Um, hi.

So, it turns out that I never did report on John.

However, I have seen the first episode of Torchwood, series three.

How do I even BEGIN to describe one of the most amazing days of my life?

WELL.

(Feel free to skip through this - it's EPICALLY long and really quite strange in parts.)

I spent all day in London; got up at a ridiculous hour of the morning to catch the bus in. I love taking the bus, because I've taken the M4 route up there so many times (me and Mum used to travel up there when I was younger), that I recognise everything out of the windows when we're approaching London; Windsor Castle to the right, the blue-roofed mosque to the left, and the beautiful statue of the boy and the dolphin near Earl's Court. Sadly, the Earl's Court TARDIS seems to have vanished, and I never found out what it actually was! Shame. Maybe it'll turn up in Cardiff one day.

Anyway, the tube was a bit of a disaster; I knew which way I was going and got there without a hitch, but I'd forgotten how horrible the underground really is; loud and hot and claustrophobic and, well. Underground. No natural light; I'd hate to do it too often.

First destination was the National Film Theatre, where the episode was being aired, and I've just realised that I have no photos, which is deeply irritating because that place is plush! When my Dad was a BFI member it was a grotty old place; it's incredibly fancy in there now; shiny floors and carpets and an incredible bar inside with sofas dotted around. The outside is brilliant, as well; there are huge chairs made out of fake grass, and a multitude of shops. It's lovely and I'd love to go again.

The second destination? Well.



I had to! I was in London; how could I not? I managed to miss it the first time, actually; I found the right road and went halfway up before looking back at the roofs of the houses and realising I'd walked straight past. I found it and had what's known as a geekgasm. Because it's the house from Spaced!

Photos taken with permission from the girl who answered the door; she said I was very sweet for asking, because apparently no one ever does before they start snapping photos of the house from the outside.



I really wanted to sit on the wall (a la Daisy and Tim; God, I'm sad), but there was a little too much shrubbery in the way.



Seeing 23 reminded me of something brilliant Simon Pegg said in the DVD commentary for Spaced; "We told interviewers that the house number was 23 because we wanted the house to be in its 20s too, in tandem with the characters, but in reality it was just bollocks!"



*flail*

It's the front door! Where Brian answers to the agents! And Daisy and Tim get stuck outside in the freezing cold and nearly kiss! And...okay. I love this show; could you tell? This was my warm-up squee for later...

After bidding a fond farewell to the house, I meandered around Central London for the rest of the day; going from Trafalgar Square up to Westminster and to Buckingham Palace (getting increasingly more morose at the utter closed-off nature of Parliamentary buildings and the ridiculously ornate nature of Buckingham Palace. I'm not getting into my political beliefs now, but it was a little irritating seeing it.) I parked myself on the monument rather than looking at the Palace, and wrote for about an hour and a half (having to stop several times to take pictures of tourists, bless them, and send Twitter innuendos to Lucy, who was on the train up.)

Too hot, and with a thumping headache and Diet Coke on my shirt (my doing entirely, that last one), I headed back to Victoria, from there to Waterloo, and met Lucy for the first time.

I'll admit, I was a little nervous; I'm not always great with people I don't know that well, and I was a bit twitchy, but there was no need; at the risk of stroking her ego, she is lovely. Really easy to talk to, and she made me laugh a lot; and she has the Harwood's theme as her ring tone! Woman of taste, that one. We bonded over pain relief, oddly enough, and soon enough Tara was with us; hat firmly in place and talking about how, since she hadn't eaten, was going to snack on a tin of custard during the episode. I am not making that up; she had a tin, complete with opener. That's my girl.

Tara and Lucy got on straight away, which I was hugely relieved at; I hate introducing people to other people! I have a very irrational fear of awkwardness, so I'm glad that was averted. And here is a picture of the lovely ladies at the BFI:



It was at this point, that the squee started.

You know (or maybe don't, which indicates that you're far more rational than me) the kind if you're a fangirl and there's something so brilliant, so exciting, so imminent approaching, that it affects you physically? Your stomach won't stop tickling, you can barely sit still, every other step you take goes a little off because there's this continual realisation that you're on your way to something amazing. My hands were shaking; I was that bad, and I kept making tiny little squeaking noises. I know I'm obsessed, I do; but it was the most incredible feeling; adrenaline and anticipation and happiness all rolled into one. I'd never take drugs, but if I did, I imagine they'd have a similar effect.

Tara was used to it. She's seen it many times before. I'm not entirely sure what Lucy thought, though.

In we went; me squeeing all the way (not that loudly, but still fairly prominently); we met a couple of guys with Bring back Owen and Bring back Tosh T-shirts on, which I absolutely loved, and we got chatting as we went in; the ushers gave us our promo postcard (which I think I may have made an embarrassing noise at), and then we settled down to stew in our own excitement, in seats quite insanely close to the front. It was incredible.

Eventually, the stage door opened and, in my own words, "Oh my God. It's John's Mum. And Dad. And sister." Then, about two minutes later, in comes John Barrowman himself; in grey and pink, looking absolutely wonderful, as always; hobbling on two crutches with a massive cast on his leg. It was lovely to see him up and about.

He was followed by Caitlin Moran and Euros Lyn (I think), and then James Moran (which made me grin like a mad thing, because I'd been hoping to meet him - more on that later) and I was just trying to work out where Gareth might be, when I saw Eve.

Oh, God. I love her. I really do. She is absolutely beautiful in person, and in a wonderfully natural way; she's incredibly freckly, and has one of the most contagious smiles I've ever seen. She, John, John's parents, Russell T Davies (who I now realise really is massive; last time I saw him at Cheltenham he was on a high stage, so I couldn't really tell), Euros, Caitlin and a couple of others all sat in the empty rows in the middle; a stone's throw away from us. I couldn't settle down; it was crazy, suddenly. We were watching Torchwood...with Torchwood! With the brains behind it, and the faces of it! I thought it was brilliant how informal the whole event was; they were suddenly with us for the experience, rather than being the distant stars. I loved it.

A figure within the BFI (Marcus something - I feel terrible that I've forgotten his name; I still giggled at John heckling him as soon as he'd started speaking, though!) introduced the guests and told us to "awww" that Gareth David-Lloyd wouldn't be there. I was a little miffed at first, but frankly, by the end of the evening, I'd had so much fun that I really didn't mind. I suspect, due to something someone said the night before, that he might have had some kind of lurgy from the Torchsong convention, but I'm not sure.

I spent the entire episode clutching Tara's hand in mine like a mad thing, and I think John and/or Eve may have noticed at some point, although I'm not sure. I either looked completely insane and twitchy (which I was), or we looked like a lesbian couple. Or both. Not that it mattered; her arm was just a good squee outlet!

As for the episode itself.

Fantastic! Absolutely, positively brilliant; when I'd first heard about the five-episode format I'd been irritated, but I can see now that it's going to work brilliantly, because you're constantly on the edge. Everything you watch is working towards something; ironically for a thriller, it seems, there's less rushing than in a normal episode to get to the climax. Things are left to unfold and characters and their traits can be explored without a set time limit on how long they have to express themselves, if that makes any sense.

The audience loved it; it was an incredible experience watching it with like-minded people, and I'll really miss watching the rest of series three without them!

Parts, character-wise, worthy of mention (to any blogspotters reading, this may not make much sense due to the assumption that most livejournalers already knew what happened in the episode through other peope):

- Rhys isn't in this episode much, but his first appearance is gold. It had the entire audience, including Eve and John, in hysterics.

- Jack and Ianto's dynamic has been really put in the foreground, and it works brilliantly; the banter snaps between them, and while they're closer than before and, in the words of Ianto and several others, "couple-y", there's an underlying thread of tension and uncertainty, and I can't wait to see how it continues. I'm starting to love this format; there's always more!

- Gwen is superb, here; whilst she was a little over-exposed in series one, the writing of her has improved considerably and she's kept her best qualities for this series; camaraderie, sympathy, wit. She's lovely, and she and Jack and Ianto function as a team incredibly well.

- I thought I wouldn't be able to watch Frobisher without thinking of Malcolm Tucker (they've even got the same accent - it was a little jarring hearing it at first), but Peter Capaldi was brilliant; apprehensive but resolute. In a way, actually, he was similar to Tucker; his actions are reprehensible, but you can't bring yourself to loathe him because he's pressured, he has to do what's necessary for his own survival. Obviously, he and Tucker handle crises different. And Tucker does the swearing for both of them.

- Rhiannon. Johnny. I LOVE THEM! I have a soft spot for Katy Wix from Not Going Out, and she is instantly likeable here, and the typical big sister; cutting and teasing and questioning, but listening to what he has to stay, and chastising him for staying away from them. Johnny is just hilarious; Lucy fell in love with him straight away. When he yelled "All right, gayboy!" I think the entire theatre just died with laughter; can't wait to see it on an icon!

- Ianto's explanation to Rhiannon about his relationship with Jack was one of my favourite parts of the episode; whilst what's between them has been amped up this series, it seems, Ianto's way of telling it was beautifully understated and hesistant; acknowledgement of something, but not something he can explain. (Of course, the moment was ruined/bested by Johnny marching in then explaining the SUV had been nicked.)

- I gave Tara's hand a squeeze and a half when Clem said, "You're pregnant!" out of the blue. Of course, I knew it could happen, but never suspected episode one! Obviously...YAY! Her reaction was spot-on; absolutely bewildered and stunned, and then that smile appears. It's wonderful. I'm still giggling at Jack's, "Ianto! We're having a baby!"

- Rupesh! How could I forget him? Lucy fell in love with him within minutes, and was shipping him and Gwen in even more minutes! The heel-face turn of Rupesh was incredible; nobody suspected it and it threw us all for a loop. I'm not sure who mentioned it, but I agree with whoever said that he was the Suzie Costello of series three. He was wonderful, though (despite his later...activities); so sincere and curious about what was going on behind closed doors; like Gwen at the beginning (as she herself notices).

- I think my heart melted when Ianto hugged Jack after he said he'd died. It was such a random and simple gesture, but so full of heart. I hope we see more of those.

- Just like Ianto with Rhiannon, Jack is incredibly cautious whilst around his daughter. Someone referred to it as "walking on eggshells", and she's right; he seems able to talk to her, but he can't quite penetrate the wall that she's built up around her and her son to prevent him from getting too close. She's like him, in a way; she knows the pain and the discomfort and, frankly, the weirdness that surrounds him, so she keeps her distance to prevent both him and her from suffering, and Jack's been seen as that, particularly around series one; he remains distant and secretive, because if he comes too close to someone it'll be worse for the both of them when the inevitable happens.

Having said that, he is adorable with Stephen!

- Ack, the kiss was too fast! I drank it in but it happened to quickly to even react properly; I can't actually remember what the audience response to it was. But, nevertheless, it shows how Jack feels; even through disaster, he's there for reassurance, for closeness.

- BOOM BADA BOOM goes the Hub, and I can't believe I have to wait another month before I can see episode two. And on my own, next time!

Oh, it was so good. I can guarantee that everyone will love it.

My favourite bits of the Q & A:

- Rusty trying to convince Eve to name her baby "Quincy", and her response of, "I'm not naming this child Quincy T Davies! Maybe the next one, though."

- When asked what it was like dealing with children, the mostly-quiet Euros Lyn piped up, "Electric cattle prods usually do the trick."

- John talking about the accident; how he slipped on the empty pool (Rusty chiming in, "It's a hard life, isn't it?"), and his impression of his mother kicking him to get up. "Go and get me...drink!"

- Caitlin Moran's question to Euros and Eve; "How do you explain the concept of Wales?"

- And, her asking Eve whether she'd found out about her pregnancy the traditional way, or whether someone had just come up to her in Cardiff and smelt her, a la Clem. Cue John and the audience hysterically laughing for about a minute and a half.

- John's impression of Captain Jack on a zimmer frame in Torchwood in forty years time; then he pointed to his very casted foot and said, "It's already happening!"

- Rusty teasing the "blonde lady" in the third row for apparently laughing at the concept of children in danger; "there are kids in bins!"

- Caitlin having to stop herself talking about what happens in episode two, and the rest of us yelling, "GO ON!"

- It emerging that, apparently, Torchwood is Nick Griffin's favourite programme. As a fan...urgh. I feel violated that such a bastard is sharing it. Still, it was fun to listen to all of them insult him.

- "When will we get a musical episode?" John saying that he hadn't seen the Buffy episode and everyone booing him, and then Rusty coming out with another corker; "It's just a shame nobody in the cast can sing!" Then, Eve talking about how it would go down for her; "I'll just in the background, throwing some shapes. I can throw a good shape." She then proceeded to throw a demonstrative shape. However besotted I was with her before this; I think it's doubled.

- Rusty talking about the Rupesh turn-around; "If only I'd written that he killed you with a flip-flop!" Cue John hysterically laughing again. I love how much he laughs!

- John and Eve. Oh, John and Eve. I could have happily spent the entire time watching those two; they're ridiculously adorable together, and it's clear that they're very close friends, constantly whispering and giggling and poking each other. It was so lovely to see them together for the first time.

- A guy asking a self-admitted "sci-fi geek" question about why the TARDIS couldn't pick up on any disturbance, and Rusty saying "that's answered!", everyone goes "Ooooo!", and John, with perfect timing, leans towards the microphone and says; "Touché."

- John and Eve's final exit; they were left behind because of John's hobbling on the crutches (which he was surprisingly adept at, actually; very fast). There was some pantomime jostling from Eve and she eventually slapped him on the arse to keep him moving, and they left to huge applause. Gah. I love them!


So. The night was already superb. But even more than the Q & A, the squee, the collective experience; my absolute favourite part was something different.

I'd had my hand up (complete with red book, and I'm sure Caitlin Moran noticed, if briefly) throughout the Q & A, hoping to ask something about the writing process; and since I knew that James Moran was in the audience, I was going to mention him in the question and say a quick appreciation of some sort. I wasn't called on, but as the Torchwood-ites left, I was hoping that he'd still be around.

As people were leaving, I saw him just above me talking to someone, and thought now or never.

I was so, so nervous. I read his blog all the time, and think he's a brilliant and hilarious man, and he's a brilliant source of info and advice for aspiring writers; he's refreshingly honest and frank about the process; he emerged from an aspiring screenwriter to a well-established film and television writer, and he shares his success with others and is a fantastic voice on the industry.

So, I told him all that. I told him (whilst stammering and probably sounding like a complete tit) that he was my writing inspiration (something which made him say "Oh, blimey." and look rather non-plussed; I'm not sure he's heard anyone tell him that!), and that, as an aspiring screenwriter myself, his advice was incredibly valuable and he was exactly where I wanted to be in the future. I was determined to get it out, and I'm so glad I did.

I mentioned that I read his blog, and he asked me what moniker I used, and he knew me! I was absurdly pleased that he'd recognised me; I'm a sad case, I know. I asked if he could sign my Torchwood postcard, and he did (whilst expressing disappointment that he didn't have one!), writing Writers are the BEST, due to something I'd haltingly said about writers not receiving the recognition they deserve, a lot of the time.

Then, and I can't believe I had the nerve to do this (as I'm a chicken, as previously established, yet my head was still now or nevering):

"How do you feel about hugs, or is that off-limits?"
"No, hugs are good!"

And we hugged, and he encouraged me to carry on writing, "really keep at it", and I literally floated away. I was so happy that I'd told him how inspiring he is to me (and, that I hugged him. Because he is awesome.), and I was just floating on air for hours afterwards.

Out in the lobby, the following people made my life complete:



Crystal and Robert; winning at life purely by posing. I loved them!



Derek, and...oh God. I feel utterly dreadful that I've forgotten the name of the guy on the left, because I made a point of asking him right before I left.

These guys were lovely. We'd talked to them on the way in, and stayed chatting for ages afterwards; talking about wacky surnames, the Torchwood episode, how brilliant it is being around fellow fans, Facebook, and general awesomeness. I'm attempting to contact Derek on Facebook and tag the picture on there; hope we meet again!

I bid farewell to Lucy, promising to see her again; it was wonderful to finally meet her, and I hope we can reunite one day, my dear!

Me and Tara walked back walking on air back to Waterloo, hugging and happy. I'd had one of the most fun evenings of my life; it was truly phenomenal, and was worth the blisters on my feet and the long journey back. I've seen Eve Myles, and Torchwood. I've shared with fellow fans. I've hugged James Moran.

At the risk of sounding soppy beyond reason; I was so happy.

Ow. This post has been two hours in the making. Must actually post it. But 'tis done!

*bows*

...sorry about the rambling, blogspotters. If you made it to the end of that I admire your stamina.

Just popping in to say; expect a post of considerable capslock and ridiculous excitement and squeeing coming shortly. Because...

...I'M SEEING JOHN BARROWMAN IN CONCERT TOMORROW! EEEEEEP!

Will report back (probably in irritatingly finickety detail) on Friday!

*bounds away*

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*

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!

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!

Similar to the mind-altering excitement I've mentioned before, but not nearly as extreme, you know when you love something so quickly, and so utterly, that the glee rises into your throat and you just laugh with the brilliance of it?

Two words: Frank Sinatra.

Oh, my God. Already loving the song Beyond the Sea beyond reason, I bought a Sinatra album today to listen to the rest of it, and I'm only on track 4 (Luck be a Lady), and I've fallen totally in love with his music already.

The best is yet to come, and babe, won't it be fine?

Oh, oh...! This is happening right now, at this very moment; the song Bewitched just came on, and it's the song Posner sings in The History Boys; gah...*falls even more in love*. I had no idea Frank sang it! And how Posner changes the lyrics; worshipping the trousers that cling to him. Oh, you lovely boy.

Eeeee! I can barely get the words out, I love this so much. I am undergoing a Sinatra-influenced transformation. Does that make any sense? Didn't think so. I don't care, somehow.

Oh, dear. I was meant to make a meaningful, political post, and Frank Sinatra has thrown that out of the window. The Good Life just came on. I'll be over here in the corner, bathing in his voice and the saxophones and violins, like the bobby soxer I've suddenly become. All I need is a poodle skirt, and I'm set. Honestly.

So long, sailing, bye-bye...

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.

Forget exam stress and Drama annoyance and school driving me down, forget it all; one of my e-mails was read out on The Bugle.

And John Oliver laughed.

SOMETHING I HAVE WRITTEN HAS MADE JOHN OLIVER LAUGH.

It sounds stupid, but I am so, so happy. I LOVE this podcast, it's the funniest thing in the world, and they read out my e-mail! Almost word-for-word! And I made John Oliver laugh!

*sigh*

If you're interested in listening, you can listen to a stream of the podcast following from the link above. My e-mail starts at around 22:44, but the whole podcast will make you laugh; they're brilliant, both of them.

Hello there, you insanely brilliant piece of work!

I am officially squeed and flailed out since finding out about this this morning.

I know it's sad.

But I don't really care.

TWO MORE WEEKS.

*goes back to doing something more important*

That new trailer.

That brand spanking new trailer.

Right.

To be perfectly honest, I can't be bothered to recount my initial reaction after it aired. So I'm copying my blog post from by Bebo account onto here.

This was written, at a state of unbeliveably high excitement and squeeness, about fifteen minutes after I saw the episode.

Oh my God!

Did you see it? The tr-oh my bloody God!

OH MY GOD!!!

The...wow! The thing! The pain and the scarecrows and John Simm and the "cured" Doctor and the spacesuits and...GAGHHH! OH MY GOD!!! CAPTAIN JACK!!! CAPTAIN JACK RUNNING! CAPTAIN JACK RUNNING WITH THE DOCTOR! CAPTAIN JACK JUMPING! CAPTAIN JACK SPEAKING! CAPTAIN AND THE DOCTOR AND MARTHA AND...EEEEEE!

"Was someone kissing me?"

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I CAN'T STOP!

For one, mad moment I thought it was next week's trailer which nearly made me lose it, but logic dictates that it can't be. Seeing as Doctor Who will be missing for two weeks (*grumble* bloody Eurovision...), they've made the fans an extra treat.

And what a treat! What a fracking good treat it was! Absolutely bloody fantastic! As soon as it's up on youtube it is ON the Bebo page like a shot.

Fricken'...hell! I still haven't recovered. The Torchwood fans are going to be literally exploding with squee.

SQQQQQUUEEEEEEE!

*runs off like a mad thing*

That pretty much sums up my mood. It was bloody FANTASTIC. And the best thing of all? (Apart from Captain Jack and John Simm tapping the table.) All those episodes air slap-bang in the middle of my exams. Excellent! I'll have something to look forward to!

The only thing that got me slightly miffed was that it's obvious there's going to be a distinct lack of proper continuity between the end of Torchwood and the beginning of Jack's stint on Doctor Who, because the audience of Doctor Who (the younger demographic that it's aimed at, anyway) won't have seen it. Still, I can overlook that.

P.S. How creepy was Saxon with his oxygen mask, tapping the table? Absolutely wonderful.