I am still very much enamoured with the notion of Torchwood circa 1913. Despite, rather than aided by, the l33t photoshop skills of the BBC wallpaper-making department.
In which an admirable sentiment is somewhat undermined by the execution...
Just...oh dear.
In the meantime, BOOBIES! I am declaring a challenge to the fly-by-night new favourite pairing of the hour, Jack/Meatpoo. Their cheap affection is nothing to the passion thus far exhibited this year between the two real stars of the show, which thanks to
bienegold shall henceforth be known as Tosh!left and Tosh!right. Their love is so supportive, etc. (Though Tosh!right is so clearly going to run off with Martha!left. You heard it here first.)
Thought A2A was
And have new Supernatural to watch this eve, which looks like a bit of a corker.
I should go and do something non-televisual now, I fear. There's sunshine out there and everything!
In which an admirable sentiment is somewhat undermined by the execution...
Just...oh dear.
In the meantime, BOOBIES! I am declaring a challenge to the fly-by-night new favourite pairing of the hour, Jack/Meatpoo. Their cheap affection is nothing to the passion thus far exhibited this year between the two real stars of the show, which thanks to
Thought A2A was
a bit limp in the places I worried it would be - ie including ridiculous shite like a bloke in espadrilles and a pastel suit with the sleeves rolled up, in London, in 1981. Sorry, but no. I anticipate an influx of brick-sized mobile phones and the like, whereas the very early 80s looked a fuck of a lot like the late 70s. The only one who felt really spot on was Ray. Which is not to say that I didn't like Gene's new coat, that I didn't cheer at Chris and his matchy-matchy girlfriend, or that the scary clown reflected in the office table etc were not brilliant. But overall, meh. To be fair, I wasn't all that fussed on LOM S1 for it's failure to really run with the possibilities of the format (to use proper 70s-style instrumentals, to shoot it in the style of a 70s TV show instead of just dressing it up vaguely like one), and arguably you can say that wouldn't have made sense with where they took the mythology. They certainly won me over with S2 regardless. But sod it, I want it to actually feel like I'm watching Dempsey and Makepeace with irony and good scripts, and instead we got oddly contemporary moody titles and an office that looks a bit like an Olivia Newton-John video. Oh well. Dead Sam, though. That's convenient sad. And we may never meet Mrs Guv, alas.
And have new Supernatural to watch this eve, which looks like a bit of a corker.
I should go and do something non-televisual now, I fear. There's sunshine out there and everything!
- Mood:
space-crickety

Comments
*encourages Gerald and Harriet fic like billy-o* (Even though I sort of want them to hang out with a post-UNIT Harry, just for Harry/Harriet lolpurposes.)
He and his Stiff Upper Lip telling the aliens that no, really, it's time to go home now, cup of tea before you leave?
Ah, yes. No Jack!smut. *shakes fist at fandom*
Hee. Meatpoo.
Also, I don't think I mentioned it here, but I dearly want Ianto and Gwen to get into a bitchfight.
What would be best of all would be TW1913 versus TWnow. Because 1913 would kick their useless arses, all while speaking terribly correctly and not undoing any buttons at all.
It's little details like the closing credits being in faux computer font. Why not have credits in the style of 80s credits, not credits in the style of...whatever that was supposed to be replicating. (Amstrad? I dunno, I was a Speccy girl.)
Is it just me or does Harriet (who's surname was a reference most people missed!) look more than a tad pissed? It looks less like a professional staff photo and more like a family portrait where the shutter clicks just after the 4 year old has cracked the shits and just before dad gives someoene a smack.
She was Harriet Darbyshire, yes? I squeed, then wondered if anyone would notice. I do hope she was pissed. TW1913 seem the types to have plenty of gin in their desk drawers.
TW1913 may be a pack of gin-soaked misanthropes, but they're still better than TW 1890. You think 2006 were bad? Add publically repressed victorian values and private orgies with chocolate sauce to the mix and it was the party spot of Cardiff. Ianto's still finding bits of underwear in the roofing structures.
So that's what Ianto's been up to. I always assumed 'feeding the pterodactyl' was some other sort of euphemism...
Besides, I wanted my fanon of Mrs Guv being a tragic invalid he looks after quite sweetly to be proven one way or the other. Though now she could turn up unexpectedly and be foul-mouthed and hit Alex repeatedly with her handbag. I could live with that.