A-levels. A-levels. A-levels. Ack. I promise I'm still around. Doctor Who good but not brilliant. Michelle Ryan's character relentlessly irritating. Missing Torchwood. One month till Barrowman, two weeks till end of school.

Still around, still around!

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*

In which I do not fulfill promises.

Well, I never wrote about Pride London. Nor Doctor Who. I know it's stupid, but I feel very ashamed that I haven't; Pride was a sensational experience and so much better than I'd anticipated. It's not complete apathy that I haven't posted about them; I've been incredibly busy doing school work, even up until the end of term, and preparing for my school trip to China. I should've found the time, though. I was determined not to write about Pride without photos; they tell half the story and Lucy took some brilliant ones.

I WILL tell all, I promise. Just not now; I'm leaving to go across the world tomorrow for two weeks, and I've been packing and fussing and buying too much to think about much else.

(Also, that accident I had on Wednesday has had me distracted; I've never hurt myself that badly before and was seriously scared; even now my shoulder is really hurting and I'm on painkillers. I'm fine, really, but it was a scary few hours that were all new experiences, and it was a very inconvenient time to happen. Again, I'll go into detail soon enough. Probably once I've stopped yelling "Ow!" every time I try and open a door/reach for something/pick up anything, with my right arm.)

God, I sound depressing and moany. Sorry. I feel like my creative juices have run a bit dry. Still, am SO excited; term ended today, for good, and I'm off to China tomorrow, for fifteen days! Eeeeee! We're going to Kunming, in the west, which is fairly near Burma and Vietnam. We were originally slated to go to Beijing, but the Olympics ensured that no one else was let into the city after a certain date. Grr. Still, it doesn't matter, we're seeing the real China. We're staying in a hotel and studying at Kunming University. I've spent all evening packing my suitcase, my room a complete tip. Mum has been flitting frantically in and out, offering further medical supplies. She's been twice as paranoid as usual since I hurt myself, which is sweet, but deeply annoying at the same time. I suppose it's better than her not caring at all.

RIGHT. Sleep. Not leaving until the afternoon, but I should get some rest.

Stories coming soon. All I'll say is this; we marched alongside Ian McKellen. And I mean alongside; inches away from him for about an hour, following his lead, being watched by thousands of people. It was inspirational beyond all belief and had us reeling with the brilliance of it. Nudge me mercilessly when I get back and don't talk about it.

Right, I won't be around until August 2nd. Off to widen my horizons!

Rosby out. I'll take pictures. Farewell!

ARGHSOBUSYSOBUSYARGHARGH.

Hence the lack of posting about Doctor Who. But this was my reaction, verbatim, typed up a little later:


TEN POINTS OF CAPSLOCKY SQUEE.

POINT THE FIRST - Agnfhgkshfdgjv; Jack losing contact with Martha made me all go all wibbly. Just the desperation of it.

POINT THE SECOND - WILF WITH A PAINT GUN. I LOVE YOU, SIR!

POINT THE THIRD: GWEN! IANTO! Need I say more?!

POINT THE FOURTH: Okay, clearly I can. Rhys mention! Loss of dignity! The coat! Met a soldier in a bar! GOING DOWN FIGHTING LIKE OWEN AND TOSH. MA'AM. HE CALLED GWEN MA'AM. EEEEEEEEEEE!

POINT THE FIFTH: Oh Sweet Lord, it all links together. Russell, you clever bastard; that was brilliant. The bees, the lost Moon! *is in awe*

POINT THE SIXTH: THE DOCTOR SPOKE JUDOON. That may be the cutest thing I have EVER SEEN.

POINT THE SEVENTH: Jack fancies Sarah Jane! Gwen fancies the Doctor! Donna fancies Jack! Ianto...what the hell did Ianto say? I can't work it out, no matter how many times I watch it.

POINT THE EIGHTH: DAMN ME FOR SEEING SPOILERS; I knew that the Doctor was going to be shot before he reached Rose. Grr. Am currently facepalming at how I ruined the surprise for myself.

POINT THE NINTH: DALEK CAAN. That was SO creepy.

POINT THE EVERLOVING TENTH: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON NOW? WHAT? HOW? WHAT THE...WHAT???

CAPSLOCK UNTO INFINITY.

...actually, I am slightly calmer than I am usually; mainly because I've had time to collect myself but oh my LORD, that was epic. EPIC, I TELL YOU.

But, okay. I have a confession. Everyone seems to love this bit, and I absolutely hated it. I rarely hate things in Doctor Who to the level that others do, but this I hated, even if it was a small part; that Ianto-O'Grady thing. What? That was...*what*? Completely out-of-character, and just urgh. I feel horrible for saying so, I really do, because I hardly ever spout vitriol about Who and Torchwood, but I winced when that bit came on and it did dampen my squee for a while afterwards. Just the...yuck. I hated it, basically, even if it lasted about two seconds. I'm awful. Sorry. I may have to skip over that when I watch again.

There wasn't even a trailer! Gah, nothing! And Jack left Ianto and Gwen hanging in the loop, poor things!

(Yet again, their brave faces and silent stoicism gave me a lump in my throat. Ianto's little smile...oh, they've been separated from Jack far too often.)

*squeak*

Eeeeeeeeeeeee!

Anyway, must go and get provisions.

GAH. CANNOT POSSIBLY WAIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK. AND I WON'T EVEN SEE IT UNTIL THE SUNDAY EVENING, AS I'M AT PRIDE LONDON.

*skips off*


So, um...that. It was good. Except for the part which I will never mention again.

Talk soon!

As I may have mentioned, this year in English we're studying The Wife of Bath from The Canterbury Tales. We haven't really started yet; we're doing some background work on the events of the time, like the Black Death, and John Wyclif and his contribution to the Reformation, etc. Today, though, Ms Reid gave us copies of the prologue to the tales. I've flicked through, and...what?

No, seriously. WHAT?

I knew how it was written, but dear Lord, I thought that I'd have SOME clue of the meaning, just by looking at it. It looks like a bizarre mixture of English, French, and Swedish, and I can't fathom it out at all. And I thought Pride and Prejudice was difficult; this is going to stretch my brain somewhat. Can't wait until we start studying it properly.

Joe's off to Glastonbury tomorrow. He will be where Amy Winehouse is, whilst I won't be. I've never been more jealous of him in my life.

Still soldiering on through War and Peace; I'm on page 403 now, but I'm saving it for the eleven hour plane journey to China next month. I figured it will eat up a large chunk of time. I love it; seeing the play was fantastic, so it's incredibly interesting to see the proper backstory to all the characters I fell in love with, as well as others who weren't included on the stage. Still, certain parts feel a little off; possibly the translation. Nevertheless, I like it.

Also, I have fallen head over heels in love with Billie Holiday, and have been listening to Blue Moon and God Bless the Child for several days. GAGH. How did I not listen to her before now? She is sensational, and I can understand the influence she had on Amy Winehouse; both on the music, and the reckless pattern of her life.

Mama may have, Papa may have, but God bless the child who's got his own...

Pride London soon! Still not fully arranged, but significant movements have been made and it should be finalised within the next few days. Mr Barrowman is in Canada at the moment, so he will be absent, but I really don't care. Just to be part of it, to be members of that crowd; it'll be sensational. Better dig out my Pride whistle!

Right.

Is it time for Doctor Who yet?

It's only Tuesday? Really? Damn it.

*retreats back into cave and waits*

Doctor Who - Turn Left

Okay. I wrote the following immediately after I'd watched it.

HOLY JUMPING TINKERBELL JESUS.

PREPARE FOR CAPSLOCK AND INCOHERENCY. DEAR LORD. FUCK ME SIDEWAYS. OH YEAH, AND SWEARING.

ROSE.

BROKEN, STRONG, BRILLIANT DONNA.

THE LABOUR CAMPS.

BAD WOLF.

...okay, I've got to stop that before I annoy anyone who may wing their way over here. But JESUSHELL. That was epic and brilliant and moving and absolutely terrifying. Catherine Tate is amazing beyond words.

Oh GOD, I can't believe I never thought about that; the consequences of one lost action by the Doctor. He dies, the whole Earth slowly destroys itself. And it was so real; when the family were being taken away in the van I was holding my breath, and just burst into tears as soon as Gramps did. Oh, God. Rusty, the things you do to us. Ow.

(I'm really not sounding my cleverest. My veins are currently alive with squee, I'm telling you. My arms are tingling. God, I'm sad.)

Anyway...

As SOON as Rose said a little team were up on the ship, I instantly thought Torchwood, and lo and behold, YES! SHE SAID THEIR NAMES. SHE MENTIONED GWEN AND IANTO. I had to pause, I was so surprised and flaily. And Jack! Oh God, poor Jack, stuck up on the planet alone, again.

AND ALIGUYJGHKSDP; BAD WOLF. I KNEW IT WAS COMING A SPLIT SECOND BEFORE IT DID, AND THEN...

So, whew.

And so we come to the trailer of wonderment and joy that will render this post a capitalised, brain-dead with excitement, slightly hysterical squee-fest. Prepare yourselves, people.


HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THINGS COVERED IN CHOCOLATE.

JACK! IANTO! GWEN! IANTO IN A WAISTCOAT! CUDDLING IN THE CORNER! GWEN AND IANTO WITH BLOODY MACHINEGUNS!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

AND SARAH JANE. AND HARRIET JONES! AND ROSE, AND MARTHA!

...I'd been looking forward to this trailer all day, but my speculations didn't even come CLOSE to what we got there. GAGH. HOW ARE WE MEANT TO WAIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK?

I am so very, very, very hyper right now.

I will be more coherent in time, I promise. Right now I'm off to guage other people's reactions, as I saw this episode late and haven't seen what people have thought yet.

*dashes off*




...so yeah, that was my reaction. Jesus, I am actually insane and far too obsessed. But, come on!

The wait for next week is going to be interminable. Also, just noticed, the BBC's Youtube account has BAD WOLF BAD WOLF BAD WOLF written on its user description space. Ha!

Okay, got to go and try and calm down.

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!

Oh, God.

The 2008 Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling is a featured video on youtube today; consisting of reckless, stupid people dashing down a hill, breaking their legs and ankles chasing a bloody cheese. A couple of years ago somebody broke their neck, apparently. Or did some serious damage to it, anyway.

I've lived in this county my whole life, but I still find this tradition the stupidest, most idiotic thing around. Call me a kill-joy, but that's what I think.

As a representative of Gloucestershire, I'd just like to put it out there that we're not all that thick and desperate for attention.

(Also, incidentally, the village in Hot Fuzz is portrayed at being in Gloucestershire. And Cheltenham Ladies College is filled with "pretentious shits" according to St Trinians. AND, whenever Gloucestershire seems to be mentioned on television, by comedians, there are always references to stupid farmers and West-Country idiots. Again, kill-joy, but I didn't realise quite how we were regarded. Still, I suppose there are sterotypes for cities across the country. But, frankly, videos of idiots chasing bloody cheese doesn't help the image.)

Review of Doctor Who coming up. Bit too pissed off to write it now.

The exams are over! Hurrah! Huzzah!

The sense of finality is much smaller than last year, if there at all, as I had to do a quarter of the amount of exams, and I'm going back to school to start A2 courses in a couple of weeks. Still, no more revision, no more tests, and lots to look forward to in the coming months. Yay!

Overall, I think they went relatively well; English and Drama were excellent, Politics wasn't too bad, although I did fall down on certain areas, and I'm slightly worried about German because it was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Particularly the oral; I went in very prepared and filled with useful phrases, then got too nervous and fluffed the whole thing by stammering and running out of things to say, and generally being a bit rubbish. People kept telling me that it probably went better than I thought it would, and I hope they're right, but at the moment I'm not feeling overly-confident about it. I don't want to retake anything, really, but I may feel the need to if I under-perform. I don't know. I'll know in August.

Anyway, it was the loveliest feeling in the world waking up today; I don't have to go back to school until the week after next (as next week is devoted to work experience), so I have three and a half days all to myself, which very neatly coincide with suddenly hot weather, and the Cheltenham Science Festival, which is already in full swing. Having said that, I was extremely miffed that I missed Richard Dawkins; I'd somehow convinced myself he was here today rather than yesterday. Damn. I loved The God Delusion. Still, I had a mosey around the Town Hall for a while looking at all the exhibits, and I've booked to see Mark Watson on Saturday; hurrah! I love him; he's not very well-known, but he's completely hilarious, and is doing a one-off show about his carbon footprint.

Also, keeping to my word, I went out a bought a shiny new copy of War and Peace! Having seen it done so brilliantly on stage (and written about the play in my Drama exam), I wanted to read the book and find out more about the characters. It's going to be tough going; this copy spans over 1358 pages, and I'm on page 37 at the moment. Still, I love it already, and it's going to be slightly easier knowing who the characters are, and the events that happen. I've just read the part when Pierre sees Dolokhov balance precariously on a window; drinking rum and everyone around him praying that he won't fall, and it's just as tense and atmospheric as it was in the play. Wonderful.

My next task is to organise Pride London, which is going to be slightly difficult, but not impossible. I'll be damned if I'm not going. In a slightly sadistic way, I'm looking forward to seeing how Boris is received, as he didn't seem to be too popular in London drinking circles fairly recently.

Speaking of which; urgh. The Daily Show did a segment on the Tube drunkards recently, and I felt so embarassed; I actually agreed with Boris on this one, and the fact that so many people humiliated themselves and caused such a mess and behaved so stupidly, just proves what alcohol can do. I mean, yes, it's good to stick it to politicians; I've done it before, on protest marches in Cheltenham, but you'll get precisely nowhere and get yourselves extremely bad press by acting like that.

There again, this comes from a non-Londoner and a non-drinker, so God knows where I stand. I just wince when I see footage of it, and I have the urge to explain to The Daily Show audience; "We're not all like that! We're not!"

Right, had better go. Farewell! Enjoy the sun, if you've got it.

P.S. Torchwood is a week-long affair next year, apparently; and as soon as I'd do anything finishes, the entire media is taken over by stupid, sodding Big Brother again. I think Doctor Who is a saving grace at the moment.

Oh, hell.

I think I'll have to review Silence in the Library after the next episode; I'm insanely busy and there's always something that urgently needs doing before I can sit down and get it all out. Sorry. But, needless to say, it was excellent and has left me buzzing with hundreds of questions already. Who is River Song/Doctor Moon/the child? What happened to Donna? Why is she saved? What's CAL? Who will be ghosting next?

Also, although I wasn't scared of the dark after this one, the phrase Who turned off the lights? has been bugging me all day. Scary...*shudder*

SO MUCH GOING ON. Is this what it is to be an adult; constantly arranging things and having people never reply to you? God, it's driving me mad. Also, I have one more exam left that I haven't done nearly enough revision for, and that would be tomorrow. Here I am blogging when I have an exam tomorrow.

Fuck. Fuuuuck.

I really need to go.

Right, I missed Doctor Who due to dinner with my brother and his girlfriend in company, but the BBC iplayer has just delivered, so it begins.

I have some fucking jaffa cakes in my coat pocket, and am ready to be terrified.

MOFFAT, BRING IT ON.

P.S. Is something happening vis-a-vis Boris tonight? I heard something was up...

"My entire career has been a Secret Plan to get this job. I applied before but I got knocked back cos the BBC wanted someone else. Also I was seven. Anyway, I'm glad the BBC has finally seen the light, and it's a huge honour to be following Russell into the best - and the toughest - job in television. I say "toughest" cos Russell's at my window right now, pointing and laughing."

Hurrah!

We finally have confirmation, and yay!

I may have not mentioned this before, but I mildly hero-worship The Moff; he is a fantastic writer and absolutely hilarious with it. He created Coupling, now he'll be the frontrunner for Doctor Who! Hurrah once more!

(I love Russell, no question, and will miss him, but he's chosen an excellent successor.)

Gah, I can't believe we have to wait two weeks for Silence in the Library, all for bloody Eurovision. EUROVISION. How that manages to take precedence over Doctor Who, I have no idea. Hmph.

Still, I have plenty to do in the meantime. I have an English AS exam tomorrow, which I am pretty confident about (as English is by far my best subject and I love everything we've been studying - particularly John Donne), but the exam nerves are still there, just fluttering beneath the surface. I should be OK.

Anyway, time to be off!

I'm torn between the trivial and the important.

Hmm.

Oh, hell. DOCTOR WHO!

Criticisms first:

• Was I the only one who missed half of the dialogue? Music and rapid-talking and under-enunciation seemed rife this episode.
• Donna seemed a lot less consequential this time round, and a lot less strong which, although it was because she was near her family, became rather grating after a while.
• Her mother annoys the living hell out of me - Jackie was motherly badgering, but she pulled it off as natural and endearing; Donna's mum seems to contain virtually no redeeming features so far.
• Slightly dodgy acting from Rattigan, although he managed to keep the accent in place.
• Heavy on the melodrama; the waxing and waning fumes, the news alerts, the countdown-unexpectedly-reversed-at-the-last-mintue; it tended to get very samey after a while.
• Sontarans = unimpressive. In my view, anyway; the kiddies probably loved them.

This was very much a reference episode; we already had the Sontarans, and it was lovely to hear word of the Brig, and a brief mention of Captain Jack, and The Empty Child!

Oh. And, when Rose appeared, I may or may not have leapt about a foot in the air. Metaphorically, at least. I'm seriously looking forward to seeing how this arc is going to play out; the subtle smatterings of Rose so far seem less obvious that the arcs we've had in the last two series, and I'm twitching to see how it all fits together. Soon!

Overall, I liked it; it was nice to see an explanation for why the Sontarans didn't just nuke Earth and run away cackling, the moments between Martha and her clone managed to mix bizarre and touching and somehow make it work, and the Doctor was his usual, technobabbling, hair-ruffly self. I loved his attitudes to both Donna and Martha; both very different, but respectful towards both of them when it came to their actions within the episode. And, in turn, their reactions to him; when Donna thwacked him on the arm before sitting by him and Martha, it just worked, without needing words.

Next week's looks...deeply, deeply strange. Russell T Davies has said that this one is likely to cause fan revolt, which just makes me want to see it more; there is nothing funnier than watching Who fans rant, frankly. I mean, I love the show as much as the first person, but I don't take it seriously enough to get enraged when events don't turn my way. It's a children's show, for God's sake; if the target audience is just enjoying it for what it is, why can't the fans? I feel the same about obsessive Harry Potter fans. There again, I tend to avoid them more often than not; they can get scary sometimes.

So, to sum up, roll on next week. And the week after, and the weeks after, until we reach the epic multi-character fest, which must be deeply risky for everyone involved. I cannot wait. If Ianto and Gwen get a look in, my neighbours have to acquire some earplugs. Bweeee!

Anyway, I mentioned the trivial and the important; the important being, of course, the recent election. I'm hesistant to get too politically passionate in here, really. I wrote last night's post in a slightly angry state of mind, which I still am when I think of Boris Johnson; but I really can't politically rant when I, in no way, am astute in recent matters as I make myself out to be. I have been following the election, and my politics classes have helped me take a further grasp on my political stance within the options we have, but I'd never confess to knowing everything, and assuming my view is the most prominent.

I'll be honest, I'm still not entirely sure where I stand. All I know is, I am not Conservative. Yet, for all my scepticism of the media and efforts not to be influenced, I still seem to take notice of the individual rather than the party in question; yesterday I had an extensive debate with a guy called John in my yeargroup, in the Common Room just before last period; when it was happening, I thought we were arguing Liberalism vs. Conservatism. It was only afterwards that I realised we'd only covered David Cameron, who is only a tiny part of the whole establishment.

My honest opinion; I don't like him. I think that he is intelligent, but that he lacks substance and embodies the archetypical traits of the leading politician to the extreme; point-scoring, Punch and Judy politics, and advocating his party as not a good party, but always better than Labour. Everything he says seems to have an underlying thread of bitterness, and when he makes speeches, he doesn't say anything. He makes bold statements that aren't fully explored. I know that's a common trait, I do that, but I am not running a major political party and attempting to get the chance to run the country. Long story short; he irks me more than Gordon Brown does, and I can't help but feel that the Conservative majority this time around is indicative of events still to come. Even if it is due to disillusionment with Labour, and Gordon Brown, support appears to be growing. Which, in my book, isn't good, but my book isn't the Bible.

I know a lot. I know a lot more about politics than I used to. But I don't know enough, yet. I'm not entirely sure what point I'm trying to make here. Basically that I'm going to full-on rant and rave until I know the full ins and outs.

(I say that, but I did just get het up about Cameron, didn't I?)

RIGHT. Sorry for those random trains of thought. I was going to talk about Martin Horwood's visit to my school, but my coherency levels are lacking tonight, I'm not sure why. Exhaustion, possibly. I'm off on study leave on Friday; it won't be a moment too soon. Still, at least I have Monday off.

Talk more soon.

And, before I forget to ask...what do you think?

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!

GAHAJGHJHDLNH;;

*flail*

THEY'RE FILMING DOCTOR WHO IN MY OWN COUNTY. GLOUCESTER CATHEDRAL.

*gulp*

I should get down there.

Doctor Who is back, people!

And, I must confess, I was so involved in Torchwood that I didn't notice it coming - then BAM; straight after thirteen weeks of solid Barrowman, we get thirteen weeks of solid Tennant. With Barrowman mixed in near the end. Hurrah!

Overall, I loved it. I missed the first ten minutes due to spaghetti boiling (which had me flicking frantically from room to room until I gave up and concentrated on the pasta before it overboiled), but it was easy to follow. Due to, great shock, being three years older than when it started, it's impossible to take Who seriously, but I loved it all the same; the little fat-babies were absolutely adorable, and Miss Foster, although seeming like a complete characature to me, was deliciously evil enough to scare the little kiddies. Plus, it was refreshing to have a motive other than destroy/take over the Earth. It's good to have a villain who cares.

(Lord, that sounds like some kind of advert.)

And Catherine Tate! I'll admit, I was one of the ones who was slightly annoyed by the addition of Catherine Tate; she's a great actress, but I found Donna relentless irritating in The Runaway Bride, and didn't think I'd enjoy that for thirteen straight weeks. However, I really enjoyed her in this; her experience with the Doctor has definitely changed her; she seems to have become more assertive, has a more meaningful perspective on life, yet she's still very ballsy and down-to-earth. Also, I love the relationship she has with the Doctor; they work very well as partners in crime, and the contrast between them is played out very well.

Time will tell if she'll capture the hearts of the public, but she seems to be doing brilliantly so far. I've read that the relationship between the two is more matey this time around, which seems to bode well; from what we can witness with Martha, unrequited love for the Doctor clearly doesn't do a lot of good. Not that it can be helped, I'm sure. I was glad to hear the Doctor expressing his guilt over his treatment of Martha; hopefully it'll lay a nice foundation for when we see her later on in the series. Hurrah!

So, all in all, good episode; a nice, ridiculous, fun-filled romp for an early Saturday evening. The new time-slot is irritating, though. What is it with the BBC and scheduling? Torchwood was completely all over the place; is that going to happen with Who as well?

Also, that bit with Rose?

I may have flailed. Just a tiny bit. Out of surprise. Bwee!

As for Torchwood...gah. I cried. I was completely spoiled for the deaths of Owen and Tosh, but I still cried. The episode itself...ehh...I loved it, but I was really hoping for something a lot stronger, and which made a modicum of sense. Also, the actor playing Jack's brother Gray was diabolical, to be honest, and the whole premise seemed very squashed together, and there wasn't enough room for any real development of the character, or of his relationship with Jack.

Still, James Marsters took another winning turn (although, as with Gray, the accent was a bit off. I haven't seen Buffy before - does his British accent fluctuate in that, as well?), and there was good acting all-round, especially from Naoko Mori and Burn Gorman. God, I'm going to miss Owen and Tosh. And Torchwood! This series has been a million miles better than last series, and the future of it is very uncertain. Still, I have thirteen episodes to enjoy at my leisure, and Jack will be cropping up very soon!

(And I'll be seeing John Barrowman live before that. But that's for another day.)

In addition, as read in Deathray magazine, Gwen and Ianto are meant to crop up in Doctor Who as well! SQUEEEEEE! God knows for how long, but it's been said more than once, and...oh hell, I don't care. IANTO! AND GWEN! IN DOCTOR WHO! YAYYYYYY!

...ahem. I'm rather excited about that.

RIGHT. That's the review done. Doctor Who is back! I'm going to miss the next episode, though, which is annoying; I'm off tomorrow to Turkey for a week, which promises to be fun. I still haven't packed, though. Next week (I think) is James Moran's episode, so make sure you give him some nice feedback on his blog; he's a lovely guy and hilarious with it.

Had better go and pack my suitcase. Will definitely post when I get back, on the second episode. Also, if you come back here after the 18th and see several posts filled with incoherent capslock and the letter "e" repeated many times, that means I've seen John Barrowman. And talked to him. And gone mental.

Bye!

Hmm. Was going to write several posts of complete amazement at being in the Sixth Form, but honestly, the feeling of wonderment has pretty much worn off after three days.

Ish. I still keep taking double-takes at people because they look so good in their new smart uniforms.

And, to be honest, there hasn't been much to it. These three days have been bonding days, and I haven't had any lessons yet. I have three free periods on Monday, in which I will have nothing to do. I just want to get on with it.

Damn it, I was going to write reams about how utterly fantastic this summer was, as well. I mean, this was the summer of the writing course, of Pride London, of the GCSEs, of my renewed squeeness for Doctor Who. This seems to have been the summer of Barrowman, actually; Doctor Who, Pride London, and a lot of my time on the writing course was spent with Tara and Beth doing a hell of a lot of vocalised appreciation for the man.

(I don't know if everyone gets this, but sometimes I have to stop and take stock; all these programmes I watch and people I've taken to heart, like Barrowman, Tennant, Amy Winehouse, everyone on the Mock the Week, etc - they're all just pixels. I think about people I've never even seen. Well, I clocked John Barrowman, Freema Agyeman and Graham Norton during the summer. It's nice to know I've finally seen them on something other than a screen.)

For me, that was the summer of Pride London. You may remember I posted on it a while back, here, but when I read that back, I felt it didn't really encapsulate how good a day it was. It was definitely the best day of my life so far, and I think about it all the time. To be a witness to something like that, to be marching down the streets of London holding the signs, surrounded by hundreds of people, deafening everyone in the vicinity with whistles...it was sensational. Me and Emma have already said we'll go again next year, and although it'll be great, I get the feeling it'll never match up to that first time.

And the writer's course! That was the best week of my life. I wasn't really sure what I was expecting before I got there, but it wasn't what I found. I'd made friends with everyone within a matter of hours, I'd forgotten people could be that open with each other. I had the chance to meet dozens of incredibly different, incredibly talented people who inspired me and reduced me to hysterics on a number of occasions. My phone and MSN list are full to bursting with new numbers, and I've never had so much fun. We even managed to get some writing done.

Tara, Beth and I have promised we'll meet up again. God, I miss them.

(By the by; Harry Bulman and Ashna Sakar. I'm archiving those names here so that when they become famous as a stand-up comedian and political activist/poet, I'll be able to say that I knew them when they first started out. They'll go so far, those two.)

If all this isn't particularly coherent, sorry; it's twenty to midnight, and I've got this playing in my ear.

Speaking of which, damn. I was so hoping Back to Black would win the Mercury Prize. That rendition of Love is a Losing Game was so beautiful. Amy may be getting into all kinds of shit at the moment, but damn, she can still sing.

...I should really go to bed. Off to Alton Towers tomorrow!

Will post again soon when my thoughts are in order, and I can tell you about my first lessons as a Sixth Former.

Rosby out. Talk soon!

You know, I never thought I'd say this about Catherine Tate (I don't watch her on television much, after all), but damn, she looks good there. As does Mr Tennant, obviously. Although his hair does seem to be undergoing some kind of canopy effect.

Gah. I was going to write all about the write4kicks course, but I'd need at least an hour to go through it all. All I'll say for now was that it was the best week I've ever had, and I made so many new friends. More to come, I promise!

I should go out. I'm feeling a bit boxed in.

Marie, bloody huge congratulations! I haven't bought the novel yet (for shame), but I've flicked through it in Waterstones and it looks fantastic! Really looking forward to reading it all the way through. I cheered when I spotted it.

RIGHT. Must get out of the house. I promise I'll post about more important things, and in more detail, soon. I'm feeling a bit apathetic at the moment; I've tried incredibly hard and still haven't been contacted for a job, and am waiting on tenterhooks for my results. I feel completely lazy and useless. Must not go into a downward spiral from here...

Got to go. Try and post soon!

P.S. I have tried and tried, but the huge block text o'doom will not separate out. Must have something to do with the picture. I'll try again later.

It's already a well-established fact, but I thought I'd give it just a little more oomph; I AM AN IDIOT.

I had a job interview today; lovely little shop on the Prom that sells gift cards, ornaments, all kinds of things. It looked like a lovely, friendy place to work, and I was called on Tuesday to say I had an interview this morning.

And, oh Lord, it was awful.

The day didn't start off well with the two-mile slog through absolutely torrential rain; by the time I got there my jeans were soaked halfway up both legs and were dragging in the puddles. Lovely. Thank God I had an umbrella.

There were two people interviewing me; a woman, and an older man. It started off marginally swimmingly; I told them about myself, and about my family and how I'd finished school. Then, completely out of the blue, the man asks, "What's 15% of 200?"

The words "totally thrown" don't even cover how surprised I was. I mean...why? The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. I can appreciate that anyone working the tills has to have a basic knowledge of Maths, but when on earth would they need to do percentage calculations in their head? Or am I being naive?

The horrible thing was, I was so surprised, I drew a complete and utter blank. Urgh, it was so humiliating. I sat there for about a minute trying to work it out and failing miserably. After a while, he just said, "Okay, you don't know..." in a horribly patronising and extremely unsympathetic way.

I managed to get one eighth of thirty-two, though. Even crippling unconfidence and fear doesn't take away any fraction skills.

The rest of the interview, I'd rather not go into. Basically, rapidly draining confidence + uppity, cold interviewer = disaster. I don't know if it was my lack of confidence that caused him to be such a bastard, or it was his manner that made me uneasy. I think it was a bit of both, to be honest. But from the very start, he made it clear he wasn't impressed with me, and made no effort to make me feel comfortable.

Oh, God. I mean, despite lack of experience, I'm very aware that interviews for jobs are not designed to be sunshine and rainbows; they're meant to ascertain a candidate's full potential, and sometimes you can't go easy on them. But, for God's sake, it was an interview for a sodding teenager, for a little shop on the Prom. Since when did that give him cause to put me on the spot like that, and basically look down on me and make me feel two inches tall?

I'm fully aware that I didn't do brilliantly either, but I honestly don't think I'm entirely to blame. I went for an interview with another shop a few weeks ago with a guy called Daniel; he was about twenty-three or four, and he treated me like an equal, and made me feel comfortable and at ease. And as a result, I performed a lot better; although I wasn't offered a permanent job, I am top of their list, and I'm told that he was very impressed with me.

I'm rambling now. I just think that I was treated unfairly. And I'm not only saying that because I didn't do well; I know that I must have looked like an idiot at least once. But Mr Spectacles-Maths-Interrogator's attitude did anything but help. He was a positive hindrance. I wish I'd been interviewed by the woman; she was friendly and tried to talk to me, instead of at me.

So yes, it was a disaster; I headed straight out into the rain, found the nearest wall and collapsed against it, muttering, "Shit, shit, shit!" for about five minutes. I felt like I'd been ritually humiliated. And this is my complaint; surely there is some kind of rule against doing that to minors?

I had to get a cookie to cheer myself up. Didn't work. Then I walked two miles back home in even heavier rain to find my brother still in bloody bed, with a full dishwasher and wet washing in the basket. I was in such a dark mood I ended up hammering on his door and yelling at him to get up.

Cruel, I know, but needed. And it worked well; he ended up getting up and emptying the dishwasher. He was incredibly pissed off with me, though.

Well, another interview bites the dust. On the plus side, Mum and Dad were both sympathetic, which I wasn't expecting. They both said that, judging from the interview, it probably wouldn't be the best place to work anyway. And I starting to agree with them; for a little shop, they appear to be taking things a little too seriously.

God, this is not good. School has officially ended for everyone, now, and I still don't have a job. Not for lack of trying; I must have handed in my CV to every shop with a Vacancy sign in the window. And so far, nothing. I'm close to munity.

I'm Daisy. When I grow up, I'll be Daisy Steiner, I just KNOW it. And, as much as I do love Daisy, I don't want to be like her very much. I keep watching Spaced and getting startled at sudden similarites that just fling themselves at me.

(Hmm, maybe I'll be a weird mesh of Daisy and Tim; like Daisy, but with Tim's geekiness and fandom-involvement. Although with Doctor Who instead of Star Wars. Oh God, have got to stop this. Do not want!)

I'll give it a go tomorrow, I suppose. I might be meeting the-guy-I-really-like for a coffee in the afternoon, so that can be an interlude in amongst the job-hunt.

(Spent almost all day with him yesterday. 'Twas glorious, and not only just because of the weather.)

I'm still *so* pissed off at that man. Although at least I've passed the stage where I just want to flail hopelessly yelling "FUCKING FUCK FUCKETTY FUCK!" That got seriously tempting earlier. I think Michael Jackson music (Billie Jean is not my lover...) and bacon sandwiches helped.

And Jack/Ianto-related material. Ahem.

It's been pouring for twenty hours straight, and almost every street in Cheltenham is flooded. If there is a God, I think he gave our school a perfectly sunny day for Charity Day on the field, then gave us torrential downpour to make up for it. *sigh*

Harry Potter tomorrow! It totally slipped my mind until last night. I'm such a hypocrite; I maintain that the whole franchise is totally overrated and causes too much fuss, yet I'm desperate to find out how it ends. It gets into your head, see. My parents haven't even read the books, and they know the names of the main characters.

(My Dad was going to call me Hermione when I was born; I can't even begin to thank my Mum for intervening, especially as I look like her. The character, not Emma Watson, anyhow.)

My brother has promised to buy this one, seeing as I've bought the last three. What do you think the chances are of me venturing into town tomorrow, visiting guy-who-I-really-like (I'm not sure how to refer to him) who works in a bookshop, and somehow not finding out the intricate details of the plot before I get home? Very thin, I expect. I'm definitely avoiding several of my haunts on the internet for a few days.

(Note to self; when you start to call them haunts, you're online too often.)

RIGHT. MUST LEAVE NOW. If I keep typing I'll never stop. I'm listening to I Can't Decide as I type this. I'll say this for Rusty; he managed to create a perplexing, weird, and very confusing series finale, but he did manage to introduce me to a Scissor Sisters song that actually ISN'T awful.

Rosby out. Congratulations on the review, Marie!

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...