, reports of which can be found here and here (complete with audio evidence of me making a tit out of myself in front of both them!). Needless to say, I have rarely squeed so hard in my life. Not in front of John, though. (It was a close one. Dear Lord, his teeth!)

- I went to a Halloween party dressed as Amy Winehouse, complete with, if I may say it myself, an amazing wig and incredibly fiddly eyeliner. It was so fun!

- I finally got my UCAS form sent off, complete with a brilliant reference, to Warwick, York, Durham, Lancaster and Cardiff. No word from any of them as of yet; I've been checking the UCAS website compulsively. It can't be healthy!

- Can I exist as part of the group that wasn't hugely surprised that David Tennant is leaving after the 2009 specials? Granted I was surprised that he announced it now, but the ambiguity of it all convinced me that he'd leave by the time 2010 arrived. I will miss him, hugely, but if I'm honest, the end of 2009 is so far off for me that I'm not really thinking about it that much. By then I will have left school, I will have started Uni, I'll be in a new city. That's so far beyond, for me, that anything included within that time frame remains far off in the distance.

I'm still incredibly disappointed that he and Steven Moffat never got to work together on a regular basis, though. And...gah. When the time comes I will miss him so much as the Doctor. Call it a strange concept, but his leaving will mark, in a way, the end of my childhood.

...yeah, that was a little strange. Ignore that.

- I'm off to see Dylan Moran next Thursday! EEEEE! I'm so excited!


I know it's terrible to condense nearly two months into bullet points, and lots else has happened that pertains to just me, but...oh, I have no excuse. I'm awful. But I am still here, if sporadically. I've had this blog ever since I was fourteen (for shame - I've read those entries and winced many a time), and it shouldn't just dry up.

Have to go now, but I'll be back! In the nice way, rather than Terminator-style!

*shuffles guiltily off*

The play's the thing!

Post 300!

*fanfare*

I can't help but think that there's been some vanished into the vacuum of cyberspace somewhere along the line, but this is it on the blogroll; 300!

And what better way, on this 300th occasion, to review the theatre event of the year, in a slightly stilted and biased way?

So. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. The Dane. Mr Tennant. How was it?

In a word, glorious.

In several more words:

I only read Hamlet all the way through very recently, and absolutely loved it, but mere reading obviously never compares to seeing it performed. Seeing it on stage brings the speeches to life; provides meaning for the phrases you don't fully understand, and just gives the play depth and life. This was no exception at all. There wasn't a dull moment from start to finish; it was very slick and fast-moving, and every performance was wonderful.

The set was interesting; the Courtyard Theatre has been extended whilst the main theatre in Stratford is being refurbished, and it still has that studio theatre vibe about it; the stage is very central and almost integral to the audience, and the whole play hits them on a very intimate level. I was on the second-to-back row on the stalls and still felt incredibly involved in the action. The stage was bare for the most part, but the background was made up of tinted mirrors, which opened inwards to allow characters (mainly Cluadius and Polonius as they spied on Hamlet) and sets to move on and off stage.

David Tennant was magnificent. His progression through Hamlet's various emotions was so well played; his first speech, when he was left on stage lamenting his father's death, was heartbreaking; he cries and curls in on himself, and even surrounded by an entire audience, looked so completely alone. Gah. But he soldiered through; the misery leading to terror when his father's ghost confronted him, and "antic disposition" and fear from there on in.

Oh, the antic disposition. I'd read that David brought out the darker points of humour in the play, but I wasn't sure what to expect; he was hilarious! Hilarious with just the right edge of anger to inspire apprehension in the other characters, enough madness to tip him over the edge. As shown by Doctor Who, but proved within a smaller space, he is a brilliant mover; leaping and dancing around the stage and always keeping the audience in suspense as to what he would do next. Having said that, when the madness did tip over the edge, it was terrifying; we've seen angry Doctor millions of times, but Tennant's angry Hamlet is utterly different; chilling, goading, furious, and oh. Scary. The scene between him and his mother is one of the most intense I've ever seen on stage, moving from fear to anger to regret and beyond.

Anyone worrying about David's acting ability needn't; Hamlet is as far from the Doctor as you could reach. Both very flawed characters, excellently acted, but it's easy to differentiate between the two. Having said that, it was lovely (and exciting) to see little mannerisms, David-isms, I suppose, that are occasionally seen in Doctor Who; there was at least one "Well!", rubbing of the neck, and the Converse! Oh yes, and, SO MUCH HAIR-RUFFLING. ALL THE WAY THROUGH. It was glorious to behold.

And, on a completely shallow note, dear Lord he's good-looking. The screen doesn't lie - in fact, I don't think it does him justice; he's lean and angular and agile and lovely and has fantastic hair. I had to supress wriggling in excitement whenever he was on stage because he...oh dear. I'm gushing, aren't I? My Dad was calling it "hero-worship" and although he's wrong...well, he's not entirely wrong.

The other performances were fantastic as well; Patrick Stewart doubled up and played King Hamlet and Claudius (although I was more compelled by King Hamlet, to be honest), Oliver Ford Davies was hilairous as a bumbling, well-meaning, rambling Polonius, and Mariah Gale broke my heart; her progression of feelings was as good as David's; from sweetness to fear to utter dispair. Poor thing.

Oh, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were brilliant, too; they were exactly as I imagined when I read the play, and played the fools with aplomb, it was great. I'm itching to read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, now; I've heard great things, and would love to see their backstory!

Whew. Terrible review, I know, too much Tennant and not enough of everything else. But it was all wonderful; scrapping, realistic-fights, typically teenage behaviour, atmospheric lights and sounds; the techie in me was infatuated with the whole thing. My parents were incredibly impressed; my dad went to see the full Kenneth Branagh Hamlet when he was younger, and was blown away by that; nothing has beaten it so far, but he loved this one.

Ow, my fingers.

School tomorrow! I have to go in this afternoon, as there's a rehearsal of Jesus Christ Superstar that, as stage manager, I should really see, as I haven't been to any so far.

Have borrowed a shiny new copy of Brideshead Revisited from the library; I'm the first one to have it! Yay!

Right, had better go. Talk soon!

To thine own self be true.

Hamlet tonight!

I feel quite ashamed, really; I'm not excited just because David Tennant is playing the Dane, but it is a significant part of my jumpiness about this evening, and I'm already feeling latent paranoia that he might be ill tonight. Honestly. I love the play, completely, and have never seen it performed on stage, but I still feel so fickle.

Nevertheless, the dress is laid on top of the bed, the tickets are on the table - hurrah! We're off!

Will report back tomorrow, hopefully with a modicum of calm. Also, the way my blog posts have been laid out, this is my 299th, and a Hamlet review will be my 300th post! It's fate!

Write tomorrow!

*wriggle of glee*

Less of a review, more of a mad expulsion of WORDS. Oh, and SPOILERS. LOTS OF THEM.

AJSHDGJHSKJH;;; DOCTOR WHO OH MY GOD.

That was absolutely terrifying, and claustrophobic, and weird, and OH DEAR LORD THERE WAS ROSE ON THE SCREEN AGAIN.

ROSETYLERMARTHAJONESDONNANOBLETARDIS.

Oh, sweet Lord. I haven't checked any reactions yet (as I've only just watched it), but if anyone complains (as I'm sure they will), about the lack of action, or coherent threat, then I won't care; that was superb. Showing the ugly side of human nature, and just by using something like repetition, it becomes twenty times as chilling.

And Jesus Christ the Doctor, when he was repeating; painful, tears in his eyes, unmoving. Christ, Tennant, you magnificent bastard. When the Doctor warned Donna "Don't." at the very end, I got chills down to my toes.

*shudder*

And Lesley Sharp! Oh, I can see why Russell likes her so much. She was magnificent all the way through.

Dear Lord, that episode gave me an almost visceral reaction; I was on the edge all the time and gasped at everything; when Rose appeared, when she began to speak at the same time, when she overtook him, and....ohhh.

So, all in all, brilliant and wonderful. I loved it. I'm still jittery; that was terrifying.

Oh yes, and...

FUCKING HELL, THAT TRAILER. OH DEAR LORD. THE DOCTOR'S DEAD? ROSE? HERE ALREADY? SOMETHING ON THE BACK? UNIT MEN? SHE'S GONNA DIE?

What the hell is going on? And, more importantly, how the hell are we meant to wait until next week?!

*flails around like a mad thing*

Right, right. Okay. Possibly coherent, intelligent-sounding review coming later. For now I'm going to flail in my corner about that episode, the trailer, and all that's still to come OH MY GOD YAY.

Three quick trailer-points:

- When the hand came out of the stretcher, for one insane moment, I thought it was Ianto. A thought which makes no sense, but evidently I've been enticed by the suits.

- Speaking of Ianto, I was shamelessly looking out for him; I still have no idea if that rumour that Gwen and Ianto appear is true or not, so I'm scanning everything like the Welsh-totty-obsessed thing that I am.

- Donna was wearing a long, grey coat at some point in that trailer, with the sleeves too long for her arms. Jack's coat? Possibly?

Right.

*attempts to calm down*

*fails*

Eeeeeeeeee!

OKAY. I ADMIT IT FREELY. I think, after watching Trick or Treat, I have developed a massive crush on Derren Brown. I've suspected it for a while now, actually.

Is that weird?

I can't help it. I know he makes a living out of influencing people's minds and performing strange experiments, but he's incredibly calm and clever and sarky while he does it. Plus, y'know, gorgeous.

Hmm. I would give anything to meet him and see him in action. I find Trick or Treat fascinating and faintly terrifying - the impact on the people involved must be huge.

(I get the feeling I would fall very easily for one of his tricks; every time I watch his programme I look out for clues that he leaves early on, but I always miss a couple, and I know that it must be completely different when you're actually caught up in the moment.

David Tennant is due for a Trick/Treat soon. Christ, both of them on screen at the same time; that'll make my Friday!

Come on, Mr Brown...surely there must be some kind of experiment you could play on a group of teenagers? (I have friends who are dying to see him live and prove he's not faking it. You can never know until you see it, after all.)

(And I say the word experiment in an innocent, Derren Brown-style way, obviously.)

Well, bollocks. Apparently Mr Tennant isn't appearing at the Literature Festival anymore. I should've known it was too good to be true. I'm a little miffed, but I really don't mind all that much; Hamlet! I cannot wait until September. It'll be the perfect end to the summer holidays. My Dad says that he's envious of me, because when I read (and see) Hamlet, it'll be an incredible literary experience that I won't forget. I'm inclined to believe him; so much of the play is already iconic and the depth of language, and imagery, that I've come across so far, is wonderful.

I always hoped to study Hamlet at school; we did Othello this year, whilst the other two classes did King Lear and Hamlet. Shame, but Othello is fantastic to study as well (although it was hard for me to regard Desdemona in anything other than a 21st century regard - which, as a result, made me very frustrated with her. I suppose that's a sign of effective writing!), and I'm sure David will play Hamlet brilliantly.

So, yes. Pity about the festival, but I'll go and see the others that wing their way over. To his own schedule be true.

ANYWAY. One day I'll write a post which culminates in a promise I intend to keep. Eep! I left the Barrowman Show hanging a bit last time.

Interval arrived, largely uneventful; Tara and I stuffed ourselves with overly-expensive theatre ice cream and conversed with the ladies next to us ("You enjoying it so far?" "OH GOD, YES! He is *amazing*, isn't he?" You may be surprised at which of the two pairs of us said that latter sentence. It was so sweet!)

At this point, despite the fact that the previous, stomach-churning excitement had abated now that we'd seen the man, I started to get seriously jittery, as I'd heard from lots of other fans that John tended to begin the second act with Feelin' Good, sung backstage at first. Feelin' Good; my favourite song sung by him, EVER, and the one that always makes me melt and renders me pretty much useless for a while. So, for the last five minutes, I had to control my impatient twitching for the second half to start. The word sad has been mentioned previously, right?

The lights dimmed, the band appeared again to enourmous cheers (John Barrowman's boys - they really were fantastic; funky and talented and very funny. John had a running joke throughout the show that his drummer was a closeted gay and spent half the time flirting with him, telling him that by the end of the show he'd be "out and proud" - along, according to him, with the rest of the audience. But I digress.), the chords I recognised from my mp3 player, from youtube, from everywhere, rang out, and...

"Birds flying high, you know how I feel..."

Christ. I went insane. Silently, of course. I think my excitement was conveyed through my shaking Tara's arm repeatedly. And let me tell you, the sight of John Barrowman striding through the smoke, singing one of my favourite songs in the world, is one I won't forget easily. I'm planning on recalling it during the imminent exam season, when I get completely demoralised. I've already had to, actually. But more on that later.

I'm not sure of the exact order of the songs from then on, to be honest. At one point during the second half he introduced another "friend" on stage; another dummy with a spangly Elvis costume over it; cue John bursting into hysterics, because the dummy had its back to audience, and, "I can't turn it round. The guys backstage, they've done something to it - there are children in the audience!" Turns out the crew had put a massive black tube in the pants area to, er, flesh out the dummy. John retrieved it, still giggling, and threw it to a member of the band, saying, "I think this belongs to you!"

I didn't recognise the suit, myself, but it turns out it was a costume John wore on his Dancing on Ice days. He waxed lyrical about how he practised, wore the costumes, had so much fun..."and then I got voted off." He's still bitter about that (and somebody called Robin Cousins who was responsible, apparently), but he hammed it up for the audience and made a few pointed (and bitchy) comments about toupees. Hee! He then sang, I couldn't believe this, The Road to Amarillo, claiming that he'd had so much fun dancing it he wanted to sing it himself. At this point, my admiration of him quadrupled because somehow, inexplicably, John Barrowman can sing that dirge of a song and make it good! Seriously! I actually found myself enjoying it, instead of wanting to beat myself over the head with something heavy, when I usually hear it.

There was audience participation, as well, as we all sang along and joined in the "Sha-la-la"s in the middle (amping it up when John told us, "That was shit!" in the instrumental). There was also a brilliant moment when John sang completely the wrong words at the wrong point and almost lost it, but recovered quickly. It's gratifying to know that professionals make mistakes. Plus, he is so cute when he laughs. He told us, at the end, that he'd been on tour for two weeks and that was the best he'd heard it done - hurrah!

About halfway through the second half, having hinted at it earlier, he brought on Daniel Boys, one of the Joseph finalists from Any Dream Will Do. I'll admit, I wasn't particularly keen on the idea (I hate those programmes and wanted to see more of John, to be honest), but Daniel was fantastic; he sang three songs (I am a terrible person and can't remember what they were, but one was a Josh Groban song and one was from Hercules, to my recollection) and was adorable with the crowd; "Woo!"ing back whenever he got cheers, and being lovely and modest. Plus, he's a brilliant singer; he's in Avenue Q in the West End, and I can see why he's doing so well. John was incredibly complimentary of him; bringing him back on stage for a massive hug and more audience appreciation.

(And before you ask, yes, there were jokes about how nice it must be to have Daniel's hand up...there. Mind in the gutter, that bloke. Mind you, nothing less than what we were expecting. There was a little stand-off with the band over some misplaced Preparation H as well; "Who's got piles?!" He was adorably filthy-minded all evening, and we loved it!)

Following Daniel Boys, there was a groovy little session with the band, who he introduced one at a time whilst they all did their little riffs on their instruments (the man who played percussion was brilliant - I wish I could remember his name. *shame*), and he danced along. The band were lovely all evening; so talented and on the ball, and shamelessly flirty and teasing with John. John called them his family, and you could really see why; they all seemed really close, and it must've been a shame for the tour to end.

John then performed Moonriver, which was absolutely beautiful, and then the song Please Remember Me, which was dedicated to Sandie Gill, his partner's sister, who died of brain cancer a few years ago. The whole theatre went absolutely silent to hear his story; her husband had already died of cancer a few years previously, and her and Scott's brother, in a horrible irony, couldn't help her, despite being one of the top brain surgeons in the country. Sandie exceeded the life expectancy given to her by her doctor, but sensed that she didn't have long; the night before she died, she rang up everyone she knew, and when she spoke to John, she said, "Please take care of my brother." She died the next mornings, and the song was for her; what John imagined she wanted to say to her kids. The story, and the way he told it and sang it, makes me choke up just writing about it, and had both him and the audience in tears by the time he'd finished. It's so rare to see John so vulnerable like that, and it really affected everyone watching. To the girl who shouted, "We're with you, John!", that was so lovely, and he definitely appreciated it.

There was a lovely little bit of business with a hanky that was thrown on stage; John gave a massive comedy nose blow then handed it back to her, saying, "Thank you very much. Here, six hundred quid on e-bay." Which led to possibly my favourite exchange of the night.

"It's close to my heart now."
"Close to your heart? My bogies?"

My memory of the evening gets a bit muddled around this point, because at some point there was a flurry of presents being put onto the stage, but I'm sure it was before Please Remember Me, or maybe in the first half. Anyway, one lady put some roses on the stage, which led to another, and another, until the front of the stage was heaped with gifts, leaving John pretty bemused. I now understand why his ego gets a little out of hand sometimes; when you've got women throwing roses and cards and knickers at you (and yes, knickers; there was a whole bunch chucked on stage, to his delight), then your self-esteem is bound to give a big leap.

The woman sat next to Tara deposited a bottle of alcohol of some kind, and John leaned down and said "Give us a kiss!", and she, to our great amusement, lay several smackers on him that left him reeling backwards. I had to admire her; I'd never have the nerve to do that! She sounded a little embarassed afterwards, saying, "I know you've got Scott..." to which he replied, with a grin, "Well...never say never!" She practically bounced to her seat, and we spent a considerable amount of time later, in the scrum at the exit, telling her quite how envious we were of her.

Whew. Fingers hurting again, but I'm damned if I'm letting this span over three entries. Anyway, the following exchange preluded his next song.

John: Now, Portsmouth, I'm gonna tell you a little secret.
Audience: Oooooo!
Random Audience Member: *yells something*
John: What was that?
RAM: YOU'RE STRAIGHT!

Whereupon John cracked the hell up for about a minute and a half. It was glorious! Then he came back, with:

"I remember when I was first getting into the business; I'd meet with all these executives who'd be whispering, he can't be gay, he just can't be! I thought, back then, when I'm forty-five, I'm definitely gonna come out as straight and freak everyone out!"

Following that, he sang the song I won't send roses - which, according to Scott, is him down to a tee, which surprised us all, really. He seemed quite embarassed singing it, but it was a beautiful performance and you could tell that he meant it, despite having performed it dozens of times before. I have to admit, even though the song was about him and Scott, halfway through I turned to whisper at Tara, "Jack and Ianto!" because to my ears, the song seemed to scarily fit them. This is what comes of being involved in fandom for a while...

After that (and raucous applause), John donned a sparkly jacket, and I instantly knew what was coming; yep, I am what I am, and oh, it was so good. That song has gone down in folklore as John's signature song, and it was sensational. He put his all into it, and the audience were on their feet by the time he was done. He went off, then came back with an encore about thirty seconds later. He thanked everyone; the stage crew, the band, the organisers, and us (which...well, you can imagine the "you're welcome!" we supplied him with).

He ended by getting on his soapbox a little and talking about advancing music programmes in schools (the speech's effect was slightly marred by him saying "I know you care about sport, here in Portsmouth...", and that comment being greeted by a massive laugh), then sang the song Heaven, which he said represented what he had with Scott, and what his parents have after thirty-odd years of marriage (we, promptly, melted into puddles for the fiftieth time that evening), and finally ended with That's Life - the absolute perfect, cheeky, brilliant song to end with which, again, had the audience on their feet and giving him their all. He stayed on stage for a few minutes, thanking everyone through their applause and shaking hands with the front row (lucky bastards) before he finally, finally, left the stage.

So. There it was. The best evening I've possibly ever spent; I don't know about Tara, but I'm convinced the whole thing gave me some kind of drug-effect. I was on a massive high from it until halfway through the next day, whereupon I arrived back in Cheltenham after yet another long and rainy journey, and just went...sort of flat. Later that evening I went to see Dara O'Briain with some friends, something I'd been looking forward to for ages, and I just couldn't get into it. Is that a normal feeling? I felt I was still recovering; I wasn't in the right mindset. Plus, he wasn't as funny as I'd been expecting, and we were being bugged by several drunk, Welsh hecklers just down the row. But, another digression.

The journey back to Pokesdown from the Guildhall was a bit fraught; we ended up in a completely empty, freezing station, bashing a vending machine to make it dispense some goods before hopping onto a train set for Bournemouth that turned out to take forever to get back - still, it gave us a chance to have several long conversations about writing, slash, and relationships. And sluts we know and love. And also hate.

(Also, to the man who stared at me as I swore repeatedly at the vending machine when it refused to accept my money; I was hyper! I needed food! Give me some credit! The damn thing hated me, although it suited Tara fine.)

I left Pokesdown at eleven thirty, in the pouring rain, but frankly not in a tearing rush this time. It was horrible saying goodbye to Tara again, but we've promised to meet for Pride London on July 5th, so we've got that to look forward. Going to the Barrowman concert could never have been half as fun as it was without her; her excitement was infectious, and she also helped calm me down when I got a little too into it. I'll miss her, but we speak on the phone a lot, and hopefully she'll wing her way over here to read this.

*waves*

So...that's it. I went straight back to school, and straight away, the shit has hit the exam-fan. Remember last year's exam woes? Well, they're making an unwelcome return, and have returned in bulk rather than gradually. Ack, it's not good. I have a German oral AS next Thursday, off on study leave the following Friday, and my first exam is on May 16th.

However evil GCSEs are, AS-levels are doubly evil. I have three-hour exams with tiny breaks in between them; exam boards clearly think we are either robots, ambidextrous, or just incapable of being exhausted. Perhaps they've been watching Skins and think we're running on Ecstasy. Bastards. Have they ever tried writing about the intricacies of electoral reform and constitutional sources for three hours? It's fascinating stuff, sure, but three hours in the Gym doing that? Yuck. Still, it has to be done.

RIGHT. MUST GO. My fingers hurt now, but I'm glad I wrote all that up. Hopefully it wasn't too boring. It was...so good. I can't begin to describe how much I love that man, and how good he is onstage. He is, as I always suspected, spectacular. Here's hoping for a Pride London reappearance.

Better go.

Rosby out, feelin' good. I'll keep you posted on the exams of doom.

P.S. How on earth did I live seventeen years without discovering this song until now? It's insane, wild, bewildering..and utterly brilliant.

I didn't manage to get to Gloucester, in the end. Still, I don't mind especially; I'm seeing David Tennant in September anyway, and I've some friends who got a kick out of being so close to the filming. Gloucester cathedral's getting pretty popular for a filming location, isn't it?

Anyway, I looked at the blog today and realised that I still haven't written about the night of Barrowman. God knows who'd really be interested, but writing about it is a kind of a self-gratification exercise as well as for the interest of other people; it'll serve as an archive for a fantastic experience that I can look back on in the future, and writing is a brilliant exorcism.

So. It took me several hours, by way of three different trains, to get down to Pokesdown to meet Tara, who I hadn't seen in six months and had come up with the idea of the concert in the first place. I don't think I've mentioned Tara in here, which is a shame; I met her on the writer's course during the summer, and she is already one of the best friends I've ever had; she's wacky, she's kind, she's so creative, and we have masses in common. She is incredibly funny and very excitable - the PERFECT companion for a Barrowman night out!

Anyway, three trains, many stations, lots of rainfall, and a long and involved discussion about Torchwood and John Barrowman with some lovely fangirls on a train later, I reached Pokesdown (just on the outskirts of Bournemouth) and had a lovely reunion with Tara - it was fantastic to see her again, pink tights and messy bedroom and all. Within two minutes...

"Tara?"
"Yeah?"
"D'you realise that in three and a quarter hours we will be seeing John Barrowman live on stage?"
"I KNOW!!!"

Whereupon we jumped up and down and had our first screaming attack of many that evening. This is what John Barrowman does to the two of us.

We caught up, we surfed the net, we killed ourselves laughing at Eddie Izzard ("I'm Darth Vader, I'm your boss." "What, you're Mr Stevens?" "Who's Mr Stevens?" "He's head of catering." "I AM NOT HEAD OF CATERING!") , we got dressed into our finery (in Tara's words, looking "goddamn sexy"), and we headed out, in a considerable rush and high panic, to the train station, where we nearly missed the train out due to underestimating how much time we had.

(In retrospect, it may have been a bad idea to both dash down the street in high heels, waving at the men at the bus stop who were staring at us and shouting, "Barrowman, we're coming!")

All I seem to remember of the short train journeys to Portsmouth that followed were me constantly panicking that we were going to be late and not let into the Guildhall, and Tara telling me, in no uncertain terms, to calm the bloody hell down. I've unfortunately inherited my Mum's penchant for travel paranoia; I love going on excursions, but everything has to be meticulously planned and time left in case anything goes wrong. It's in the genes, and it does begin to irratate people after a while.

Still, as predicted by lovely Tara, absolutely none of the worry mattered, as we reached Portsmouth half an hour before the concert, and the Guildhall was literally right next to the station. I felt a wee bit sheepish after that, but my worry served an excellent purpose, as I'll shortly explain.

(I've read through all this, and God, it sounds very dull, not in the least bit creative. I'll try and spice it up.)

For those who haven't seen it, the Guildhall is incredible-looking from the outside; I posted a picture last time, but it really is brilliant; it's incredibly ornate and stretches up to the sky; looking over a massive plaza; pillars and statues at the top of (what seemed to me), about a million steps. Tara and I (and a couple of her friends who we'd bumped into at Southampton Station), all let out a collective breath of amazement when we rounded the corner and saw it looming, in all its glory.

I knew, right then at that first glance, that we were in for a spectacular night.

The butterflies began as soon as we went inside and saw the queue, and the Barrowman paraphenalia being sold. I began to realise that this was it; we were actually here. A vague plan made months ago had come to complete and total fruition, and we were poised on the edge of utter brilliance and incredible excitement. Everyone knows the feeling of delicious anticipation; it stirs in your stomach just as it begins and you realise how much there is still to come, and relish. It's a bloody brilliant feeling.

That anticipation was heightened when we entered the auditorium, which was smaller than I expected, until I saw the stage, which is bloody massive; it's very wide and stretches very far back, and when we filed in, it was all set out with instruments for the band; saxophones and keyboards and guitars and drums and percussion.

That was when it started.

Have you ever been so completely excited that it takes over your entire body, and brain? That you're taken aback by your own reactions, by how much it utterly absorbs you, from the roots of your hair to the edges of your toenails?

That happened to me.

I had never felt so excited, as me and Tara sat in our designated seats in Row K (which were wonderfully close to the stage), than I did in that half hour of waiting. In my head, it seemed, all the worry about trains and lateness had been replaced with this bubbling, happy, almost hysterical excitement. I know it sounds sad, but it just overtook me; my stomach contained a million butterflies that wouldn't stay still for a moment, my breaths took on a shallow edge, and I couldn't stop laughing in amazement, a little thing I do when I'm excited. Everything seemed to trigger me; the sight of the stage, the fans, the seats slowly filling up, the background music, it was electric to me. Tara thought I was adorable, and in retrospect, I must have looked a little insane to someone watching me closely, but I managed to keep it in check. Just. I did a lot of seat-wriggling, though.

(Tara was also ridiculously excited, as well. In fact, she probably deserved to be so more than me; she's never seen him live before, whereas this was my second time in a year. She bit my arm at one point to try and contain herself - I know that sounds very weird, but it was perfectly acceptable under the circumstances.)

Finally, finally, after half an hour of increasing excitement, of happy discussions with the ladies on our row, of frantic capslocked texts sent to friends and my Dad (who replied Get a grip, you wally!), half past seven arrived. The band came on stage to cheers from the very packed audience, the lights dimmed, an unknown voice rang out "Ladies and Gentlemen...", at which point Tara and I grabbed each other so tight it's a surprise we didn't suffocate, "...Mr John Barrowman!"

Then the theatre erupted, we whooped and clapped, I peered over someone's shoulder, and there was John Barrowman coming onto the stage. As gorgeous and as large-as-life as he appears. We went crazy; I'll never forget Tara bouncing up and down in her seat. The butterflies took off and exited me in the form of screams.

John Barrowman had entered the building, and was causing a storm of excitement in his wake. Lord, do I love that man!

He began straight away with the Latin-American themed It had to be tonight - which, after research on my part, is apparently a Michael Buble song. And this may be a redundant statement, but John Barrowman can fucking sing. He is brilliant. He gave the song incredible life and was clearly enjoying himself, dancing away during the instrumentals and providing the audience with some arse-wiggling (which we *greatly* appreciated). After that he moved straight onto You're so vain, which I didn't recognise until the chorus. I'm not a massive fan of that song, but John can make anything sound good (as evidenced later on in the show), and it was, again, bloody wonderful. Afterwards, he greeted the audience (to explosive screaming), and told us about how he'd been rung up by Carly Simon and asked to do a duet of that song, and he described the experience as completely surreal. He also did an impression of Carly that had the audience in total hysterics.

There's something about John Barrowman, and being a fan of John Barrowman, by extension; despite him being a lovely, cheeky, entertaining man, there is a certain disconnect when you're viewing him on television. David Tennant is very much a "bloke"; despite being so famous, he's reassuringly normal and charmingly bewildered at all the attention he gets. John Barrowman is different in that respect - perhaps it's the American in him; the massive, loud personality, or the fact that he's done so much, but it's often hard to imagine him living a normal life. He gets everywhere, and sometimes you think of him as just a star rather than just a bloke. On stage, there is still an element of this left (I spent half the concert thinking, sweet Lord, John fucking Barrowman is right in front of us), but he makes up for it by being absolutely absorbed in what he sings. Whatever song it is, he means it absolutely, and is so involved and so brilliant that it's infectious. Performing musically is when he is the most sincere, and throughout the concert, we got to see further depths of John Barrowman rather than his personality on all the shows he ends up on; the funny, giggly, banter-y one which joked and flirted with the audience and the band, and the serious and touching side, which doesn't come out very often and moved us considerably. Long story short, he may seem unreachable, but when he sings, you can see more of him, somehow.

ANYWAY. His next song was Milly Molly Mandy, a song he sang when he was five in Scotland, accompanied by childish dance moves which made us all laugh and go, "Awww!" It was adorable! Following that, he brought on a dummy with Captain's Jack's coat draped over it (eliciting a staggering response from the crowd - the coat!), and dedicated a song to Jack Harkness from The Wizard and I, except he changed some of the lyrics and called it The Doctor and I - it was a lovely dedication and we all went a bit nuts over the defabrication request. I was half-hoping David Tennant might appear, but I was obviously underestimating his schedule.

Following that (although I'm not sure of the exact order) was Every little thing she does is magic, and Time after time, accompanied by a heartbreaking story about a friend in America who tested positive for HIV, and his father, not finding anything to say, sent him a package with this song on cassette, with a note saying the song said everything that he wanted to say. It was an incredibly emotive peformance and moved a lot of the audience to tears, including me. After that was Weekend in New England, a Barry Mannilow song for his manager Gavin ("A big gayer, like me!"), and he did a hilarious impression of his first "meeting" with Barry, when he saw his jet plane fly over his hotel and jumped up and down yelling, "HI, BARRY!"

Then there was Anything Goes, a personal favourite of mine that had me squirming in my seat with glee, followed by Where is love from Oliver, (although he caused hysteria by imitating Nancy in a cockney accent at first. And don't get me started about the jokes involving the word Nancy.) The first half ended with Man of la Mancha with him saying he would love to play Don Quixote one day, as "he's a little crazy, like me."

Whew. My fingers really hurt from typing now, and God only knows how long this entry is already. I may come back to it tomorrow. It's becoming lacklustre as I get more tired.

More tomorrow, I promise, if you haven't died of boredom already. Plus, my thoughts on Doctor Who. Watch this space!

Complete fangirly indulgence ahead!

OH SWEET MOTHER OF MERCY.

DAVID TENNANT IS COMING TO THE CHELTENHAM LITERATURE FESTIVAL. WITH CATHERINE TATE.


DAVID TENNANT IS COMING TO MY TOWN! HE'S COMING HERE!


CAN'T STOP CAPSLOCKING.


...sorry. But SQUEEEEE! Hurrah! It's not until October, and for all I know he could cancel (he's a busy man, after all, and after the fiasco we had with Russell Brand I'm not completely trusting), but if I manage to get tickets then I will see him twice in two months; first at Hamlet, then in Cheltenham. Seriously. HE'S COMING HERE. SERIOUSLY.


Christ; been a fan since mid-2005 (before Doctor Who, contrary to what a lot of my friends think), never seen him in the flesh, then twice in two months! I am dashing to the box office as soon as I can and finding things out. Those tickets will go like hot-cakes.


I could never miss out on that. Imagine how I'd feel if I did! I'd go the whole day thinking David Tennant is less than a mile away from me, and I won't get to see him! I hope it's not on a Saturday; I won't be able to take any more days off work.


ANYWAY. Drifting. It's not until October; I have time. Still, super-excited! Bweeee!


Had better go and pack overnight things for tomorrow, or as I'm calling it, Barrowman Day. Ohohoho. This is going to be good. I did some probing, though, and it turns out that he doesn't greet people stage-door on this tour. I was a little miffed, but it's my fault, really; I underestimated the size of this tour. I mean, I'm seeing him at the Portsmouth Guildhall, and I had NO idea what it looked like until yesterday. Look! It even has pillars!





If John appeared at the stage door he'd be mobbed. I didn't realise how massive all of his venues were. Still, I don't really care. Live! Seeing him LIVE! And from what I've heard so far from other fans, it promises to be a brilliant show. And, with any luck (although my original plan of asking him for confirmation has now been scrapped), he'll be appearing at Pride London again, so off on another trip! Tara will come with me and Emma this time, so God knows what's going to happen to Barrowman when we've finished with him.


(Psh - finish with him. Who am I kidding? We'll just stand in the middle of the street with our mouths open like we did last time. Still, we weren't expecting him last time, so you've got to allow a little mitigating circumstance for the frozenness.)


RIGHT. HAVE TO GO.


Will report back mid-Saturday, possibly with pictures. Wish me luck, people! I'll see you on the capitalised side.


This is going to be spectacular.

Well, all is relatively normal in the household of Rosby this Sunday evening; Joe is being grumpy and playing deafening music, Mum is watching Big Brother (for reasons that I can't even begin to fathom), Dad has retreated to his cave, and I'm sitting here and remembering that it's been over a week and I still haven't reviewed Doctor Who yet.

Right. Here we go.

...hmm.

See, it's far more difficult to do this one, because my reaction was so different to what it usually is. I definitely remember exactly how I felt whilst I was watching it, so it's not a case of forgetting (it was 2am, after I'd got back from Pride London, and seeing as I'd been disappointed on the big screen front I was determined to watch it before I went to sleep), it's just...I honestly didn't know what to make of it. Still don't, really.

Let's break it down. What I liked:

- Martha finally getting to do something consequential; after all this emphasis on her being a medical student, clever, bothered by her family, she hasn't done a massive amount except run, scream, and panic. It's nice to see her being the one who sorts everything out. Freema's acting was much better this time, too.

- John Simm. Oh, John Simm. From lip-synching to the Scissor Sisters to dying in the Doctor's arms (by way of serious wife-snoggage and mad, evil genius dancing), he was brilliant. Absolutely fantastic as the Master; it's so good to have someone who can match up to Tennant. He definitely stole the show in The Sound of Drums, and kept it up for this one.

- On a completely superficial note; Jack covered in grime, chained up, getting to shoot things, and returning to Torchwood. Hurrah! (More on Jack later, though.)

- Every weeny little bit of Doctor/Master interaction. Those two work superbly together, don't they? There was totally convincing chemistry between the pair of them (and no, not the shippy kind, although that hasn't stopped the slash fans going mental), and I was crying along with the Doctor when the Master died in his arms. Wonderful.

- The Toclafane being revealed as Utopia-bound humans; not only was I proved right (as were many other people), but it wrapped up the story in Utopia very nicely. Plus, the face in the metal ball was creepy and disgusting enough to give the little kiddies nightmares, which is always something.

- "This is me, getting out." I'm sad that Martha's leaving, because I do like her despite some dodgy acting moments, but I did love the way they dealt with it; people have been complaining so much about how she keeps going on about her unrequited love for the Doctor, but...why shouldn't she love him? It makes a very nice change from the Doctor and Assistant being in love with each other and never saying anything. Plus, I am *deeply* familiar with the "getting out", distancing technique. And it hurts quite a bit, so I do feel for her.

- The Titanic. Pure win.


Right. Hmm, I seem to have thought of a lot of positives for this one. Now for the negatives;

- As much as I liked Martha being the central figure, I just wasn't very impressed with the reveal that all she'd done was talk to people. I mean, I know that was the Doctor's plan, but I was all set for a combat, kick-ass Martha who's hardened and stronger than she used to be. Finding out that she's just been talking does take away that element of her personal growth. I don't know. I'm not making sense.

- The Doctor/Messiah telepathic floaty nonsense. Granted, I didn't hate it quite as much as Marie did, but it's such an easy way out. My favourite Doctor by far is flawed Doctor; he's certainly a hero that travels around the Universe saving people, but he is by no means perfect, and is often forced to make decisions that aren't for the best. Thinking about it now, that's one of the reasons why the series 1 finale was so good, and why I loved Eccleston so much; remember "coward or killer"? He chooses "coward, any day", and you admire him more for that. I think the same about Jack in Torchwood. Presenting the Doctor as this perfect saviour being who saves the day thanks to people's prayer takes away that novelty. Plus, it's totally transparent. Chibnall did exactly the same thing in the Torchwood finale, and it doesn't work.

- Doctor in a cage. I don't completely hate this, but I'm veering towards the negative. It's just so...*weird*. Scares me a little.

- Magical Reset Button. The ultimate Deus Ex Machina, and too bloody easy, once again. It's the perfect way of putting things back to normal, and it's insultingly simple.

- Jack. Right, this is where I really start ranting. As glad as I was that Jack came back for those three episodes, he may as well not have bothered. Asides from a couple of minor reveals, and a delicious scene with the Doctor in Utopia, there has been no point in his presence. He was left on Earth for over a hundred years, and there is no hint of confrontation with the Doctor, no apologies, no real closure. The Doctor has been completely dismissive and not bothered to deal with how Jack must feel being trapped in linear time after all these years. Jack's main role in these episodes seems to be wandering around looking gorgeous and shooting things. Which is always good, but we need more. All us Torchwood fans hoping to find out more about him, hoping for some kind of explanation, or for Jack to get to grips and accept his immortality, are distinctly miffed. Russell simply inserted him into the finale, realised he'd have to do something with him to avoid a fan mutiny, so tacked his big reveal onto the end of the episode. Oh, speaking of which...

- The Face of Boe. This has divided the Torchwood fandom into three sections; the WHAT?, the HA!, and the NOOOOO! I am part of the NOOOOO section, myself; what the hell was he playing at? It's as if Russell visited the nearest livejournal and found the most ridiculous speculation he could find. It completely takes away the mystery of Jack's eventual fate, and it just doesn't make any sense. Plus, Jack's obviously shown that he is a very social and physical person; he life revolves interacting with people, with running around trying to save the world, and not least, intimacy; he is widely-known to be a pansexual man-whore. (Ahem). He is *not* going to be the kind of person to end up as an unmoving head in a big jar. He just isn't. I don't know if I'm fan-wanking or not, here, but that's just how I feel. It's the most pathetic and paper-thin reveal. I'm in the process of trying to erase it from my mind; it probably won't be mentioned when Torchwood returns, so I can forget about it.

- I have absolutely no sympathy for Martha's family whatsoever. At all.


...I'm well aware that those explanations are incoherent and not very deep. I'm just letting the words come out without really thinking about them.

SO. That's what I thought. It was brilliant, but Rusty tried too hard to make it unusual and different, and a lot of things are very jarring as a result. And the lack of Jack was just infuriating.
As for new companion news...gah. I have absolutely no doubt in Catherine Tate's acting ability; she is an RSC woman, after all, but I HATE Donna's character. I really do. If she spends the whole time acting like she did in the Christmas episode, I may stop watching. With any luck, she won't. That's all I'll say on that for now; I'm reserving judgement until I actually see her do it. I've been proved wrong numerous times on this kind of thing.

(Plus, I hate The Catherine Tate Show; "Am I bovvered?" repeated a million times does not constitue comedy, in my opinion.)

RIGHT. That's it. Doctor Who is over for another year; and I have enjoyed it exceedingly. Freema Agyeman did have quite a few dodgy acting moments, but overall she did well. I loved all the episodes, bar the Dalek two parter and The Shakespeare Code. I've had fun squeeing at things, and I'm looking forward to the next series.

I'm really not doing a good job reviewing this, am I? I'm trying to stay positive, so I have less to type about. My fingers are killing me. Maybe I should try another time. I'll talk about it a bit more soon, I promise.

*sigh*

I miss it already...

The Sound of Drums? BRILLIANT. Bloody excellent. The Master is utterly bonkers, and I love him already.

Again, copying and pasting my initial flailing reaction:

I am calm.

I am calm, I am calm, I am totally calm.

I am serene, in fact.

I am...oh, whatever. FUCKING HELLFIRE, THAT WAS BRILLIANT!

With the...oh, John Simm, I think I may love you. And Martha and Jack, and the Vortex Manipulator, and....and SQUEEEE! TORCHWOOD REFERENCES! When Jack said he was calling some friends, I nearly flailed out of the chair. And they're on the Himalayas! *What*? I know they can be a dim lot sometimes, but surely they're intelligent enough to maybe leave someone behind in case there's an emergency? Or, even if they can't, make sure they have clear phone communication to Britain?

(They'd probably leave Ianto behind, wouldn't they? Hmph. Typical abandonment. Still, if they did, it would mean he was back at the Hub and could have answered the phone and met up with Jack. Oh bollocks, why didn't they leave Ianto behind?!)

Jelly babies! Tom Baker reference!

And the old Doctor, and the Toclafane!

AND GALLIFREY! We saw Gallifrey!

And Jack died. Again. Well, we were all expecting that.

Dear God, I'm still wibbling. And next week...combat Martha! Old Doctor! (I know it's still David Tennant under the makeup, but I do prefer his younger self. I'm shallow like that, see.) Gun-toting Jack! Dirty gun-toting Jack! And dirty, gun-toting Jack that is meant to reveal a "jaw-dropping secret".

....I can't wait. Really. I can't. WANT IT NOW. WANT. WANT MUCHLY.*squee*

It was only a bit later that I realised that Saxon, using his evil tapping, could have somehow convinced them *all* to go, over their better judgement. If he can get inside Jack's head (which we know is pretty unpenetratable from the Torchwood episode Greeks Bearing Gifts, then he can get inside anyone's head.

And the tapping. Oh, the tapping! Why on earth didn't I mention that? I love Russell for turning something so simple into something so sinister. And it's incredibly catchy; I've been tapping that rhythm ever since it aired.

Tappity-tap. Tappity-tap. Tappity-tap. Tappity-tap.

Other fantastic bits; Mrs Saxon (creeepyyyy), the perception filter keys, the phone conversation (with added subtext), the Paradox (that was some *perfect* CGI, there), the happy/sad faces, and Saxon and Jack in general. Hee.

My one criticism; Voodoo Child. It just didn't work.

Gah, I'm terrible at reviewing Doctor Who; I mean to be balanced and rational about the whole thing, but I just find myself wibbling hopelessly and incoherently.

What exactly are the Toclafane? They've got to be something awful if they can break the Doctor's hearts. I'm with the view that they're the last of the human race who took off in the rocket to Utopia; it would provide us with their story from the end of Utopia, and it would break the Doctor's hearts because he was the driving force in helping them set off, and it's him who is responsible for the extermination of the final humans.

Also (just remembered this), soon after the Professor turns back into a Time Lord, he takes a disc out of the computer and says "Utopia!" in a very scathing and evil way.

I can't think what else it would be. Whatever it is, it's big. Very big. *squee*

Anyway, had better be off. With any luck, I'll be viewing the final episode in Trafalgar Square on a big screen. It's just as likely that I won't, but it doesn't matter. Seriously looking forward to it. Hurrah!

Rosby out.