All This and Chocolate

National Coming Out Day in UK

2011-10-12T12:23:00.000-07:00

National Coming Out Day in UK

by Debs J Forrest on Wednesday, 12 October 2011 at 10:06 on FB

After my note the other day I have spent a lot of time in deep ponderings. Yesterday was International Coming out Day and I felt braver yesterday than I feel today. To admit that I'm gay is possibly harder to do than to admit I accidentally shredded my sons chequebook thinking it was mine. Of course its harder, its possibly life changing to some respect.

I'm not a lesbian, I feel no love for another female other than friendship. I hate my own body, could you seriously expect me to love someone else who has the same body parts as me? If anyone hates what I write and feels repelled, simply untag and bugger off and delete me. I could lose friends and family over this. But I've lived a straight life for 45 years, I've had no gay relationships, I've been in a straight relationship for 20 years. I have 2 kids. I'm set up for life more or less. I wore a dress at my wedding, I chose the most plainest of dresses possible without the frills and the lace. I didn't want to wear a dress but it was a wedding and what was I meant to wear?

I've had a lot of time to think, and with Hollyoaks portraying the girl Jasmine Costello the transgender Jason Costello, it forces me to question my own gender identity. My note pretty much said it all. The friend I told you about felt quite strongly that transgender wasn't something she thought I was. She thought I was like her in that I liked and preferred mens clothing because its more comfortable to wear. That might be true for her, but for me, its perfectly normal to wander along the aisles in the shops and look up underpants for myself and vests and pyjamas in the mens section, buy the shoes in the Mens section, coats, jumpers, shirts. I never wander into a woman's clothes shop unless there's a kids section at the back and I have to get clothes for my two. Women's clothes don't interest me at all. I don't read women's magazines unless they're the only thing in the pile at the drs. The dentist have a pile of car mags which I think I've read all of them now. I tend to take in my own reading material. I know I'm different, I'm never worried about breaking a nail. I feel uncomfortable with the word wife, I don't wear the ring any more, makes me look like my mum. I've not worn a wedding ring now for 14 years.

I don't love all men obviously, there are certain ones that set my pulse alight, but I don't fancy women. I know there's nothing I can do about my physical being. Well ok there are things I could do, but like the note earlier, its who I'll lose if I did. I know what I am, there's nothing I can do to change that.

I have a family who love me for me, who partly understand what I'm about, love me for not being like other Mums and will talk to me occasionally about things NOT related to the XBox. But above all, to change me physically even though deep down, to be more masculine and on the outside, facial hair and six pack (grins) would make me feel so much more liberated than I do already, I can't.

But the one thing I do want to do, is save up for professional photographs of the masculine side of me. The black and White stills of me wearing what I like, what's comfortable, in the poses I want, how I want them, and not to be ridiculed by small minded bigoted people who have set labels for others. No matter how often I 'change my attitude' I can't change how I am inside. I'm 'Wired to the Moon'

Screaming on the Inside

2011-10-12T12:07:00.000-07:00

I watch Jason Costello and I question my own identity and wonder is it just me or have the powers of TV and acceptance of gender identity changed over the years? When I was growing up, I'd never heard of transgender, never thought you could get a sex change, or take blockers. Imagine how I'd look now. For a start I'd not have breasts and I'd have something to play with on a quiet evening in my own space. I'd have acceptable facial hair and not the stuff I have to pull off with tweezers. The deep voice wouldn't upset anyone and the casual visits to the gents wouldn't have men screaming and leaving with their flies hastily zipped up running like frightened rabbits.

On the outside people see me, the mad Skittles person who makes them laugh, moves them to tears, and is an all rounder. On the inside, the place nobody sees, is me screaming. Screaming that my exterior is not how it should be. The short hair I have, the desire for men's clothing, the 'cross dressing' is not something that came as a whim. I remember being forced into a dress and was determined I'd get it as dirty as I could, I hated that moment, I hated every day at school when I was exposed to wearing a skirt and being like a girl. I hated it. I've lived for 45 years and I still hate it. The mere thought of feminine clothing against my skin repels me, brings tears to my eyes. The thought of getting a job that required me to dress as a female makes me feel physically sick.

I have a friend who dresses as a male because she just feels much more comfortable dressed in masculine clothing. The first time I saw her I liked her instantly, she strove to be different, she didn't conform. Thing is though, and I know I married, and I know I have kids, in my head I was thinking, that although I'm the way I am, screaming on the inside, that I thought, because I'm biologically 'not wired up right' that maybe the kids would be different, they'd be settled in their own skin, they wouldn't feel trapped and have to go through every day, hating themselves, hating the fact they have to have breasts and have to conform in some small way.

I like being different, I'd never change that. But inside I'm a boy. I think my Dad has accepted that, I think Mum has too. There's nothing I can do about it, I can't change to please them, hell I tried that, my attitude was always wrong, to them, but to me, I was frustrated at what I am. I know there's radical changes I could opt for, I could take blockers, I could opt for a sex change and deep down, sometimes, I think, why the fuck not. I look at my face and when I have my hair washed, shortened the way I like it, my shirt on, sometimes a tie, occasionally a jacket, I look fucking awesome.

I bought second hand women's clothing purely on a whim to see how different I could be and I didn't look right at all. I looked as though I were Tootsie, in drag. I hated it. The clothes were nylon, they made my skin crawl and as I looked in the mirror, I cried. To you, my friends you know who I am. You know what I am. I'm a friend, a confidante, I'm someone who wants to be happy, and for a small degree, my family are who make me happy, because they're perfect in their own self. They have no hang ups, they have no desires to be different to what they are. When I told my partner before we married, I told him about me, everything, held nothing back. But he still loves me, despite everything, only as he grows older, his perceptions change and he becomes conservative in his views. Odd how my Dad has accepted that he'll never see me in a flowing dress like his other daughter, how he'll always see me with a crew cut, or bald, or in a suit, dressed like the son he always wanted.

I can't sew, I am shit at knitting, cross stitch I don't even know about. But cars, engines, music, gardening, fishing, shooting, having a laugh with the lads. Although I've never eyed up a girl, I find men fascinating, but its never the sexual feelings, but admiration, ok sometimes sexual feelings are there, but I'm now more liberated. I wish I was flat chested, I wish I had a six pack. I wish I had stubble and not feel that I had to grab the tweezers. I wish I was the boy I saw in the mirror and not the misfit.

Jason Costello accepted for who he is, not Jasmine Costello. I wish I could believe that a modern day family were that acceptable of their child's desire for a sex change, because to me its too false. And yes I know its a tv programme but if I'd have said that to my parents of what I wanted. At that time of my life....His acceptance by his family is too false to be believed. If I'd told my parents I wanted to be a boy and that I had gay issues, as in I still loved men, but as in two men together, not because I was a girl who loved a man, I think they'd have locked me up and my brains fried. I may have kids, but my feelings about my own identity have never changed. I'm still not comfortable in my own skin, and I never will be. But I know also that if I do make the change, I will lose the fundamental people who I started out with. But underneath it all. I am still me.

Weekend starts here

2011-09-16T05:55:00.000-07:00

Thank Crunchie its Friday is all I can say. A weekend of relaxation, a chance to kick back and enjoy without the rushes of an early morning to scream to the kids at 8am GET UP, then again at 08:10 GET UP. By which time the first of the kids is up and dressed and heading out for school while the other still hopes for another yell at 08:20am. But the weekend I can ignore the alarm clock, I can turn off the phone and I can sleep.

However I've come to realise over time and especially when I've been in a creative mood which has been quite a lot of late, that when I have that extra time to sleep, my mind slips into creative thought and I work on the plot line for another note, another roleplay session, another idea for another story, and I work out how my character, always my main character will react to certain situations. I throw him into all kinds of situations knowing he will come back from them sometimes alone and sometimes with help, but he'll always come back. I think if he didn't, I'd give up.

So Saturday morning the lie in, well its not going to be the lie in I was planning on. So much preparation is involved in tidying the garden up for the winter, yes people, winter is fast approaching, perhaps another month away and all the plants in the garden will be tinged with frost and keel over, so a month before that happens, we tend to uproot everything and put things away and stare at the stark dull garden and hanker for summer again.

It's damp here in Scotland, the grass is almost mulchy and the smell of Autumn is on the air. I don't mind Autumn as much, its a time to collect 'conkers' and save the best ones for the window sill till they crack and need planting. Or the last chance to collect the blackberries in abundance down the lanes, growing in and around the hawthorn and the nettles.

There's not been that many wasps this year, although this month they seem to have turned up en masse and have been congregating around the litter bins in the street and around the outside of the Academy fighting over the scraps of ice cream and ketchup filled buns dumped on pavements and trampled into the tarmac. I think sometimes teenagers forget what a litter bin is for.

I'm in a good place right now. No not the inside leg of John Barrowman's sparkly trousers, but creatively I'm in a good place. So September is looking good for finishing the novel and a final check over before I send it off to a number of sci fi publishers. I've also been contemplating reviewing my 10 minute short script and seeing how I can improve it?

I'd love to make that into a film. I'd love to have the chance to do a lot of things, however, financially wise unless I win the lottery or become top salesperson of the month or year, guaranteed cheque of £10,000 I don't think it will be this year!!!

This weekend will be busy enough, what with decorating, chores and the random notes I'll be writing, plus a chance of completing the Heist of the Rhinestone Diamond. It had been the basis of a Torchwood fan fic, but I know I can turn that around and remove Jack and add another character, but its Cardiff, a place I want to return to, soak up the Welsh atmosphere, go back to my roots (even if they belong to N. Wales originally).

So I have a lot to do this weekend which means I need to constructively remove myself from this computer and begin packing away all my Doctor Who memorabilia, my Torchwood books and DVDs and action figures and tidy up my room ready for painting next week.

So have a good weekend all my followers of my blogs and all those who might one day glance over this way. And I'll see you all back here on Monday.

The Heist of the Rhinestone Diamond

2011-09-15T08:20:00.000-07:00

Falling through time was getting to be a bit of a habit for Dorph Malcasaro. He'd been chased several blocks from one part of Pasadena to the railway station, now they were close on his heels. He'd been hungry and a couple of packets of beef jerky and a few bottles of water seemed little compared to what he could have taken, but they gave chase, along with the regular hoods who were up for a run. He saw the same shimmering light he'd seen when he entered Pasadena on the 15th, taking it as the only other option, he held his breath and ran through it. He was still running when he opened his eyes and found he was falling. He landed on a dumpster in a back alley of somewhere on Earth. It had to be Earth, no matter whether it were Pasadena, Mondas or the outer reaches of Mongolia, it was Earth. Mondas he hated, from the moment he fell through the shimmering light he was looking for an escape. Metal creatures with minds of only dominating planets and upgrading humans to fit into metal casing was not his idea of a holiday destination. But the shimmering light never gave destination choices, it just appeared and he ran to it, almost like a sanctuary.

It had been two years, or was it three, he forgot now as he sat beside the dumpster and ripped open the packet of beef jerky and ate the contents with a voracious appetite. He heard cats yowling close by and drunken men staggering back after a lary night at the pub. He smelt strange creatures not far off, but he was hungry, and although he was capable of defending himself, he needed sustainance before he did much else.

As the hullaballoo died down and the street lights switched themselves on, Dorph wandered along the empty streets of the Plass. Vivid images sprang into his mind, the red building by the Bay, the tall lights and the water tower rang familiar, although it seemed different somehow to the last time he saw it. He walked along and was sure he recognised the man in the period military coat several hundred yards ahead of him. He was about to shout "Jack" when another man met him and both walked arm in arm along the promenade. He stopped and slunk back into the shadows. Perhaps time had moved on for both of them.

He itched his left arm and stared at the Vortex Manipulator strap on his arm and frowned, it was bleeping. Last time it had bleeped, Santos Vitaron had arrived and was looking for his team. He felt the incoming message and pressed the hologram image and saw the man himself Santos.

"If you're getting this, then you'll know why I'm calling. I've located the Rhinestone diamond and I need the team in position. Meet up at the rendezvous point located on your map. I want no slip ups this time. I don't want Torchwood getting their hands on it." He saw the map of the location before the hologram faded and plunged him back into semi darkness.

Dorph knew cities like the back of his hand, although the back of his hand did have the template of a city blue print incorporated into the fabric of his skin. He followed the location and came out at the Queens Arcade. He saw Phifer and another Time Agent leaning up against the wall, his hands thrust in his pocket. "It must be a big heist if he's called in all of us." The nameless agent muttered.

Within the hour Santos arrived, he beamed in just as the team became listless and strode over to them. "Good to see we're all here. Time is of the essence. The jeweller who received the Rhinestone has no idea of its power. We have to steal it back before it falls into the wrong hands. The vaults are secured beneath the store, but we need access into the store. Unfortunately for us, we'll have to do it during trading hours. He's on the second level of this arcade, which means we need every possible exit to aid our escape. Do not let me down. I can deal with the jeweller, Dorph I need you as look out. Whoever tries to stop us, you deal with it."

Dorph nodded. He was always the lookout, never the carrier, never the one with all the glory. But he was never caught, he was never arrested and tried for acts against the State, he was never sent to Murder Rehab, unlike Santos. Maybe that was why he was never put on lookout!

As the team knew, the Arcade would be busy, Xmas decorations were beginning to fill the large building and although to Dorph and the team who never celebrated this Christian event, it didn't stop them feeling a little bit homesick, knowing it was another year or two before any of them enjoyed the home comforts, the hugs and embraces of their family life, if indeed any of them had the family they talked about when they sat talking around the camp fires.

Dorph had never had that luxury, never had that moment of enjoying a family. All he remembered was Jack Harkness and the one person who he'd seen locked inside a Hub cell while Jack had determined what danger he was to the world. He'd seen the wanted posters in his travels and saved a copy, hoping to cash it in, maybe there was money to be had as a bounty hunter. It might give him more than a Look out for Santos!!

The following afternoon, while the Arcade was a sea of customers, Santos and his team secured the second floor and took control of Reuben Vostock's Jewellery store.....

Centrus7B9 (working title) Torchwood story

2011-04-28T01:43:00.000-07:00

Calculations were always wrong. It had been a mercy mission. The last colony of humans to reach Earth from the darker side of the galaxy. It had taken 24 years for it to reach the Earth's atmosphere, taking onboard the usual flotsam and jetsam that clung to its bow as it broke through the protective shield and kept burning till it hit the land, throwing up soil and rocks creating a deep crater 100 feet wide and several feet deep. It wasn't meant to land for another 2000 years and at best on the least inhabited part of the world yet here they were, the future landing in their own ancestry past.

Jack got the message loud and clear as the scanners went ballistic at a little after 06:30 Wednesday 26th April 2011. It was only a matter of time before the whole world woke up to the news that something meteoric had fallen out of the sky, now people were waiting for the larger asteroid this piece must have been attached to. Astrologers were predicting end of days. Jack saw it only as another piece of space debris falling to earth.

As he raced towards the crash site in the sports car, last vehicle salvageable from the days before he left Earth, the crates in the back of the car, tools of the job, hazard suit and many other instruments to locate life forms of any degree he wondered if this was something from his own past. There had always been talk in the agency about the possibility of the Raygones, a race so remote that only a handful of people in the entire galaxy had ever heard of them. He'd been one of them. As far as races went they were dangerous, but only if you crossed them, for every other time, they'd remained peaceful to the last. But wars always changed people. Wars had a habit of tipping the scales.

He groaned as he saw the familiar camouflage uniforms up ahead of him sealing off the road. He rummaged for his ID and flashed it at the nearest soldier. He smiled sarcastically as he was waved through and parked beside the cordons. Already he could see the smoke rising from the crater and a uniformed bod was running towards him. He recognised him instantly as Brigadier Westford, nothing like Lethbridge, a typical arrogant oik who he detested as much as he detested UNiT. But they were the first line of defence and well if this pod was likely to be hostile it had a good pick of the camouflage to take out first, if nothing else, it bought him time.

Westford saluted, Jack quirked a brow and gave a two finger salute back as he lifted out the equipment he'd need from the back. Ideally he'd have the rest of the team with him. But as ever, the rest of the team were busy on other assignments and he'd wanted to check this out for himself.

"Has there been any activity since you arrived?" He called from the boot as he stepped into his bio-hazard suit. He hated the suit, barely able to breathe inside of it at the best of times but today the heat had rocketed to around the 90's and would likely intensify the closer he got to the crater.

"We've heard a lot of banging coming from inside the meteor, almost as if something is trying to get out."

"Keep your men well back." He sighed. Sometimes he wished he didn't care so much. He held out a case for the Brigadier to carry, Westford turned up his nose at the attache case and signalled for another soldier to come and help.

Steam rose from the crater, the pod hissed, the usual flotsam and jetsam that had arrived with it was now scattered about the deep gorge in the dirt. Jack looked down at it. He was certain there had been an egg farm around here somewhere, but aside from a scattering of white burnt feathers around the tip of the crater and an odd stench of burnt chicken as he pulled on his suit, he saw nothing but the huge hole. Ladders had already been dropped over the side. As much as it was wide, it wasn't that deep. It had slowed itself down as it landed, pushing the dirt up into a massive pile almost in the same way as a child skidding on a long carpet ontop of a polished floor.

Jack took readings with the scanner and fed them into the PDA he held in his left hand. He frowned. He looked up from the unit as he heard the hammering again from inside of the meteor. It sounded metallic and hollow. He glanced back up at the ladder, a quick run and he'd be at the top and taking cover the same as the other soldiers. The hammering stopped. He glanced down at his feet, the loose dirt was shaking. The ground was trembling. He glanced up slowly at the pod.

"Oh this can't be good."

Commander Corvidae had travelled the length and breadth of the galaxy, had taken in the wonderful sights that would behold any traveller, had collected data and samples and was on his way back to Centrus7B9 when the incident happened. It had taken everyone by surprise, calculations against the meteor hitting the side of the ship had been exact down to the last billisecond. They had been heading home to refuel. If they'd moved it would have cost them another three months of fuel that they didn't have. All they could do was brace themselves for impact. But the data was important, as the imminent danger crept towards them, Corvidae planned. By calculations the meteor was already off target and had been knocked by another asteroid on its descent to its next rendezvous. By Corvidae's calculations that meant it was hitting Earth sometime in the year 3579AD.

Corvidae hadn't seen Earth for over a century. He'd taken the mission to seek out new civilisations and to boldly go like all other budding explorers to find life and a safe haven for the human race before the end of days. Sol 3 was always on his mind. He'd heard stories of Earth, history was being made every day and people in power talked about space exploration as the way forward. But after all of his travels, Earth was not as beautiful as Centrus7B9. He'd been away from there a good few years now. He had a family, a home. Out here in this ship he had a crew and a mission, and data to return with. And then Crew Meerling informs them a meteor is heading their way and there's not enough fuel to make a sudden detour. He could have screamed.

The escape plan was simple. Someone would send the data back in the escape pod. That in itself was a four person shuttle pod. They had only one. It was always the way that the captain remained with the ship. He hated how it was always he who drew the short straw. But the data was important. Again by calculations with the data and supplies to be sent back to Centrus7B9 only one person could go in the shuttle. This left a lot of decisions for the crew. Who should go? Corvidae was the only man onboard who had obtained the data, had been out collecting the samples, had negotiated the treaties between warring factions of the Eye of the Crimson Cloud but it fell to a younger less experienced member of the crew to escape in the pod.

Crew Zenya was a young pilot who like his father had flown in several levels of combat over the war torn planets of Aljustixia and Pyracordixial (work in progress and thanks Joe)

The girl in the ragged dress

2011-03-01T08:54:00.000-08:00

She sat squat on the ground holding the ragged doll against her knees as it danced to the tune she hummed. She was no older than three, her natural curls blew in the breeze and scattered the dust from her hair onto the young man who lay still beside her. Her sweet cherub face had the streaks of tears that were dried against her skin and the thin cotton dress that was hand made with love, with patches of ladybugs on the pockets was torn and dirty from the blast.
She looked up at the young man who lay on the ground, his spiky black hair flattened after the explosion that had ripped through her home and reduced it to rubble. It was a day she would never forget but a day she would never want to remember.
He was aware that he was alive but his hearing was distorted. He couldn’t move, he wanted to open his eyes but they refused to obey. He could hear a muffled tune sung by a child quite close to him. He vaguely remembered the child, the raggedy child screaming in the middle of the street as the world went crazy and the skies erupted in battle fire. The buildings erupted around them and he remembered his friends, the tall man with almost the same hair cut as his own, wearing a suit and long brown coat, the black girl in the red leather jacket who had fought alongside him in a battle of ages and a tall American in a flying jacket who was enjoying the hail of gunfire and the rush of adrenaline almost as much as he did. They were calling to him, they were running ahead but calling as the child began to scream, a haunting, cut right through you scream, and he stopped. He turned. He ran back to the child amidst the screams from his own friends. He gathered her up as a bolt of cannon fire exploded the building nearby and blew him off his feet, carrying them both across the road. He had kept her safe, using himself as a shield as the debris blew out striking everything with devastating results.
He felt the ground vibrate as footsteps from more than one person ran towards him. He heard their muffled voices and detected two, possibly three bodies talking. He felt two fingers of one person touch the side of his neck and the side of his face and knew who it was. He wanted to open his eyes and make contact, show the man that he was alive if nothing else, but again they refused to obey.
He heard the voice of the second man and his heart quickened, the fear of realisation and now he really didn’t want to open his eyes.
‘I’ll stay with him, you go Doctor, he’ll be safe with me.’ The elderly soldier with military honours spoke calmly to the Time Lord. His dark black eyes stared at the injured young man on the ground, the bloody gash to his head the only visible signs of injury.
‘Good man.’ The Doctor rose and clapped a hand on the arm of the soldier and glancing back at the boy, ran back to the broken building in search of his missing friends.
He felt a scratch against his neck and something cold press into his skin. He knew the outcome of what was occurring – he would be dead in a few hours.
He heard the old man speak as his hearing returned.
‘You run and you hide, but I always find you. You will never escape me, we are connected through blood. I brought you into this world and I can very easily take you from it, you will not be able to stop me now.’

The Time Machine

2010-12-10T04:30:00.000-08:00

In 1895 H. G. Wells published his 32,000 word novella The Time Machine in serial form in the Pall Mall Gazette. Three years later beneath the Cardiff City Museum Llew Wyn Roberts created a 'time machine'.

Llew Wyn Roberts like any avid reader of all things science fiction was an above average scholar. When H.G. Wells published his works in the Pall Mall Gazette, Llew's mind exploded with possibilities. It was already thought amongst scholars that Wells was a man ahead of his time, just like Da Vinci and others before him. They had an insight to the future that many others could only imagine. Llew Wyn Roberts began to plan.

Every day his work at the Cardiff City museum turned up a few new surprises, later in the evening of September 29th, a delivery of a strange artefact from a building South of London arrived in a crate labelled 'Storage - DO NOT OPEN' and labelled for the owner of the Museum, an astute man in his late fifties, Mr Henry Styles.

Llew had seen the large package that came in a crate 50 inches square, wheeled across the floor using two potato barrows and frowned curiously. He had overseen all the packages that had arrived from all over the world. The last Dodo, the six toed spider crab, the seven eyed arthropod. All strange creatures he'd never seen before but had read about in 'The Lost world of Babylon' or other such books. As the evening wore on and the crates were pushed to the side and labelled, and written up in the thick black books for artefacts brought from other museums or other parts of the country or world Llew walked towards the 'DO NOT OPEN' crate and tapped the top. He stroked the box sides, the rough splintered tea crate piqued his curiosity and lifting a crowbar jemmied the side open and lifted the lid. Inside covered in straw for packaginig sat a heavy machine but not just any machine. Sitting in the box was Wells' Time Machine.

Llew wasted no time. He drew the machine from the box and assembled the sides in exactly the same way as Wells described it in the book. There were a few loose mechanical pieces to attach but Llew attached them correctly and smiled at the finished work. It didn't bother him too much that Mr Henry Styles was upstairs in his office, the man rarely walked downstairs to view the work of restoration that Llew prided himself with, and as Llew had nobody waiting for him at home with a warm bowl of stew and witty conversations of their day at the coal face, he remained working until he finally fell asleep slumped over his desk until the city clock chimes awoke him as the daily life stirred at five am.

The Time Machine was small and would not carry a man to the fourth dimension as stated in the book. But over the following nights and using the power supply from the museum transported small creatures, bugs and mice into the future and back within minutes. The effects upon the creatures were astounding, but not being a scientist he was not aware of the effects of radiation or the larger creatures that awaited the bugs and the mice. He needed to see for himself. But the teleportation mat was too small. To build a larger time machine would require a lot more work, and somewhere safer to work in. Llew had to take his work into the crypt of the museum. A place rarely used if ever these days. It was one step away from the sewers, the rats and the creatures that lurked the other side of the damp walls.

It was many years before the larger 'time machine' was finished. Llew had ploughed all his money into parts and over time had taken parts down to the crypt in packages he'd sent himself to the museum to avoid interest from others including Mr Styles who had noticed how dedicated his employee seemed to be about his work. It was only when Llew's work, his real work began to suffer did Styles come down to see him.

The large archives room where all number of artefacts were stored in the arched chamber beneath the main building of the museum housed many artefacts that were deemed too valuable for public viewing and had been painstakingly copied for all to see, while the scrolls of the Red Sea were stored securely in damp proof cases, touched only with a gloved hand and only when it was absolutely necessary. Large tombs containing mummified pharoahs, coffins in the shape of Anubis and Horus stood tall and proud against a large stone wall secured by ropes, tall pillars allegedly from the hanging gardens of Babylon sat beside each other broken during transit across the sea voyage and along the road and rail.

Styles ventured into the large room and saw Llew's tweed jacket hanging over the back of his chair at his desk, reams of paperwork still requiring a signature sat piled on his desk, a stack of crates three high remained at the door but Styles could see no sign of the man in question. His shiny new shoes clipped over the concrete flooring, his back straight and his hands behind him he walked with an air of authority. Many men and women would step back from him, revered him. Were afraid of him. Llew wasn't. He rarely saw him, and if he rarely saw him, he had no fear. He had no reason to be scared of the man with the eyes too close together and the mind of a ruthless businessman about him. He made money by robbing the visitors to the museum, pure and simple. It was a business venture. A lot of the equipment upstairs were casts of the real thing, but there were reasons for everything and real artefacts did not need school children with sticky hands touching them and tainting their quality and lowering their price on the open market, should the museum hit hard times. Styles knew business, his father before him knew business and how it worked. Styles had not got to where he was today without taking a few back handers and turning a few blind eyes knowing he could cash in on it much later when the need arose.

Llew was busy in the crypt, he was only days away from transporting himself into the future and seeing for himself what lay ahead for himself and the world he lived in. He'd pieced together that in order to transport something as heavy as a human into another dimension required more energy than the city museum held. He had to wire cables into another source but that wasn't as easy as he first thought and finding the ideal location for keeping the power was under the ground where the dampness fired the electricity, he fed the wires towards the generator that fuelled the city hall and the streets around Cardiff that had electric lamps in homes. In all this time he'd forgotten about his real work, he'd forgotten about the museum, he ate, slept and worked on the machine. It had become an obsession.

As Styles stepped towards the door of the crypt he could already feel the immense power groaning behind the metal door. As he touched it, his hand recoiled and he stared at his hand still tingling from the static build up of electricity within the room. Tapping a stick on the handle and manipulating it open he pulled at the door and looked in. At first the bright light blinded him, the flickering and whirring as the time machine powered up made him blink and shield his eyes with his arm. But as he focused once more, he saw a man working methodically if a little erratically on a machine he'd only seen on a smaller scale in a drawing on his desk. When he realised what it was, his mouth fell open in shock.

Styles bellowed Llew's name. It echoed around the crypt but the arcing of the machine as it drew in the energy from the room distorted the yell and Llew continued to work oblivious to his employer standing mid way down the steps and advancing towards him.

'LLEW ROBERTS YOU HAD BETTER HAVE A DAMN GOOD REASON FOR THIS.' Styles grabbed hold of his shoulder and shook him around as the strangest thing happened. As Llew looked up, the energy shifted in the room, the anger from the owner disturbed the steady flow of electrons, now they sought out another power source. Llew horrified at being startled by Styles stepped back in the damp room and could only watch as the man's anger fed the machine. The light filter became brighter, the cables once powering the machine had found a new source and Llew felt relieved. He felt the power of the machine release hold of his weakened body. It had a far greater taste and began consuming it as the taller man shouted. But his shouting became screams and his screams became pitiful and as the light faded in the crypt room, so did Styles.

Nobody knew what happened in the crypt room that night, nobody could explain the disappearance of Mr Henry Styles and Llew Wyn Roberts, but something had happened. Unsure what the machine was the door was boarded up. The museum closed during the first world war and again in the second when Cardiff suffered at the hands of the German Nazi Luftwaffe and was bombed mercilessly.

One hundred and twelve years later and the crypt was active again. But the door was still boarded up from the outside, nobody could enter and nobody could leave...or could they?

Goodbye Cheryl McDonald

2010-11-29T07:58:00.000-08:00

Cheryl McDonald, was born 18^th April 1971, in Glasgow. She had long auburn hair, the look of the Irish, she was a freelance travel writer, covering the expanse of the British Isles, and working for various magazines, newspapers across the land, and she was distantly related to David Tennant. At least that’s what I maintained as I played her like a puppet on Facebook. She worked like a charm, she was nice to the people she wanted to spend time with, although I did feel awkward when I spoke to people I knew like Pauline, I had to remember that I didn’t know her, and I didn’t know her drawings, and when she spoke to me about anything I had to adopt the attitude of not knowing about the topic even though she’d told me as Debbie before hand. It became easy to mimic Cheryl and I was able to add an accent, a mixture of Irish and Scottish brogue which became much stronger in the Irish when she was riled, and that was quite often, but I thank Mauve Binchey for introducing me to the Irish in her stories and speaking with an accent throughout them.

People believed her when she said she was distantly related to David Tennant although one person, a twin of another was more sceptical, and then I realised that some people were not as sucked in as others, and only the gullible would believe. But then this is Facebook, where many people assume aliases, and a lot of those will tell you things that you think are true, when they’re not. There are many faces of David Tennant on Facebook, they come under the guises of Brendan Block, Campbell Bain, Giacomo Casanova, Mr Smith, The Doctor and even David Tennant himself, although it isn’t and people are living the dream.

I got to know one of the people behind the alias and she’s now one of my best friends, I’m able and confident to tell her about me, and although people do confess their darkest secrets to complete strangers, I have a selected few who I feel I can trust and Sue is one of those. She and I are so creatively minded that we write from the heart and one of her stories was so compelling that it was inside my head for a very long time, she had killed off David Tennant in her story, but it was so powerful, the way it was described that the image of him in his dark clothing and hooded top, lying face down on the road was so intense that the butterflies in my stomach collided with each other and created carnage inside of me. After much thought we decided it was better she didn’t add the story onto the forum, because nobody else would understand why she wrote that, but me.

Getting back to Cheryl, she was having a rare old time on Facebook, her list of friends was building and suddenly I felt jealous that she had more friends than I did. There were a mixture of people, but all or mostly were from programmes off the telly from Doctor Who to Torchwood. Martha Jones was writing a new novel, John Hart was shooting Malfoy off his broomstick, he’s on my friends list now, we discuss rifts in time and space and other technical things related to wormholes and anomalies which is fantastic and good material for writing. I know he’s not John Hart because his home address is Wales, but he’s interesting and I like interesting people.

Cheryl fell for Brendan Block, Brendan Block showered her with love and affection, he bought her things, he took her out, they shared a romantic weekend in Cardiff at the St David’s Hotel on the harbour, they were in love and they got engaged and things were hotting up for Cheryl. I hadn’t seen much of Secret Smile, so I wasn’t aware of what Brendan was really like, on the film he’s a sociopath, he gets into your life, he’s very possessive, he screws with your head and as the weeks progressed he began doing that to Cheryl. He had interference, they both did from a woman called Miranda Cotton, she pushed and interfered and made Cheryl stop and think and question his motives. She pushed them both so far that Brendan jumped in his car and drove off, pranged it later on but was fine, but Cheryl was a mess. Taking 2 painkillers for a stonking headache she grabbed the wine bottle and drank heavily up on the roof of her flat – flat roof, where she was eventually brought back down by ambulance and rushed to hospital to have her stomach pumped. She wasn’t trying to kill herself, but Miranda had pushed her to the extremes and she felt like shit.

But that was the start of the end for Cheryl and Brendan, because after that he suggested they got married as soon as possible so then Miranda (Miri) couldn’t interfere anymore. Cheryl was on cloud 99, she began to make plans, she wanted to set the date, tell the world, and then Brendan began to get cold feet. Getting married meant leaving the women on Facebook alone, he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t committed enough with Cheryl. So publicly he dumped her on Facebook for the world to see and branded her a nutter. Her world fell apart.

But it was the dumping that forced me to question myself, I’d given myself a massive anxiety attack, I’d taken Cheryl from somewhere on a low level to high up in the sky in a course of a few weeks. It was as if I’d passed my test in a mini and had instantly jumped into a Bugati Veron with no clear idea where to go from there. I’d stepped out of my comfort zone and scared myself. I, me, Debbie, had never been dumped before, had never had a stream of boyfriends since school, so had never experienced the grief of losing someone she thought was the one. So she reacted badly to Brendan, who was really an alias, and acted like a complete ‘twat’ on Facebook. She began to threaten Brendan, call him names, publicly humiliate him to which increased her nutter identity further. She made out she was an accurate shot with a rifle and was gunning for him, she completely lost it and it was frightening in a way that she, I was acting like that. Then she announced Brendan had an STI on Facebook for all to see, but so worried was she, I that Brendan would take me off his friends list, begged to remain friends. And that’s where it went crazy. I had completely forgotten that Brendan was an alias.

The only saving grace was the fact that nobody apart from Sue knew who Cheryl really was, apart from those of my real life friends who were aware of Cheryl as she was used for another purpose which failed miserably as Mark James rarely went on Facebook.

Having the knowledge that she was related distantly to David Tennant was probably the only thing that was stopping her from ending her life; she moved in with Uncle Sandy and slowly began picking up the pieces. She had friends who rallied around and cared for her, Karina, Carol, Miranda amazingly, Kerry sometimes, Pauline when she wasn’t talking about her drawings or who she was going to see, but I know Pauline and I assumed a part of her was wondering if Cheryl were indeed an alias herself and playing the part, to which I had to explain that Cheryl was as real as buttercups and daisies.

So Cheryl had to go, her time was coming to a close on Facebook. I had grown tired of her, although I’d altered her picture from David Tennant in drag as Davinia in Rab C Nesbitt to a feisty red head from a modelling agency for hair styles, (and she did look quite pretty), she had to go. But how?

I didn’t want to kill her off, by doing that I would traumatise a lot of people, and it would look bad if people were to tell David Tennant that his cousin had been killed. And I couldn’t live with that, even though Cheryl was her own person and I was a mere friend, it would be the damage that would cause and create, and I couldn’t do that to him, that took it beyond my control, out of my hands and then I would be branded a nutter!

So I talked with my friend Sue who was deeply concerned for my anxiety attack caused by Brendan Block dumping Cheryl and making my heart race like a steam train going downhill at a rate of knots with no brakes. I told her she was so good at playing Brendan that I had completely forgotten for a moment, or for quite a while that I was talking to her as she played him so well. We agreed after that that any correspondence between Cheryl and Brendan had to be done on the Wall. So we did. So we set them up again, Cheryl announced she had a new boyfriend, she’d gone to Cardiff with family to find David, only talking to him on the mobile on his birthday, and met CJ who was working at the time but who couldn’t take his eyes off her and they chatted and eventually went out with each other. He came up to Scotland and they hooked up again, and she announced to Brendan and her friends that she was in love with CJ – and Brendan was jealous.

CJ offered her a life in Guam, a place so wonderful and hardly heard of that it was too perfect to let go. She would leave on 30^th April and never come back, perfect. But we needed some leverage, we needed there to be a reason why she wouldn’t want to come back, so Brendan had to interfere and CJ had to have a problem. His first problem was he slept with a gun under his pillow and when Cheryl awoke him from a nightmare, he pulled the gun on her, safety off and she wet herself, as you would. He wouldn’t have fired it, it was a reaction as always to the murky world he lived in as a police officer so far undercover he was consumed by the darkness.

She spoke at length to Brendan on the phone, finding him easier to talk to for once, he admitted he was an arsehole and she accepted his apology, they became friends in a weird sort of way, and then she announced she was really leaving but CJ hadn’t returned after he’d pointed another gun in her face and felt bad for what he’d done. Miranda intervened again and Brendan was pissed off, he had feelings for Cheryl and he couldn’t shake them. It was ok that he could manipulate her whenever he wanted, but for a bloke like CJ to turn a gun on his once fiancée, then that was too much, and he went around to find him, found him and beat him up. But maintained he was still able to get up and walk away after being threatened. But things took a slightly more serious tone when CJ was beaten up within an inch of his life by the protection racket he was trying to infiltrate – they’d found out he was a cop. When Brendan arrived at Cheryl’s flat he was bleeding from the face, blood on his shirt, and his knuckles were split and bleeding. Cheryl put two and two together and felt herself falling.

She couldn’t get hold of CJ and Brendan admitted to attacking the young man, saying he deserved it. Cheryl was stressing big time, but I wasn’t, I was in control because I’d instigated the whole thing between me and Sue who was more guarded and able to not press the buttons of Brendan as hard on me as before, even though I explained to her that now I knew where the mistakes were, I was able to handle it better.

We had some people involve themselves in the story, like Miranda, Karina and Carol, but others were just not getting it, so we had to up it again. CJ was found, his heart stopped in the flat, Cheryl called upon her friends on Facebook to help her with CPR and Miranda was scared, she insisted he went to hospital despite CJ’s reservations about that. His heart stopped again in the ambulance and again in hospital, he was put on a ventilator and Cheryl stayed vigil by his bed. She left a message on Facebook and told Brendan the Police were coming for him. She told Miranda and Miranda told Brendan. I left them alone and got on with my own life, answering messages on my Facebook but checking hers and Brendan’s. Brendan after hearing about CJ announced on his page, Brendan is gone…………………….. he was shacking up at my place, I’d be the last place they’d think of checking. And it was fun to harbour a complete invisible person, who suddenly I felt I could talk to. He wasn’t as full on with me because he was scared and didn’t want to go back inside. Sue had a break and we talked about other trivial things, but she wanted BB back as the girls were waiting on him, so yesterday evening I hatched another plan.

CJ was awake and was out of hospital, the police were looking for Brendan, the only way I could stop him from being arrested was by talking to CJ and getting him to see reason. I had to tell Cheryl I knew him, I’d known him for years, I couldn’t tell her that before, otherwise she’d have wanted to know about his demons, the scratching of the surface was too much to contemplate. CJ was another of my imaginings. He was a complex character who did sleep with a gun under his pillow, and I loved him, cared for him, and saved his life countless times to mention. He was Cheryl’s way out of Facebook and I had to use him.

CJ and Brendan talked and CJ dropped the charges, Brendan was a free man, he was back on Facebook and I still haven’t heard from him. Cheryl slated me on Facebook, she called me a fucking bitch because I’d lied about Brendan, I’d told her I’d not seen him, but he was behind me all the time, listening into the conversation to make sure I wasn’t speaking to the cops.

Cheryl left Facebook last night cutting off all her friends including me and is probably sleeping in the airport lounge awaiting her flight to Guam. It’s the best way, she’s gone, she’s out of my life, and when I deactivated the account I felt a sudden release. I didn’t feel sad I was letting her go, I didn’t feel bad that I was saying goodbye, she was fun while it lasted, but I had gone as far as I could with her and it was time to walk away.

Stress is a funny thing, you think that being a different person and acting differently from yourself would be fun and indeed it was, but with it came the anxiety of taking on another persona and running with it, thinking on your feet and out of control. I could run down any avenue with her, take her to the extremes, but that’s where it went wrong, it was the Mini and the Bugati Veron, and I stepped out of my comfort zone and got scared.

So I’m back to being me, plain, normal, Wired to the Moon Debbie Forrest.

So, have a nice life in Guam, Cheryl and Thank you!

A Ghost a Doctor and a new beginning (10th Doctor who fanfic)

2010-11-29T07:53:00.000-08:00

A Ghost, a Doctor and a New Beginning

‘Look kid I know how you feel but this is wrong.’ Captain Jack Harkness, the tall and good looking ex Time Agent stood facing the young man with the thick dark hair and dark eyes. He watched as he gathered up his belongings and pulled back the barrel of the pistol in his hands. ‘This isn’t the way to go, Miguel, please.’
‘They destroyed my grandfather and even if I have to hunt them all down I will.’ The boy growled back.
‘You can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’re dead, the Time War wiped them out, all but one.’
‘Then the job will be easier.’
Jack stood closer to the young man he’d taken under his wing. There was a history between them, a closeness, a kindred spirit. He felt responsible for the boy’s existence and although he never admitted it, he cared for him deeply.
‘Miguel, please. Think about what you’re saying.’
Miguel stared at him, the tall American was the closest to a brother he could ever wish for, but the loss of his grandfather could never ease the pain he felt.
‘I have to Jack, I have to find him. I need the truth.’
‘Then what?’ Jack enquired as the boy clicked on co-ordinates on the Vortex Manipulator strapped to his wrist.
‘Then I kill him.’
‘NO.’
The boy disappeared in a flash of light and Jack stood alone in the hub staring at the empty space and a feeling of hopelessness. He could only pray that fate intervened before Miguel killed the last of the Time Lords.

****

Beaumont Estate was a three storey light sandstone house that belonged to the late Beaumont family. Lady Clarissa was reputed to haunt the rooms on all levels, her search for her lover Ralph DeWitt, an American she had met while in the colonies before returning home kept her spirit active. She had died young, pining for her lover, her ghostly figure dressed in white satin that trailed behind her, and the golden hair that hung low over her shoulders and down her back in loose curls. She was the only child of the late Earl of Beaumont, only the man servants and footmen controlled the home and opened it to the public.
Visitors from all over the world visited Beaumont Estate, it was advertised as a ghost hunting package with guaranteed sightings of the young and beautiful Lady Clarissa which were highlighted in bold on the brochures. The Doctor turned it over in his hand and read with scepticism the details within. He pushed it into the inside pocket of his brown striped jacket and strode through the hallway as if he owned the place, his hands behind his back as if he were the Earl himself.
There were thirty guests booked in, their loud voices could be heard disappearing up the stairs to their rooms. The further through the hallways and doorways distanced the Doctor from them. He acknowledged the servants and chambermaids as he passed them along the narrow corridor between the rooms and stepped out into the large courtyard at the back of the house. The smell of a used stable caught his nostrils and he pulled a face, it smelt of pig.
In its day the Estate had been home to horses and carriages, a workman’s hut to repair the wooden contraptions that ferried the owners back and forth, now sat empty, with the odd remnants of the trade. He turned and looked back at the house and caught sight of a young man staring back at him, his short black spiked hair and dark menacing features sent a shiver through the Doctor.

The spread for the guests in the large dining room was sumptuous; a large banquet table spread along one wall consisted of food fit for a king. Large turkeys, hams and meats of several varieties filled large silver trays. Tureens of vegetables, bread rolls, fruit, jugs of wine and beer, trifles, gateaux, pies and creams overflowed the table. The young man felt sick and returned to the table and drank his glass of water. He watched people filter back and forth to the table and refill their plates as if one heaped plate just wasn’t enough. He caught sight of the striped suited man wandering back to the table, his plate piled with various meats and bread rolls. He was talking to a woman next to him, laughing at a joke before seating himself beside her and tucking in to his meal.
The Doctor glanced at the people at his table, rich and oversized men and women who viewed this trip as an excursion and worth blowing a few hundred dollars if it meant they saw an English ghost.
Lifting the glass of water to his lips he turned towards the opposite table and caught the hard glare of the young man from the window. He lowered the glass and smiled to be polite but felt that same cold feeling.
A high pitched voice from the banquet table took his attention from the boy and he spun around in his seat and saw a strange image of a man with only his head visible. He was dressed in a white wig, his face powdered white and had red circles on his cheeks, he looked grotesque. The loud American with the beer gut and treble chins guffawed at the sight of the man, suspecting it nothing more than a cheap gimmick, but loving it nonetheless.
The head bobbed about over the food bowls, it spoke in a loud foreign accent that the young man couldn’t make out. It was inaudible but had the servants rushing about like fools in a show. The tables were in uproar, the tourists laughed and cheered, clapping when the head disappeared into the bowl of trifle with a splash and was removed by a waiter in full dinner suit complete with white gloves.
The night air chilled the bones but the young man needed space to breathe. There was something about that tall man in the suit that un-nerved him. He crossed the garden towards the trees and the walled in orchard and saw the object he’d only seen in dreams and at Jack’s. The upright 1950’s Police Call Box stood quietly beside the fruit trees that rubbed against it in the night. The young man touched the wooden door and heard the inner lock click. He pushed the door open and inhaled deeply and stepped inside. The central control unit hummed in a low voice as he walked towards it. The various controls and gadgets that sat around it were strange and looked as though they’d been gathered from a tip or scrapyard. An old telephone from the 1970’s sat in one segment, a pulley and dial from a bygone day sat in another. The only up to date gadget appeared to be a monitor that spun several circles this way and that like the cogs inside a clock.
The young man closed his eyes and reached his hand out towards the segment he was standing beside and placed his hand over the series of switches, something clicked, whirred and as he opened his eyes another level appeared above his head and a spiral staircase wove up towards it. He climbed slowly and reaching the top found himself to be inside a large walk in wardrobe. On various levels of pole he saw clothing, a vast array of menswear from all different centuries. At the back of the room stood a wardrobe that was sealed shut. He looked about the unit and saw it was made of wood like the outside of the ship. He felt with his hand all about for a lock or a handle and heard the inner workings of a lock click once more, he grinned to himself. The door popped open and he stood facing a red satin dress with frills about the hem. At the front of the dress a pattern stood out that caused him to step back horrified. He gasped and took several minutes to regain his composure and look back at the dress. He lifted the dress from the wardrobe, it still held her scent and he felt the prickle of emotion creeping through his nose and throat and the tear that escaped down his cheek and dropped onto the soft red satin.

Lady Clarissa ran along the corridor, a door to the right was open and she ran inside. It was the loud treble chinned American at the front of the dining hall, the same one who a few hours later had spotted her exiting the second dining room while on his ghost tour. He was pulling on his pyjamas when he saw her, the beautiful woman with the golden hair flowing down her back, her traditional white dress bright and illuminating.
‘Oh my god…’ He started to say as she stepped towards him and kissed him on the mouth. At first he could do nothing, the shock of being kissed by a ghost was enough, but now he couldn’t breath, now he had to push her away. But his strength was waning, he felt dizzy, sick.
‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’ She ran along the corridor, her footsteps heavy on the carpet. She ran on, cutting through the servant’s quarters and down the stairs towards the stables, as a scream of a woman’s voice alerted her that time was precious and she ran on faster.
Miguel sat bolt upright in the bed, he pulled his pistol from under the pillow and stood beside the door, pulling it open a crack and listened for the sounds of footsteps. He pushed the gun into the top of his trousers and pulled over the jacket and followed the sound of voices further along the corridor. In a room no bigger than his own wept a woman over a body of her husband, the portly loud American was dead.
The stranger with the suit was crouching beside the dead man, Miguel saw him check the neck pulse and speak to the new grieving widow.
‘I’m so sorry.’ He spoke softly in an English accent.
As the crowd dispersed back to their own rooms ushered by a tall, well spoken butler, Miguel stayed beside the door and watched the man console the woman.
‘What do you think caused it?’ He found himself asking the man.
The Doctor stepped away from the grieving wife and stepped into the hallway. He looked back at the man on the ground before settling his eyes upon the young man with the dark blue eyes and whose hand was gripping something inside his jacket.
‘Asphyxia. There’s no physical signs of a struggle, no hands around the neck, but it does look like someone took his breath away. Who would do something like that I wonder?’
‘Right.’ Miguel felt uncomfortable in the presence of the man, his hand felt clammy against the butt of the gun.
‘If you’re going to do it, get it over with, don’t hesitate.’ The Doctor spoke coldly.
Miguel froze, the cold rush of fear poured over him.
‘Wha….’
‘The gun inside your jacket, I take it that’s why you’re here, or is this message for someone else?’ He produced a brown wallet from his pocket and flipped it open. There was a warning on the psychic paper: Watch your back!
Miguel lowered his hand and leaned against the wall, the element of surprise was over. ‘Jack.’

The stable was quiet, the servants and staff were bustling about the guests and calming them down, nobody was looking for the ghost. Clarissa pulled a face and clasped a hand to her mouth, she’d forgotten what it was to smell. Straw and excrement lay about the floor in the double roomed stable. A bed of straw and a thick rug lay against the middle of the far wall and she stepped precariously towards it. Her slippered shoes squelched in unseen poo and muck and she pulled several faces in the light of the full moon.
She looked about her and considered all the hiding places for a precious jewel. She pulled a face when she realised that it was quite likely hiding under the bed.
‘Ewww.’ Her hand tentatively pushed its way through the straw and touched on moist dirt. She felt as though she would hurl and stemmed a desire to do just that. She heard noises above her, the footsteps were coming down the stairs, she didn’t have much time. She forced her hand in deeper and touched on a solid object wrapped in a cloth. She clasped her fingers around the object and pulled but it snagged and wouldn’t budge. She became desperate and pushed in two hands beneath the bedding as a deep and menacing voice growled behind her.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
She spun around and saw a large pig in a flat cap, its evil eyes glinting in the light of the moon. She watched as it transformed into the evil Russilion that had kidnapped her. His six feet of muscle and deformed mechanical arm slammed on the light switch, it lit up the room and showed him for the pirate he really was. The camera lens for an eye and the full length mechanical arm with sharp blade for a hand was terrifying from any angle.
‘Please Bonaparte, you have to let me go. What good is there keeping me here?’ She begged.
‘You killed a guest, people will come now, you disappoint me Princess.’ He lashed out with his good arm and sent her flying back into the dirt. She cried out in pain from the cut to her cheek and as he leaned over her she felt her body resuming the ghostly image she’d been so desperate to shake.
Bonaparte lumbered towards his bed and lifted the blanket, he kicked the metal box back under the floorboard and slammed his bed back down glowering at the girl. ‘You just remember what happens to those that try to take the amulet. Remember DeWitt, now back into the house and don’t let me catch you down here again.’ He growled.

The Doctor waited for the young man to speak and grew tired. He leaned up against the opposite wall and folded his arms, his dark eyes scrutinised the young man, he tried to probe his mind but the young man looked back up at him.
‘Don’t. If you want to know me, answer me this. Why do you have her dress in your ship?’
The Doctor frowned. ‘What dress?’
‘In a locked wardrobe at the back of your ship, you have her red dress, why?’
The Doctor mouthed several times before his eyes widened and he glared furiously at him. ‘How did you get into the wardrobe and how did you enter my ship?’
‘The dress, tell me about the dress.’
‘Nobody can get into that cupboard except for a Time Lor…..’ He pulled out his sonic screwdriver as the young man reached for his gun. ‘Don’t be stupid, a murder has just been committed and you’re brandishing a weapon.’
‘Tell me about the dress, now?’ He clicked the hammer back on the pistol and the Doctor dropped the sonic back into his pocket and stared at the barrel. The Doctor looked into the eyes of the young man, they were so full of hate and revenge that he wondered if telling about a dress from long ago would save his soul.
‘The dress belonged to somebody I used to know. She lived a long time ago and died before I came to Earth.’
‘She was murdered, she never got old enough to die naturally.’
‘How would you know this?’
‘Because my grandfather told me. She was murdered by the Time Lords, executed for a crime she didn't commit, and you were there.’
‘She was married to a tyrant who destroyed many planets and civilisations across the galaxy. The Time Lords had no choice but to sanction new laws to aid the capture of Luman Petrillian.’
‘But they killed her, why?’
‘It was the law, to persecute those related to Petrillian. It was wrong I grant you, but when the Laws were set there was no going back.’
‘And you let it happen, you couldn’t save her, why not? You save so many people from death and destruction and you couldn’t save her?’
‘I wanted to believe me.’ He looked at the emotional young man, the gun wavering like a wand. ‘Is that why you’re here, to punish me.’
‘Why is her dress in your wardrobe?’
‘Because I loved her, because she and I were in love, because despite my commitment, despite everything I believed in, I couldn’t live without her.’
‘But you did, because she was murdered by you and your race.’
‘Not by me, there was nothing I could do.’ He looked at the young man. ‘But why is she so important to you, you wouldn’t have been alive then?’
‘She was my great grandmother.’
The Doctor fell silent.
‘Her death destroyed my grandfather; he couldn’t forget what your people did to her. For years he believed that he was the son of a tyrant, but he wasn’t and it’s not fair. How can it be that the people who destroyed her are still a part of my life?’ He yelled angrily at the Time Lord and lowered the gun.
‘By killing her you doomed us all.’
‘I don’t understand, how does her death affect you?’
‘I’m her great grandson; your Laws condemned us all, now I’m the only one left. Don’t you think I have a right to defend myself against the Time Lords?’
‘But Ragda didn’t have children.’
‘She kept my grandfather safe. But your disease destroyed him, the same way it destroyed my mother and likely me too in the end.’
‘What disease?’ The Doctor looked horrified.
‘I don’t know what its called, but they all got sick, and they died, they all died.’ He choked back the tears and ran back to his room slamming the door behind him. The Doctor made to follow but stopped as the clatter of furniture from the room bounced along the floor.

The next morning felt no different to the last as Miguel walked through the grounds of the Estate. He passed the tall butler in full dress and nodded acknowledgement as the man bid him good day. Miguel stared at the dilapidated construction in the overgrown field where buttercups and rose bay willow herb grew in clumps everywhere. The pink and yellow flowers blended well in the field and lifted the drab green colour pleasantly. He waded through the long grass and came upon a tunnel. He walked around the outside and discovered it to be a stone bridge, the other side had collapsed and mounds of soil and rocks had made a small rockery of woodland plants and lichen. He climbed onto the mound and cupped his hands above his forehead and stared about him at the immense acres of land either way. The estate was huge, acres of grassland and woods as far as the eye.
He climbed back down the construction and stepped inside the gloomy arch with its overgrown flooring and plants growing in the cracks along the walls. As he turned back towards the entrance something bright flashed from an alcove. He touched the loose stone and pulled it away revealing a hidden space with a disk like object with an orange flashing light on the top. He carefully lifted it out and turned it over in his hands, it was no bigger than a mug coaster, it was metal in construction and looked heavy but felt light. A shadow blocked the entrance and he subconsciously reached for his gun but relaxed slightly when he saw who it was.
The Doctor frowned but let it pass. He too had seen the dilapidated structure and had come to see what mysteries it held. He strode towards the young man and pulling his glasses from his pocket snatched up the device and peered at the tiny indentations around the rim.
‘It’s a Z8 transponder, used back on Delta Spectron, but what its doing over here.’ Miguel gave up glaring at the Doctor and stared at the device he was playing with. ‘Now, if I flip this over and wiggle that inner section there it should…….got it.’ The Doctor said as the object clicked and whistled and a green light released itself and lit up the entire tunnel.
‘What does it do?’ Miguel found his voice.
‘It sends and receives messages.’ He looked up at the sky and squinted at the brightness of the clouds. ‘But who would hear it out here is a little worrying.’
‘Why?’
‘The people who carried these were pirates, they used these devices to escape capture, but their ship would need to be close by.’
‘Pirates?’
‘Yeah, you know, ‘avast me hearties, yo ho ho.’ Pirates.’ The Doctor confirmed.
Miguel reached for his pistol as a series of angry grunts and rustling through the undergrowth came to their ears.
‘You’d better put this back. I think we’ve alerted someone.’ He tossed the device to the young man who quickly pushed it into the hole in the wall and followed the Doctor to a safe vantage point.
They watched from the cover of the fir trees as a Berkshire pig wearing a flat cap ran towards the structure they’d just left. It looked about itself and kicking with its back trotter kicked its underbelly and began to transform into a two legged creature before their eyes.
‘What the hell is that?’ Miguel whispered unable to take his eyes off the creature with a large camera lens for one eye and a large sharp blade for a hand. It looked more machine than human, a real nightmarish creature from a horror film or game station.
‘It’s a Russilion.’
‘The pirate?’
‘They’re battle transformers, started out as normal pirates but after every skirmish they’re rebuilt from machines by machines. They’re more droid than human. In the years before last Time War there were armies of them in the Corul System, fighting never ending battles. But what they’re doing here on Earth, I have no idea.’
‘But all of that – in one pig.’
‘Less conspicuous.’
‘Right and a pig with a flat cap on running about a house full of tourists doesn’t look odd to you?’
They watched as the Russilion pulled out the device from the wall and activated it inside the tunnel. The Doctor didn’t feel comfortable being this close to a sharp blade.
‘We should go.’
Bonaparte clicked on the underside of the now opened teleport device, a recall switch relayed the last few moments of its use and the Russilion saw the same two men that were exiting the field behind the trees.

Miguel watched as the Doctor strode across the gardens towards the house. All the while as he stood in the tunnel not once had he attempted to kill the Time Lord? He had every opportunity at his disposal. He walked back to his room and came face to face with a ghost.
It bothered the Doctor a lot that a Russilion could be living amongst them, he had seen one transform, but they rarely came in ones. He studied the workforce from the maids who cleaned the rooms to the servants who dealt with the tourists. Since the death of the large American yesterday, no Police had been called, no authorities notified and yet both the body and the wife had disappeared and their room restored to normal. He lowered his sonic screwdriver, something was going on, something was wrong.
He strode back along the corridor towards his room and heard a loud commotion a few doors ahead of him, he looked up in time to see the young man from earlier crawl on all fours and collapse half in and half out of the room. A young woman in a flowing white satin dress and long flowing golden hair pushed past him as he ran to his aid. He stared back at her as she rounded a corner and disappeared before concentrating on the young man whose lips were turning blue.
He felt for a pulse and lifted the boy up, noting how light he felt in his arms and carried him to his bed, kicking the door shut behind him. He lay the boy down and pulled out the stethoscope from his pocket and felt for a pulse. His eyes widened and he backed away knocking the young man’s jacket onto the floor, it landed with a thump.
He picked it up and the object that had fallen from the pocket. He knew what it was before he even flicked the cover and pushed it into his own coat. He looked back at the young man and heard a voice echo in his head from yesterday.
‘She kept my grandfather safe.’
‘But that’s…..no….he can’t be.’ The Doctor’s heart ached, the pain of what couldn’t possibly be the truth was staring him in the face. ‘Ragda why didn’t you tell me.’ He felt the same emotion, the same heart felt anger that he’d experienced on the day she died. Once again he was staring at another child of Gallifrey, an echo from his past and it hurt.
Lady Clarissa hid inside the broom cupboard and peered out at the milling crowd. She kicked herself for picking a busy corridor and wished for nightfall when the rooms would be full of sleeping guests and the floors would be safe to roam. But the energy she’d taken lasted only for a limited time before it found its way back to its owner. She took her chance as the butler caught sight of her leaving the broom cupboard. He followed her quietly into the study and watched her as she glanced out of the windows at the pig in the fore court entertaining some of the guests.
‘It’s not safe to be out here my lady.’ He said softly behind her.
‘It’s not safe full stop.’ She sighed watching the younger members of the party clapping at the antics of Bonaparte as he stood on his hind legs and danced for them. ‘All I want is the amulet and I can go home.’ She looked into the eyes of the butler, his stiff manner only for the guests, to her he was the friend she needed.
‘Please, he wouldn’t hurt you, you were part of the team.’
‘My lady you ask too much from me. Bonaparte will kill anyone who nears the stable, especially since the death of the American. He had to kill the wife too, could you imagine the trouble we’d be in, explaining that away. You’ve got to stay hidden.’
‘If I’m not home before the second alignment of the moon, my throne goes to the second family, surely you understand what that means.’ She implored.
‘My lady, you’re asking me to sacrifice everything for you. Haven’t I covered up enough already?’
‘Gemini please.’
Gemini backed away shaking his head. ‘Please return to your room my lady, if you displease Bonaparte again, he’ll kill us all, throne or no throne.’ He held the door open for her and reluctantly she returned to her room in the north facing tower.

The Doctor watched over the young man as he lay unconscious on the bed. His pulse had slightly improved but he was still pale and his lips remained a dark red. He was a very thin young man, but then looking at his own physique so was the Doctor. He looked about the room and pulled out drawers for an ID. As he stood by the rich mahogany unit near the window his Converse shoe rested upon a canvas bag pushed underneath the base of the chest of drawers. He pulled it out and peered inside. Setting out the contents on top of the unit he inspected the metal tin that rattled. It was a metal cube but hollow and seemed to have no visible signs of entry. He pulled out the sonic and released a tiny catch invisible to the naked eye, a small hiss of gas released itself into the room and he lifted the lid and using his finger and thumb in a pincer like movement, pulled out the tiny data chip. It had a familiar circular inscription along one side of it and pulling on his spectacles he saw it to be the insignia of the Time Lords. He pocketed that also and looked back at the child asleep on the bed, he was awakening.
He kicked the canvas bag with the contents back under the unit and pulled out his stethoscope and listened to a healthier rhythm than before.
Miguel awoke and was unsure at first where he was. He sat up and saw the Doctor leaning against the pole at the end of the bed and in his hand looped around his finger was the vortex manipulator.
‘I think we need to talk, don’t you?’
The Doctor listened as Miguel explained about the device in his hand, he told him about Jack and the hub and Torchwood, but the Doctor was well aware of Captain Jack Harkness and his travelling teleport device. What he didn’t know was that Captain Jack had always known about the young man, even during his times with the Doctor and had used this information to pass onto Miguel. He knew Jack wouldn’t have given it freely, the information about the Doctor was still a closely guarded secret to those outside of UNIT.
Miguel listened as the Doctor told him about his great grandmother; he filled his head with the exact images that he had stored in his memories. He listened as the Doctor reminisced about life on Gallifrey and the Time Lords, he heard about the last great Time War when an alien race called the Daleks battled with the Time Lords and now both races were gone. He saw sadness in the Doctor’s eyes and realised that losing his family wasn’t the only thing the Time Lord had lost, he’d lost everything.
The Doctor looked at the young man sitting quietly on the bed absorbing the information like a sponge. ‘That’s my story, where do you fit in?’
‘My grandfather was aboard a shuttle bound for Earth almost two hundred years ago, not many survived the crash. He was a grown man, had a family, but he was bitter. He always wanted to avenge the death of his mother, despite the stories that the Elders of the Aboras talked about, he knew different, he felt things differently. The Aboras told him he was a Petrillian, but he knew he wasn’t the son of a tyrant, he was the son of a Time Lord, but that’s what made him sick. He wanted to return to Gallifrey and wreak revenge on them all. He got so bad that it affected his mind and he couldn’t settle. When he died, there was this glow of light, just for a second. Mom said she waited for him to return to her but he changed, he became twisted, far worse than before, he saw us all as evil. Mom went the same way, she wanted to believe that the tyrant was her grandfather coz it surely made up for the way she was feeling. Grandfather was twisted and evil just like the tyrant, but he was a long way from home and had no means of transport back into the skies above. I watched them twist out of existence and die.’ He screwed up his face in disgust as he remembered the day and the smoking gun in his hand as he stood over them.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Your Laws condemned us all, every member of my family is dead, every memory of who I am is on that memory chip in your pocket.’
The Doctor grabbed his pocket and looked astounded at the young man.
‘How did…..?’
‘I have a gift. Jack said I reminded him of someone he knew.’
‘I can’t be your great grandfather, it’s not possible.’ The Time Lord replied sadly.
‘That’ll make it easier to kill you then.’ Miguel replied without emotion.
‘Is that what you want to do?’
‘She was killed by your race, it’s only fitting that you should die by her race.’
‘She came from Gallifrey, theoretically you’d be erasing her memory too.’
‘No, your people did that already.’
The Doctor lifted down the holster that swung at the end of the bed on a hook and pulled out the black Beretta. His hand fitted snug in the grip and he felt the cold steel in his palm. He inhaled deeply with a loose quiver of fear as he handed the gun to the young man.
‘You do know that Time Lords regenerate don’t you, so that every time you shoot me, I’ll come back to life.’ He added looking at Miguel and the pistol in his outstretched arm.
‘How many times?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thirteen.’
‘Oh.’ The young man lowered the weapon. ‘I only have enough for one shot.’ He sighed and lowered the hammer; securing the safety he tossed the gun back at the Doctor. ‘If I’m the last of my species and I’m likely to die the same as my family, then one shot should do it. Your turn.’
The Doctor lifted the weapon back into his hands and held it against the boy.
‘You have two hearts and only one bullet.’ He said lowering the weapon. ‘What would be the point?’
‘Two hearts?’
‘Like I said, Ragda came from Gallifrey, if your grandfather was indeed her son, then he too would have had two hearts. That orangy yellow glow that you saw would be him regenerating. Sometimes it goes wrong, sometimes the results can be horrific. We only survive to the thirteenth regeneration, then we’re gone. Had he regenerated before that?’
‘I don’t know.’ He looked deep inside his own memories and shook his head. ‘No, he’s always looked the same.’
‘It could be that he fought with the regeneration, scared of what was taking place. Sometimes mid way things can affect who we turn into. If he was full of hate and malice…..’
‘Who else loved my great grandmother other than you?’
‘She had many admirers.’ He smiled, reminiscing.
‘There was always one name that came up time and time again when my grandfather rambled.’
The Doctor’s hearts skipped a beat.
‘If you’re not my great grandfather, then the man I search for is already dead.’
‘What was his name?’
Miguel slid from the bed and walked towards the window as dusk closed down over the countryside. The black Beretta lay on the light yellow throw.
‘His name was the Doctor.’

Nightfall blanketed the ground and the entire countryside. Owls hooted in trees and foxes yelped in the darkness. Miguel sat on the steps of the house and felt the cold air cling to his face and clothing. He had travelled so far to find the Time Lord and now it wasn’t even the right one. He felt so lost and alone and without transport home, he was destined to live in this foreign land that he doubted was really Earth if he fell through a gap in the fabric of the rift.
He sensed a being behind him but didn’t reach for a weapon, the being stood stationary behind him. It cleared its throat only once.
‘Can I be of service sir?’ It was Gemini, standing as before with a silver platter awaiting an order.
‘Not unless you’ve got a teleport machine I can use.’
‘I’m sorry sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ He laughed falsely.
Miguel turned to look at the man in the uniform.
‘You’re a Gemini 450ZX with a titanium transfer. I think you do know what I’m talking about.’
Gemini froze, his eyes widened like saucers and he quickly glanced behind him for fear of someone overhearing.
‘How did you know?’
‘As droids go, you’re a fairly new model. That usual whirring of mechanical parts is masked by the titanium. There’s just that tiny ticking sound that can’t be heard by the human ear.’
He saw fear etched across the droids face. ‘I won’t tell, not if you help me.’

A bright yellow sun warmed the Earth and brightened up the mood of the guests the following morning. Peacocks pecked the grass on the front lawn around the strange topiary shrubs beside the maze. A young fox cub ran across the gravel its tail between its legs as a large pig with a tuft of brown hair snarled after it.
The Doctor and Miguel joined the guests in the dining room, a sombre affair in light of the disappearance of the American and his wife and a handful of guests spread out around the large room. The appearance of the bodyless man came and went without laughter or interest. Miguel chased the bacon around his plate and gave up, picking up the mug of strong coffee to awaken his senses. The Doctor polished off his second plate of eggs and bacon and wiped his mouth on the napkin resting on his lap. He inspected the meagre guests as he drank his coffee, the young man was amongst them. He seemed distant until Gemini bowed beside him and whispered in his ear, then the young man drained his cup and followed the butler out. The Doctor followed after a few moments and skulked in the shadows as the young man headed towards the back of the building and into the courtyard with the servant.
‘I’m risking a lot telling you this.’ Gemini whispered in a low voice.
‘Go on.’ Miguel urged, looking directly at the servant.
‘Bonaparte and most of us here belong to the Russilions, I take it you’ve of those.’ Miguel nodded. ‘Our ship lost orbit, battle damage, we landed here eight Earth years ago and have been waiting and biding our time until we can return to the Delta vector.’ He looked about him for signs of Bonaparte and his close team, but nothing stirred, only the Doctor stood beside the partly opened door beside the back kitchen, where the smells of the fry up still hung in the air. He listened while Gemini told Miguel about the ghost who happened to be a Princess from the senate of Delta vector, from the house of Bordermon. It had always been a tough battleground, the lines drawn against the senate and the Russilions and the level of ground they occupied. But the last skirmish had taken its toll on the crew, families were killed in the gunfire that wiped out three quarters of the Russilions’ battalion, there was only one thing for it, they had to take the senate by force. The royal family of Bordermon were caught up in the scuffle, the young lady Clarissa Bordermon was kidnapped, her brother died trying to save her.
‘So she’s not a real ghost.’ Miguel asked.
‘Bonaparte knew if he kept her life energy she would assume the life of a ghost and be unable to pick up the amulet and return home.’ Gemini continued.
‘What’s the amulet?’
‘It’s a part of who she is, her real self. Bonaparte keeps it hidden in his stable.’
‘Why?’
‘If she returned to her home our mission would have failed.’
‘Mission, you’re stranded on Earth.’ He replied sarcastically.
‘If Bonaparte knows I’ve talked to you.’
‘You’re a droid, what can he do to you?’
‘You have no idea of his powers, he’s not just a pig, he’s….’
‘I’ve seen the two legged version thanks.’ Miguel added.
A thump of movement behind the Doctor caused the Time Lord to take drastic action. A two legged Russilion with a bladed hand was storming towards him, another step and he would see the Time Lord standing beside the opened door. He dove into the kitchen and through the connecting door leading back upstairs through another set of stairs. Bonaparte was raging, his senses were slipping into overdrive. Baccus, the kitchen porter had informed him of Gemini’s change of allegiance, it was time to bring the crew back into check.
He saw the droid talking in hushed whispers to the young man he’d seen in the transponder recall and gritted his teeth. Pulling back the door with his bladed hand he strode towards them and grabbing the droid around the throat lifted him from the ground and above his head.
‘What are you doing discussing our business with a human?’ He growled as the droid went through repertory breakdown.
‘Leave him alone, he’s done nothing wrong, we were just trading recipes.’ Miguel replied, shaking his head at the lame excuse.
The Russilion swiped him with the side of the bladed hand sending him sprawling backwards onto the stone floor.
‘I’ll deal with you in a moment.’ Bonaparte snarled.
‘P..please Bonaparte, leave him alone, he’s safe, he’s not like the others.’ Spluttered the droid.
‘Trading recipes, with a droid, I don’t think so. You’ve been seen on many occasions talking with this boy. You were always a disappointment to me.’ He hurled the droid against the nearest wall, a clang of metal and body hit the brickwork and slumped to the ground, fizzing and twitching. He turned his attention to the young man who had a weapon pointing in his direction and laughed.
‘Your puny weapons are no match for me.’ He roared and ran at the young man. Miguel fired a shot at the shoulder of the pirate, it penetrated his skin but didn’t slow him down.
‘Ok, that didn’t work.’ Miguel backed away as the giant swipe of the bladed hand came at him like a rotor blade, it narrowly missed him. He fired another shot, this time clipping the pirate in the bladed arm, something hissed and incited the pirate even further. He pushed the pistol back into his shoulder holster, it wasn’t working, why waste bullets. The bladed hand crashed near him and he dodged again, cartwheeling away from the blade as it came again and again. Miguel was running out of space, the giant Russilion was gaining on him and there was no sign of help from any quarter. The Time Lord who he’d sensed beside the door was nowhere to be seen.
The Doctor was having problems of his own. The Russilion pirates were aware of conflict in their ranks and were beginning to arm themselves with any weapons they could muster.
‘This is not good.’ All avenues were blocked, the only exit was through a window or further up the stairs into the tower room. The stairs seemed to go on forever but eventually stopped outside a black oak door with a large metal key still stuck in the door. He smiled at their lapse of security and unlocked the heavy door, it creaked open.
‘Princess Clarissa of Bordermon I presume.’ He smiled at the semi ghost before him. She rose from the bed and ran to him, but he held up his hands to stop her advancing further.
‘No, let’s not.’ He advised.
‘How do you know who I am?’ She spoke in a whisper, her life energy almost back to ghost form.
‘Your friendly butler Gemini, he seems only too keen to tell the young man you almost kissed to death downstairs.’
‘I wasn’t going to kill him, I needed his energy, I want to get back the amulet, I must go home, the second alignment of the moon is almost in place, when that happens, the House of Bordermon will be no more.’ She said woefully.
‘Then we’d better go and pick up your amulet, your highness.’ He grinned and stepped aside to let her pass. ‘Where is it kept?’
‘Bonaparte has it, in his stable. We must hurry.’ She urged and floated ahead at speed. The Doctor ran to catch up, but being unable to float through walls he was already at a disadvantage. She returned to find him pointing at two doors and grinned sheepishly at him.
‘Sorry, forgot. It’s this way.’ The Doctor ran behind her, through the second dining room, along the corridor, avoiding three servants fighting over the suit of armour weapons and out towards the stables. Miguel was still battling Bonaparte but now he was using the only other gift he possessed – telekinesis.
Bonaparte despite his strength and muscle was unable to reach the boy inside the forcefield he’d generated ahead of him. The dome was enough protection against the evils that Miguel had fought on the streets of his own nightmares, Bonaparte was different. He had the strength of ten strong men and Miguel knew he could only hold this forcefield for a certain amount of time and it was waning already.
The Doctor watched in awe at the young man while the Princess struggled with the latch on the stable door. She turned to see the Doctor mesmerised by the boy fighting a giant and flew towards him, reminding him of the urgency in finding the amulet.
Miguel noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and saw a pair of Converse trainers disappear into the stables. It was imperitive now that he kept the forcefield going long enough for the Time Lord to find the amulet.
Gemini sat up, his mind fizzed in and out of focus, he observed the movement in front of him, the towering giant against a child with what looked like a clear dome of energy. He staggered to his feet and readjusted his head, it clicked into place, the normal whirring that continued within his armour settled down and ticked quietly. His right hand was damaged, the artificial skin hung off in a clump revealing machine beneath and the lights that moved each joint flickered up at him. He saw the Princess in the stable hovering towards the door, her face bright and beaming, the Doctor emerged carrying a metal box. He looked at Bonaparte, the boy was wavering, there was perspiration pouring down his face, the energy was failing.
He saw the Doctor struggling with the tin box all the while staring from that to the boy. He wanted to help them both, but the amulet was equally as important. He saw the frustration on the Time Lords face as his fingers scrabbled with the rusted lid. He tried with the sonic screwdriver, the high pitched whistling drew the attention of Bonaparte who turned and faced the Time Lord. Miguel collapsed back against the stones of the courtyard, his chest heaving in and out gulping in fresh air. He was exhausted, he had used his reserve energy, Bonaparte could swing his blade and he wouldn’t be able to move.
The Doctor felt the lid give way, it spurred him on to tug harder but Bonaparte was gaining ground. He put some distance between them and ran back into the stinking pig sty and sealing the door closed while he struggled with the lid. He felt the door take the full force of the angry Russilion and continued his quest for the amulet until finally free he held it up triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear.
The door on its final pounding gave way and fell flat near the feet of the Time Lord, as Bonaparte blocked the Doctor’s only means of escape, he held the amulet aloft in his left hand. The pirate stopped moving, his bladed hand dropped down by his side, he breathed heavily, his heart pounding inside of his chest.
‘You will let me pass, Bonaparte, is that you’re real name?’ He asked curiously.
‘What of it? That amulet is mine.’
‘This amulet belongs to the princess of the Bordermon reign, not the Russilion pirates.’
‘You have no idea about our world, Earth man.’ The Russilion glowered.
‘You’re stranded here, but she can return home. Why do you need her?’
‘Our borders were shortened by the senate, they had no right to destroy our land and our homes. They had to be stopped.’
‘Surely there were better embargoes than kidnapping.’
‘They refused to listen. My crew had family, children and lives on the Delta Vector, but the House of Bordermon instructed the senate to destroy three quarters of our land and everyone upon it.’
‘Then they were wrong, and I will do what I can to put everything right.’ The Princess implored hovering just in front of the pirate. ‘I know my family did a wrong to your people, but you were no better to the people’s of PentaSeven, you massacred an entire race. Sanctions had to be met, but this war must stop and I can make that happen, if we can work together.’ She put across a good argument, but Bonaparte had only eyes for the Amulet.
‘You’re good at talking, but that’s it, my lady.’ He strode towards the Doctor, his bladed fist struck the stall and sliced through it like butter, the Doctor took this moment to run for the door and out into the courtyard as the young man picked himself up off the ground with help from Gemini.
‘Give me that amulet.’ The Russilion ran from the destroyed stable and came at the Doctor. He tossed the amulet towards Miguel who caught it deftly as the pirate was almost upon the Doctor. Miguel ran with it across the courtyard while the pirate gave chase. From the kitchen and out of the door beside the stables came the crew of the Russilion ship, their weapons varied from axes, swords and rolling pins. The Doctor felt sick, even if they let the Princess free, they couldn’t stave off the entire crew, not with a sonic screwdriver and an exhausted force field.
Miguel had run towards a dead end, he’d taken the wrong turning and cursed himself, but for once he was having fun. He had something someone else wanted, but he knew the risks that came with it. This giant with the bladed hand was now within spitting distance of beheading him. He caught sight of the princess hovering above the head of the giant. It could go horribly wrong now, he knew that, but he had to take that chance. He ran towards the giant, diving through his legs and calling to the princess.
‘If you kiss me now you’ll have the energy to take the amulet and go.’ He said running towards Gemini and passing the amulet onto him. The droid held it in his hand, unsure what to do.
‘RUN!’ Shouted the Doctor as the giant stormed towards him and so the fun continued as Clarissa kissed Miguel. The crew armed with weapons stared as she regained enough energy to push the young man away from her and towards Gemini. Miguel’s hearts pounded in his ears, he felt light headed but still able to focus on the plan.
‘Gemini, throw it to me.’ Miguel called but his voice was faint and the droid didn’t hear. The Doctor took the lead and waved towards the droid, trapped once more in a no win situation with the giant.
‘Over here, Gemini.’ Called the Doctor, he waved his hands and dodged a back swipe from the blade of the giant.
Gemini saw the Princess and smiled, he tossed the amulet high over the head of the giant, as if in slow motion everyone held their breath and watched it fall past the pirate and into the hands of the Princess. She clasped it to her chest and closed her eyes. A bright light flashed from amulet and blinded the group who cowered and covered their eyes momentarily.
The Doctor squinted at the light until it faded, he saw the princess become a small orb that floated up into the sky and shot like the tail of a comet into the morning air.
It was over, the mission had failed and the crew had nowhere left to go. Bonaparte glared at the droid, he punched his bladed fist into its belly and took a satisfaction in its internal organs rupturing and its milky blood escaping from every orifice. Miguel was horrified, Gemini had risked his own life to save her. He became incensed and pulled the gun from the hip of the giant and aimed it directly at him.
Bonaparte looked down at the missing weapon and turned to face the young boy as the droid fell to the ground a mass of sparks and fluid.
‘You better hope you can use that weapon because I’ve a blade that needs a new body.’ He snarled and faced the young man head on, the blade dripped of droid fluid that hung in a sticky mess glooping onto the courtyard floor.
‘You’ve got nowhere left to go Bony, this is it. You have a choice, a life as a pig and working at this house bringing in enough money to fix your ship, or….’
‘Or what?’ He growled advancing on the young boy holding the gun without fear.
‘Or I pull the trigger and we all die.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Watch me.’ He dared.
The crew watched but dared not step forward. The Doctor became suddenly aware that the young man was serious. He’d seen the weapon before, it was a cluster gun, not only did it hit the target, but it was likely to take out the entire unit of men standing around the courtyard including him and Miguel.
He turned to face the crew who also knew the dangers of their boss’s gun.
‘Is this what you want, a war that never ends. You’re never going to make it back to Delta vector if he pulls that trigger. Make a difference, you like this place, I’ve seen you smile, I’ve heard your songs in the galley, this is no different to fleecing ships in the galaxy, the only difference is these tourists are willing to give you money to stay here.’
‘They won’t now the princess has gone.’ Bonaparte growled.
‘So invent one, use the bodyless crew member, turn it into a theme park. You’re pirates, you’ve always learned to think on your feet. What’s wrong, lost that spark, come on Bonaparte, this isn’t like you.’
‘You don’t know me Earthman.’
‘I’m not from Earth, my planet has long since gone, but the name lives on in the heart of the many, and the few.’ The Doctor growled in a deep menacing voice.
‘So what are you?’
‘TIME LORD.’
The Russilion’s gasped, a few dropped their weapons and backed against the wall of the building behind them. Bonaparte straightened himself and turned to face the Time Lord.
‘They were wiped out, how did you survive?’
‘Unlucky I guess. But I know of the Russilion’s, they’re fighters true, but they’re also thinkers and schemers and I know for a fact that your land was part of the Delta Spectron, farming country. This crew were selected purely because they were all that were left after the war. They’re not fighters Bony,’ he raised his eyebrow and continued. ‘You could live out your days here, bring the place into 21st century, make your money on Earth.’ He looked at the crew and saw them nodding their heads, a life off the ship, a life working the soil as their fathers and fore fathers had done. The clanking of weapons fell to the ground as the crew disarmed and looked to Bonaparte for support.
The giant shrugged and felt suddenly tired, his crew, his loyal crew were disbanding. They were listening to the Time Lord, they were listening to anyone but him, Bonaparte III, leader of men. He turned back to face the young man with weapon still trained on him.
‘No hard feelings!’ He forced a smile and offered an outstretched hand in friendship to the young man. He stood for a moment or two, watching for signs of a trap, but nothing, the man seemed completely genuine. He lowered the weapon and took a hold of the pirates outstretched hand. The pirate pulled him close and Miguel felt something hard puncture his stomach. He gasped and sputtered. He heard the Doctor yell, he tasted blood in his mouth and saw blood that could only be his on the clothing of the pirate.
Miguel twitched and with a final squeeze of the trigger released one round into the pirates chest before falling to the ground. The bright light blinded him for a second as Bonaparte separated into millions of atoms and dispersed into dust that showered the ground. The crew and the Doctor picked themselves up from the ground and looked about them. Bonaparte was gone, the damage to the brickwork was repairable. The Doctor ran to Miguel, his almost lifeless body stared up at the morning sunlight, he was shivering.
The Doctor cradled him in his arms and touched his face that felt so cold and pale.
‘Stay with me, you can do this.’ He said shivering with emotion.
‘I never did ask your name.’ Miguel spoke between gulps of air.
‘I’m the Doctor, your great grandfather.’ He said fighting back the urge to cry.
‘Fine time to tell me now….I…feel….cold.’ He said shivering more.
‘You can regenerate. It’s in your data chip, your grandfather and mother held the same power. Just let it happen, you have to let it happen. Please.’ He whispered as his chin quivered and the tears began to fall.
Miguel arched as the pain became too much to bear and the Doctor felt his body go limp in his arms. He’d lost them again, the whole pain of losing the family he’d so desperately wanted to get to know and now once more, just like Jenny, he’d lost them.
He laid the boy down on the courtyard and sat beside him crosslegged, the blood still on his hands from the wound. He looked down at the young man, so young and so full of hate until the end.
He stared hard at the young man, that all familiar glow across the hands and the face was beginning and he edged back as the boy began to regenerate before his very eyes. The crew ran into the house afraid of another cluster shell about to burst over their heads as the Doctor stared down at the young man, his transformation complete. The Doctor grinned, staring back at him was the same man, the dark spiked hair of the Latin American and his deep blue eyes twinkled the same as before. But the wound was gone, all injuries to his body had miraculously disappeared. The Time Lord laughed out loud and pulled the young man to his feet and held him close, clapping him on the back.

The Kitchen Sink

2010-11-29T07:48:00.000-08:00

The cd player whirred to the spot on the disk that she wanted to hear, the volume was turned up and the kitchens acoustics accentuated his voice. She filled the sink and squirted in the bubble liquid, lowering the plates, cups and cutlery, she dove her hands into the hot water that prickled her skin with the heat.
The soft Scottish accent that she liked so well, pronounced the words so resonantly as she lay the crockery onto the draining board. She stopped as the first words of Romeo and Juliet broke across the kitchen.
‘But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun!’
She felt her insides soaring, a tingling feeling from well within her very soul bristling with excitement as he continued.
‘Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief.’
She sighed, smiling and closed her eyes, she felt him close, her heart was pounding, she could feel her stomach somersaulting as she felt his presence once more in her life, she could smell his aftershave from the doorway and still he read.
‘That thou, her maid, art more fair than she, be not her maid, since she is envious.’
Into the waters her hands plunged again, feeling the knives and cutlery at the bottom, burning her hands as she dove deeper to grasp the plain metal. She felt him closer, his breath on her neck as she tilted forward to find through the bubbles the final knife.
‘Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it: cast it off.’
She felt his hands around her waist and inhaled suddenly, his bristly stubble face against her neck, nestling in, kissing her softly along her neck and down her spine to where the neck of the t-shirt stopped. She exhaled deeply as his hands rode up the inside of her top, cupped her breasts in each hand and massaged them sensually. She dropped the cutlery onto her favourite mug and it shattered the handle, but she couldn’t stop now, he was reading the passage in her ear, occasionally nibbling her earlobe and it was all she could do to stop herself from turning around and letting him take her now.
‘It is my lady! O! It is my love; O, that she knew she were.’
She felt him press his body against her, felt his heart beating against her back as he ran his arms now free from her goose bumped nipples down her arms and into the waters deep. He continued to speak; she could feel his breath against the side of her face, sending her mind into rapturous delight.
‘She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that? Her eye discourses, I will answer it.’
She felt the goosebumps rise up and down her body, she felt the tickling sensation of the five o’clock shadow bristle around her neck and the side of her face, she dared herself to open her eyes as he continued to speak, dare she turn around and face him, her mouth to his mouth and be taken now.
‘I am too bold, t’is not to me she speaks.’
She was alone in the kitchen, the words echoed from the cd player sitting on the shelf beside the waxwork photograph of a foul mouthed chef. She sighed and turned back to the washing and rescued her Doctor Who mug from beneath the bubbles and sat it on the shelf with its broken handle running her fingers over the artwork of its title. She smiled to herself as she continued to listen till the end before continuing with the chore and pulling the plug.

Copyright 2009

My Wonderful T (written on the night of Planet of the Dead)

2010-11-29T06:57:00.000-08:00

Lock all the doors, turn off the lights
Close all the curtains, keep out of sight.
Turn off the mobiles, unplug the phone
Instruct the children to leave you alone.
Plump up the cushions, select your seat
Remove the batteries, free your feet.
Replace the hankies, hide the remote
The Doctor is coming in his long brown coat.
Six forty five on Saturday night
With monsters a-plenty to give you a fright.
Where are they? What planet? What are those things
Coming towards them, coming on wings?
But gone in a whisper, a whimper, a tear
The Time Lord is changing, sometime next year.
Gone are the smiles, the running and laughter
Gone is the 10th, but what comes hereafter.
The 11th unknown, it won't be the same
The feelings, the love loss, the heart-wrench, the pain.
Yet the endless repeats, the dvd files
Will help me get through it, help for a while.
I know deep inside this is just a programme
I know many folk don't really give a damn.
But I feel that I know him, this Doctor of mine
I have travelled there with him, till the ends of time.
I have felt his pain, I have been there too
I've flown the ship, been one of the crew.
I've come up against Cybers, Daleks and Oods
Vashta Nerada and weird looking food.
I've not stepped on time lines, not rescued my Dad
Not tempted the Reapers of which I've been glad.
I've travelled with the Doctor countless times to mention
Had my head turned with his countless inventions.
My Doctor, oh Doctor I will miss you the most
You had me in tears when you were with the Host.
I have the Tardis, the fob watch and you
Decorated around my room, I'm mad its true.
But posters and photos are constant reminders
And I hope that one day you will come and find us.
Hook up, nick a Tardis, return to me
My Doctor! My 10th! My wonderful T!

Like the aftermath of a car crash

2010-10-27T05:22:00.000-07:00

It's true what they say, there is no fool like an old fool and I was sucked in like an old fool. There were warning signs but I ignored them. I did doubt them sometimes but the way 'they' spoke on chat made it so convincing for me that they were the real deal. I mean to carry a lie for such a length of time is a real feat in itself. I should know, I conned people for ages over CJ. We all like to hide behind a mask because hiding means that we don't get hurt personally, only the character does.

But I got hurt. The whole trust issue was ripped apart for me and I don't know if I will ever be able to trust another new person again. For me to get over this I have to lay myself bare and take any criticism from those on my rl, I have already gone over it in my head what they will say because I'm saying it myself.

I told Mark today because I had plan to press charges against the woman who slapped my son. But it means putting my son back through the trauma of it all and don't know if I want to do that? Part of me wants to contact social services but what does that do? It could all back fire and fall back on my doorstep, not that I have anything to hide. Aside from the fact that I invited a complete fruitcake into my house, ate my food and glared daggers at my son the whole time she was there and turned me against my son. She's deranged. It even created a situation where the rper behind James Tyler wanted to come down and sort my son out. My son. 13 years of age being sorted out by a lad if he is that. Because we hide behind a mask and we never know who these people are who we let into our lives and share our dreams and fantasies.

I have spent since October 2009 walking on fucking eggshells to be sure I didn't upset Emma fucking Hewitt and for what? Some false hope that CJ would be starring in the next series of Torchwood? shakes head

In this note which will run for quite a few pages I can imagine I will be listing everything, transcripts the works. All the OOC notes because I know now I was fooled. And I don't care about her empty threats to kill herself. I hope she does go through with it. The world will be a better place without her. The girl needs help, psychiatric help. She lives in a fantasy world and Carys Harper was right about everything. She is a fucking drama queen. Miss oh my life is this and shitting that. Who gives a fuck? Well clearly I did. I gave her encouragement with her writing, I did because there were good ideas in amongst all her bad grammar but she'd built a fantasy world and was living her dream of having someone like Michael Madsen as her dads friend. Her dad the pilot who flew people here and there and knew folks on the film strip like Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart.

In these notes you will find the level and extent of it all. if I list it all now, it saves me bringing it up again. because you'll know.

I first knew Emma back in May when I stupidly found an Owen Harper as out of all the TW lot he was easier to latch onto in terms of having a short rp with. The others were strictly canon and wouldn't rp unless CJ was part of Torchwood. I was hurt by comments from another rper who was with Ric Miller's team (but please note I am not lashing out at Ric, I admire her and she has never done me wrong. I'm merely mentioning that Connor whatsit played Jackie Tyler and a midshipman Frame. Anyway after I deleted all the torchwood crowd which would have been Ducky Gooch, and some of Lady C's crowd and Ric Miller again this was explained much later about why I did this.

In August 2009 while CJ was out on his honeymoon to Henriette Delbatass I chanced an rp with a Jack Harkness Wood. This got me into Torchwood (this Jack is a friend), we had many a romantic interlude and the rps were brilliant. Ok some were really horny and blue to the extent but I learnt a lot and ok many of the rps involved gay sex but this helped with writing and so I still do that. And bloody glad I do.

In September/October of that year Emma Hewitt came back into my life. I readded an Owen Harper as I discovered that Matilda Harkness had her on her page, and because of the Torchwood connection added Owen. Which then led me to see Jack J Harkness which then led on to the wild and crazy nights and days from then on till now. I don't know how many times she laughed as she continually duped me into believing she had so many things wrong with her, and that she barely ate and she was losing weight through not eating because I didn't get that impression when she came over to stay and ate everything that was placed in front of her and then ate her daughters share because her daughter had not stopped grazing all day and ate nowt but crisps and sweets. No wonder the child is hyper. And her daughter does not have a high IQ nor is Emma poor.

I have supported Emma hewitt in her writing, I gave her encouragement like I give anyone else on here. I was taught not to show negative support for something because its easy to do that. I always gave honest opinions because I was taught to do that.

In October 2009 when Emma Hewitt was in hospital due to a cancer she had and was told she might die, Euros Lyn came onto Emmas Owens' account and chatted to me, introduced me to the 'boys' who were in his flat, well actually Emma's flat as he was 'allegedly babysitting Emma's daughter while she was in hospital'.

He told me he liked CJ and although it wasn't down to him and had to go to the writers but he wanted my character CJ in an episode in the new series of Torchwood. For me as a writer and with a character of my own, you can imagine how wrapped I was at that. Although there is always that sceptical feeling that this isn't really true, but still, wow.

He put 'Joe Lidster' on to chat to me who said he was a friend of the family and was with Mattian who has a disease or syndrome Strousse which involves painful monitoring of the brainwaves and I felt sorry for the kid as I was led to believe he played David Davies in COE the nephew of Ianto Jones. (I have since had it confirmed by Joe Lidster on Twitter that he does not know either Emma Hewitt or Mattian)

Below is a list of characters with whom I was told belonged to the celebrities she knew. In later notes you will see the transcripts that this woman had me believe were the stars I was talking to. But look out for the tiny misprints because as much as I noticed it, I ignored it, as much as I doubted it, I put it to one side and continued to believe because the ideas of having someone like John Barrowman as your friend, who calls you a friend as well as a fan, you'd do it too.

Also when you see the list, check your friends list and delete them all. She was an evil piece of work and right now I don't care if her threats to top herself are true or not. I'll not miss her.

Captain-Jack J Harkness - John Barrowman and sometimes Scott Gill

Jack Harkness (with a painted drawing of John Barrowman) John Barrowman

Christopher Lloyd (with a photograph of the late John Mills) Mark Gatiss

Naruk re-educational centre (formerly known as Shoreditch glasshouse) Euros Lyn

Abadun/Ianto G - Gareth David Lloyd

Gwen Elizabeth Cooper - Eve Myles

PC Andy - Tom Price

Captian Grigori Effimovich Zubov (alternated rpers) Steven Moffat, Joe Lidster, Gary Russell

John Hart (with fiery pic of John and James) James Marsters

Sullivan James John Hart - Sullivan Marsters

David Davies/Akilina Marshall/Louis Djak Follergan - Mattian (Emma's brother)

Rhiannon Davies - Katy Wix

John Sudbury - Gary Russell and sometimes Joe Lidster

Timelord Victorious - David Tennant and much later Matt Smith

Charles Walker/David Lawerence - David Tennant

Capricus Treet - Michael Madsen

Tobias Follergan - Jack Osbourne (Ozzy's son)

Owen Harper - Burn Gorman

(there was talk that Naoko would be coming back as Toshiko but that never happened)

Gray Boeshane - a guy called Mike Russo who is a stuntman for Universal - who broke his back and also claimed to be a friend of Michael Madsen and knew Francesco Cura'. ( Francesco later confirmed that he had never heard of a Michael Russo)

Emma's rp characters: Sorry I can't link you to these people as I deleted them all from my profiles. But if you have these names on your friends list delete now or become a sucker like me. I have heard she's deleted her rl off fb and twitter but then cowards always run than face up to their errors and mistakes. She throws punches then runs and hides. i've half a mind to add Carys Harper to my friends list because she made a lot more sense. In fact so much more that when I read the note from Emma about her, I could see so much truth in it. But I just didn't comment as I knew Emma would run. perhaps I should have just said when she first ran, but the thought of saying good bye to all these people I thought were real. And it wasn't just me, she hoodwinked Kirsty, matilda and Lottie, several of my friends. She lied to my husband and my rl friends

and I let her into my life.

Meacarla Lloyd

Carlo Juan Eriad Follergan

Constance Justica Eriad Follergan

Trojanus Stuart

Agostina Nablus

Cael Sinclair

Duc Anton De Richleau

Charles Winslow

Capt Jack Harkness

Captain Jack J Harkness (of which I was using towards the last month because according to Emma, John left because he was not happy with the way Kirsty was behaving on Cj's page and made out it was Kirsty's fault all of the above left. She turned me against my friends but over time so that I stopped speaking to those I've known for longer. )

Owen Harper (sorry can't link you to these but she had several Owen accounts)

Alice (Jack's daughter, sorry I can't think of the surname right now)

Tiberius Walker Travo

Antal teague

vigil teague

caleb travo teague

lucia ward

Mortorian Raven

Pepillo Quino Adams

Malachi Lawrence

Tor Mentor

John Jamison

Septimus Magister

I even stupidly gave her JD's account as I thought it was Mark Gatiss I was giving it to. So now I will be deleting that account from ever existing. I still have the email and password but if it has been taken then its my stupid fault.

I let her into my home and despite all that the police say about the dangers of that. I believed her and I believed these people to be the genuine article and they weren't, and I am so glad I never said anything about Barbies and Ebay to John barrowman when I went to see TTN2 and I'm glad I never said anything to David Tennant about David Lawerence or Charles Walker when I saw him filming Decoy Bride but he must have wondered why I couldn't my eyes off him, why I was itching to say something and sat so close to the black Tardis tent. Why? Because I had been led to believe he was a friend and that he was only on line for me and Emma so that we could write this script. And I as a mug fucking believed him.

But it wasn't just me, she duped all of my friends. And I am just so glad that they still want to have something to do with me. because without their support and kindness, I don't think I would have the courage to come back online as I'd still be under the duvet refusing to eat and just want to hide away from life.

I came onto facebook as a means to escape the normality of life and just chill and relax and be someone else for a while. Emma demanded I was online, i was jumping through hoops to please her and my writing stopped.

When I said I was coming offline because I'd seriously run out of things to rp, they all said more or less fuck this, I'm deleting. That should have been my ticket to quit there and then. I won't be coming back online for a while. I have to make up to my son for taking the side of Emma Hewitt and not him and I need to rebuild my trust with him. And get back the mother son relationship I used to have with him.

Emma doesn't have that I guess she was jealous of it.

For a while I had a confident step in my life, I felt good about myself. Now I don't want to move to Cardiff, now I don't want to consider life anywhere else but with my family. I will write my book but it means I now have to look at where I've gone wrong by listening to Emma's ideas and now take it back to how I wrote it all those years ago.

I have to get Cj back to how he used to be. He's hurting as much as me. We both have a lot of healing to do.

Sex Talk

2010-10-20T12:18:00.000-07:00

She flicks through the tv channels settling on various scenes of rampant love making and closeness and sighs and glances down at the man lying asleep on the fold down sofa bed, crocodile ashtray closed but already crammed with cigarette stubs, ash outlining the ash tray and trapped within the belly of the metal beast. A half drunk coffee and three empty packets of cheese and onion crisps, he farts as he sleeps and the dog moves its position of beside him to behind the sofa in case it is blamed for the sulphuric smell that lingers. Turning the tv off, she hastens from the room before she gags and closes the door on the smell as the dog belts between her legs and bounds up the stairs to the sanctuary that is under the bed, with the ripped packets of crisps, and the chewed to buggery cat food pouches. She heads to bed, undressing and pulling on her pyjamas she stands in the bathroom staring at herself in the large mirror and wonders what would have happened if she'd just said No to a relationship and concentrated on her own life? Well for starters, she would still be living with her parents, sleeping in the cold room with the inch gap under the window where the largest spiders would come in, or the draft from the gales up the valley would push their way in and make her room like a walk in freezer in the winter.

She'd met him almost 20 years ago, not long after she'd moved to Scotland from the flat lands of Cheshire where anything higher than a molehill was classed as a mountain. He was drop dead gorgeous and her heart skipped several beats, she couldn't eat for a week and would sigh at the mention of his name. This as her mother pointed out..was love.

As she settled into bed she wondered where it had all gone wrong, where the joy of sex was meant to be a pleasurable experience and not something that only occurred when you wanted children and did the most craziest of positions to make sure that the sperm slid up to where it was meant to go, because they were crap with sat navs and always argued with the designated drivers, and doing headstands on your bed was a perfectly natural thing to do. raises eyebrow

She listened intently to her friends gossiping about their love life over coffee and biscuits and wondered why hers wasn't as exciting, wondering if perhaps she'd built up this image of Hollywood romances as something that really happened. But then perhaps that was a myth and she should concentrate on Hilda and Stan Ogden, but wait, they still shared a bed together, when was the last time she'd shared the bed with another person. Oh wait, that was it, her daughter came in, one night because one of the cousins came over.

Before then, the son had slept in the bed because the floor was hard and he hated the camp-bed. It was a king size bed, the whole family could have slept in it and still had room for the little one roll over

She turned off the light in the bathroom and looked in on the sleeping children, the duvets on the floor or hanging over the edge of the bunk bed, fast asleep dreaming of xbox games or magical creatures perhaps. She switched the light off on the landing and entered her bedroom where the many characters of her every day fantasy world decorated the walls. Captain Jack, Doctor Who, Francesco Cura', how could he compete? Perhaps this was another factor of him not sleeping in the bed with her. Every where he'd look from his position against her would be plastered with David or John.

But there was a time when she had no posters on her walls, when she'd shared the bedroom with him before the kids were born, when she'd experienced sex for the first time and wondered after it had ended what all the bloody fuss was about and why she'd waited 3 years for it. She felt cheated almost. As if this sex before marriage was something that should be treasured, kept and so have something to unwrap, like a gift, but in reality it was nothing more than a five minute quick in and out and wham bam thank you mam, leave the cash on the end of the bed when you leave. or that's what it felt like

In that first night she'd had to re-direct him to the place he was meant to go, short of drawing a set of illuminous arrows or strap a sat nav to his cock it was hardly likely she was going to get anywhere near the pleasure she'd seen in the films. There was also the question of size, him in her, it seemed an impossible task and one she tensed up on many an occasion, but as all things go, it did and she found herself pinned against the head board until she accepted that he wasn't trying to bore through her entire body and relaxed.

She grew to enjoy the sexual moments but a little too much and found her mind drifting and returning and smirking. As he rode her, she imagined herself to be the grand national horse and he was the jockey, as he never looked at her, always ahead, moving against her in the rhythmic motion of approaching the hurdles and thrusting as though leaping through the brush I said 'brush, not bush'

He would perspire and she'd find herself reaching up and mopping his brow. As he continued to shag her, she moved her hands along his back and planned her next day arrangements, perhaps a little decorating, wipe down the paintwork.

"you're meant to be making noises" Suddenly she's snapped out of her thoughts by the panting man still working up the rhythm and several more fences to clear, so far he's not fallen off, he's a good chance of winning this race.

" I do, oh, what kind of noises?" She hadn't realised sex was meant to be noisy too and cast her mind back to the films, but most of the time the volume had been turned down low as their sounds had embarrassed her, not so much her but she didn't want him waking up from his slumber and lighting up while Casanova got one over and she'd have to listen to her other half slag off both actors and fart for the next half hour.

"I dunno, noises you make when you have sex" he grunted as he thrust again.

"oh you mean the noises I've been stifling, oh ok.. ooh...ahh, ouch..uh ooo..is that ok. I could do more.. um oooo, eeeee aaaa." She giggled, and put him off his stride, now he was looking at her.

"sorry but I'm not very good at this and so far you've not done anything that they've been doing in the films. I feel like a grand national horse and my mind keeps slipping to something else and the list of chores I need to do tomorrow. You could at least talk to me, perhaps do two things at once. I feel a little useless here, you're in me but I have no clue what I'm meant to do other than lie here and edge closer and closer to the headboard. Is this what they mean by the headache?"

With the safety scissors and the glue sketch

2010-10-06T13:05:00.001-07:00

Natalie Clutches a tub of jelly babies and her crayons

Debs sits at the back with the safety scissors and the glitter

Natalie Slowly peels PVA glue off the back of her hand

Debs leans forward and shakes glitter in your hair Its snowing

Natalie Giggles and shakes her head

Debs points and laughs You've got shiny dandruff

Natalie Sticks her fingers in the poster paint and dabs it on your face You're an alien...

Debs puts her hand up in the air MISS SHE POKED ME...

Natalie Sticks her hand in the air She started it!!!!

Debs pokes her tongue out, blowing raspberries DID NOT

Natalie Cries She put glitter in my hair!

Debs SHE POKED ME IN THE FACE WITH PAINT... sobs

Natalie SHE SAID I HAD DANDRUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Debs SHE CALLED ME AN ALIEN!!! Oh wait.... lowers hand Hmm

Natalie Laughs then leans in and whispers Takes one to know one...

Debs oompah pah oompah pah...kiss the hairy banjo sniggers

Natalie Moves her seat into the back row

Debs MISS NATTY FARTED...

Natalie Laughs So did stinky Pete!

Debs And Wee John o'er by the radiator throws paint in that direction

Natalie Chucks PVA glue in same direction

Debs I predict a riot shakes glitter over Nats again as was sitting at the back of the class anyway

Natalie Pokes out her tongue and smacks your knuckles with a fold up ruler

Debs screams OW...RIGHT.squirts pva glue in your cardigan

Natalie Gasps My best cardi!

Debs looks smug

Natalie Grabs the safety scissors from your desk and cuts off a chunk of her own hair, then screams MISS! SHE CUT MY HAIR!!!!!

Debs open mouth shock and points at who is holding the scissors MISS SHE'S LYING, I'M GETTING MY DAD TO SORT HER OUT SO AN I AM

Natalie Sniggers and throws the scissors back on your desk It was SO her!

Debs grabs hold of them and throws them onto Sue's table She did it, she cut your hair, not me...na na na

Natalie Points at Sue It wasn't her! Points at Deb's IT WAS HER!!!!

Debs sits back folding her arms, picture of innocence Not me miss, I'm a good girl..

Natalie Under her breath Bollocks...

Debs Throws her hand up MISS SHE SWORE

Natalie And she's a GRASS!

Debs I'm not a vegetarian

Natalie Didn't say you ATE grass...

DebsNo coz that would mean I was a cow and I'm not a farmyard aminal...

Natalie You are a cow though.

Debs gasps If I'm a cow then you're a pig...

Natalie Stands up and pushes her chair over You callin' me FAT?!

Debs pushes her chair back hands on hips and looks down at you YOU SAYING I GOT UDDERS?

Natalie COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YOU'RE HARD ENOUGH!

Debs OOOH FIGHTING TALK, OH JOHNNIE HELP looks over and sees him welded to seat with glue and paint Ahh shit...

Natalie Sniggers and pushes you

Debs pushes you back harder

Natalie RIGHT! THATS IT! Grabs a handful of your hair and pulls

Debs screams and yells and stamps on your sandals OW OW OW OW

Natalie Cries and scratches your arm with her compass

Debs classroom turns into chaos as we're separated and the class file out and John has chair stuck to his bum HEADMASTERS OFFICE...NOW.. Sits outside office You're fault

Natalie Your fault...

Debs thumps your arm No yours

Natalie Winces and punches you back on the thigh Dead leg!

Debs kicks your ankle broken

Natalie Screams and slaps you

Debs lifts the lid on the fish tank and lifts out one of the fish throwing it at you YOU KILLED THE FISH TELLING... SIR SIR..

Natalie Gasps YOU DID THAT!

Debs knocks on the door SIR SIR points to fish by your feet NATTY KILLED THE FISH

Natalie Cries as the door opens, sniffing and wiping the snot on her sleeveShe did it!

Debs picture of innocence, hands behind her back She lies a lot sir, she said I cut her hair too but I didn't..I'm a good girl...

Natalie Stamps her foot on the fish NOW it's fucking DEAD!

Debs gasps MURDERER OF WEE TOMMY.. SEE.. SEE.. SIR points

Natalie Giggles

I write because......

2010-10-06T12:54:00.000-07:00

I write because I can, because when I dance I am unco-ordinated and I dance like a dad, I can't sing because the last time I did, I practically screamed 'Walking in the Air' at my mum and since then I think I've kept it to a dull roar and nobody has heard me above the sound of my cd's.

I write because I can't act, although reading through my convos or scripts or reading as a storyteller I can put the words across in various voices, but on stage I clam up, I can't project my voice, when I try it dribbles out of my mouth and falls off the stage, so only the first row hear it. I try to project but it sounds angry and too loud and hurts my throat.

I write because I love words, and the invention of new words. Words that have not been used before or are ever likely to be found in the Collins Concise Dictionary. I write because without it, I would be like the hundreds of people who walk their kids to school in the morning and wonder if this is what they left school for?

I write because I've always wanted to be a writer and if there was a point where I couldn't I think I'd cry.

The Stowaway - Doctor Who/Torchwood fan fic

2010-10-06T07:37:00.000-07:00

The red Converse trainers flanked by a long brown overcoat ran full pelt along the harbour walkway, following a short distance behind were the brown leather boots belonging to Capt. Jack Harkness, his blue airman’s jacket billowing behind him like the sails on the tall ships, behind him another set of feet, more Converse but dirty white, their laces untied and trailing behind, his brown pinstriped suit snug against his body kept up with the ex Time Agent.
They ran into the Roald Dahl Plas, where the tall lamps stood quiet and unlit and the water monument was silent. He was running out of places to escape. People were milling everywhere, students from one of the local Universities were filming crowd scenes as he pushed through the centre of them, scattering them like bowling pins. He was breathing heavily, his legs felt like lead but still he needed space between him and the two men after him. He saw an opening in the crowd and ran for the steps, but the space between the two was too high and Capt. Jack was upon him like a huge bear.
‘Get off me, GET OFF ME.’ He yelled, struggling in the vice like grip of the American.
‘End of the line kid.’
But the ‘kid’ wasn’t giving in quite so easily. He slipped out of the jacket as Jack pulled him to his feet and ran up the steps and around the side of the Senedd. The Doctor stared exhaustedly at the departing young man and took his jacket back.
‘I’m sorry Doctor, but he’s gone.’ Jack was as annoyed as the Doctor, but he suspected there was something more that the Doctor just wasn’t saying.
‘He’ll come back.’ He turned and followed Jack back to the Hub, he wasn’t leaving until the boy returned, but that might be never.

The hub was quiet, monitors across one small unit flickered with every CCTV camera for the Bay, zooming in and out of potential dangers and suspects, the boy’s ID had already been installed from the sonic screwdriver and the computer worked away in silence. The Doctor lifted the mug of tea to his lips and drank slowly.
‘So, wanna tell me why he’s so important?’ Jack broke the steady silence since they’d returned almost an hour ago.
‘He’s not, he just stole my shoes and jacket and I wanted them back.’ He lied.
‘I don’t buy it. You have enough clothes in that ship to last you an eternity, what’s the real reason?’ Jack pushed.
The Doctor sighed and lowered the mug, he hated having to explain to Jack his reasons for anything, least of all the stowaway onboard the Tardis.

The bins clattered together at the back of Maestro’s, the chef peered out of the back door, he heard cats yowling and hurled abuse before slamming the door shut once more.
He climbed out of the bin, brushing off the remnants of someone else’s meal from his clothing; he tsked the meaty stain on the red trainers and proceeded to eat the bounty of food in his hand. Earth it seemed was no different to anywhere else in the Galaxy, people were the same the world over, they ate at posh restaurants, they quibbled over prices, they shamed the waiters and waitresses, but they still left food on their plates. He was thankful for that, their waste was his banquet. He pushed chicken legs and pieces of meat on the bone into combat pockets on his trousers; one good thing about working on container ships, the uniform was handy for storing any amount of tools.
The nightlife in Cardiff Bay was as busy as always, the lights that had been unlit during his afternoon sprint across the Plas were now illuminating the entrance to the Millennium Centre and the Senedd. His meal eaten he pressed his greasy hands against the large windows of the Centre and peered in at people milling to and from rooms on the lower levels. One of the receptionists wearing a black blazer and looking all official flicked her hand at him as if shooing a fly, when he didn’t move she proceeded across the tiles towards him and he ran.

‘So what do you owe him?’ Jack placed two shot glasses in front of him and poured a handsome measure of bourbon into both, pushing one towards the Doctor.
‘I owe her my life.’ He replied lifting the liquor to his lips.
‘Ok, you owe her, not him.’
‘He’s her son.’
‘But he’s not yours, whatever he does is not your responsibility.’
‘While he’s on Earth he is.’ The Doctor frowned.
‘Why is he so important, he’s just another kid out of his time zone?’
The Doctor poured himself another shot of Bourbon and knocked it back like the first. Jack watched in amusement, it was not like the Doctor to be hitting the bottle.
‘What’s this kid to you?’
The Doctor didn’t answer, Jack rephrased the question. ‘What’s he to the human race?’
The Doctor raised his head and looked darkly at Jack, who swallowed and knew the answer before the Time Lord had spoken.
‘Deadly.’

Pauline Wincott was closing up for the evening, the takings had been less than usual, but she accepted the recession but swore nevertheless at the tight fisted customers who grumbled at prices and didn’t leave tips. She held the bank bag tightly in her manicured right hand, she needed to get to the night safe on Bankers Walk, it wasn’t that far away, but there were creatures who wandered along the stretch of road where the bank sat. She didn’t know what they were, but only that they existed; she saw them out of the corner of her eyes.
As she left the shop she saw a young man of little more than a teenager, his red Converse shoes were tinged with Bolognese sauce but at first she thought it was blood. He looked cold and scruffy but this could be misleading, she was aware of the tell tale signs, she was aware that many gangs patrolled the streets at closing time, waiting for a bounty.
‘What do you want? I’ve nothing for you, restaurant is closed.’ She said quickly, gripping the bag tighter.
‘Why do you assume that I’d want anything?’ He asked in a Californian accent.
‘Are you holidaying here, are your parents close by?’
‘My parents are dead.’ He replied forlornly, but she sensed bitterness and quickened her step away from him.
He watched her leave, her high heels click clacking along the walkway towards the bank. That’s when he saw them, the strange creatures in overalls, walking like Neanderthals and following her movements towards the marble bricked building.
She couldn’t hear them, but there was a smell in the air, something was wrong and she knew that the creatures in the corner of her eyes were now surrounding her, she had no escape, she was going to die. With something of an urgency, a plan of action, she kicked off her shoes and ran to the night safe, she was determined that if she were going to lose her life, the bank was going to have her money.
Suddenly her heart in her throat, the adrenalin kicked in, she found an energy she didn’t know she possessed, but just as she was nearing the bank safe, the road ahead of her was swamped in Weevils.
‘No, no no no, you can’t do this, I’m not meant to die like this, please, please don’t hurt me, oh god. No.’
She pressed herself against the smooth marbled building, a fear had taken over the adrenalin, her legs wouldn’t move and she awaited death as the Weevils stepped closer towards her. In her mind the Thriller video became real and the zombies were coming in for the kill.
But just as she waited for death to take over, the growling stopped, their putrid breath disappeared and the cool night air enveloped her as she stood cowering. She opened her eyes and saw the young man standing a few feet from her.
‘Where did they go? Where did they go, did you see them?’ She looked up and down the street and back at the boy, but he was gone.

Gwen Cooper stepped through the opened door with a pizza box and a folder resting on top. She smiled shyly at the Doctor, who followed her movements towards the sofa against the wall. He raised a half smile as she sat down and the smell of pepperoni and cheese wafted towards his nostrils.
‘There’s a fair amount of Weevil activity tonight, I’m surprised the monitors didn’t pick it up.’ She said matter-of-factly, pushing a hot wedge of spicy meat into her mouth. The Doctor leapt up the few steps and lifted a slice of pizza from the box, she didn’t object.
‘Weevils, what are weevils doing in Cardiff?’
‘They came through the rift, set up home in St Catherine’s church. They’ve been quiet for a while, ever since Owen……..’ Jack let the sentence trail, Owen, King of the Weevils, it had always been a joke, but since the demon host, the weevils had been acting strangely ever since.
The Doctor watched as Jack brought up the monitors on their usual nightly hang outs.
‘They normally keep to the shadows, but they have been known to take human victims. Who did they go for this time?’ He looked over at Gwen as she attempted to salvage some of the pizza rapidly disappearing into the belly of the Time Lord.
‘The owner of Maestro’s reported a large number of Weevils following her. She said she was surrounded by them but they didn’t attack her.’
‘Did she say why?’
Gwen pulled a sheet from the file. ‘She said it all went quiet and there was a boy standing watching her.’
‘What kind of boy?’ The Doctor stared at her, his eyes deep and penetrating.
‘She didn’t say, just a boy, a teenager. He was wearing red Converse, she said she remembered that because she thought he was bleeding, but he had Bolognese sauce on them.’
‘My shoes have Bolognese sauce on them, what else?’
‘Well nothing else. The Weevils had gone and the boy was there. What’s going on Jack, what is it about the boy?’
‘We need to find him; did she give any mention of where he was going?’
‘No, I, well, Andy didn’t ask.’
The Doctor clamped his hands on the back of his head and looked with some urgency at the monitors.
‘What are you thinking Doctor?’
‘You don’t even want to know what I’m thinking.’ He cast a glance at Jack and a cold shiver ran through him.
‘I’ll get my coat.’

The night air was cool, gulls could still be heard on the waterfront, boats thudded against the walkways between each boat, bobbing as though on a choppy sea. The boy sat on the prow of the nearest boat and tossed a bone towards the Weevil watching him. He watched as it gnawed away, occasionally looking up for another morsel. The boy gladly threw another. He lay back against the windscreen of the boat and gazed up at the cluster of stars. He was millions of miles from home, and even then, the planet no longer existed. He was lost, but finding the Doctor and his space ship had been a blessing in disguise. There was something about the man that sent shivers up his back, goosebumps across his skin. He was steeped in history, but a history that the boy understood, a desperate desolation that the boy felt that was somehow akin to his life and what he’d lost.
The Weevil, its head to one side, sat watch as the boy slept, occasionally looking out to sea and along the harbour wall where many of its own kind were standing guard, like sentries.

The two men strode along the harbour towards the Senedd; the sonic screwdriver whistled and bleeped but could pick up only tiny pulses of energy. He pushed it back inside his jacket pocket and sighed heavily. Jack pushed his hands into his coat pocket and turned a full 360 degrees to pick out anything unusual. There were no Weevils and that was unusual.
Gwen Cooper called them on the radio, her tinny voice rattling through the earpiece in Jack’s ear. They sprinted towards Banker’s Walk and the scene of crime. The Doctor instantly felt a presence and scanned the screwdriver around the area.
‘He was here.’ He stood in the same place, Jack stood where the woman had cowered.
‘He was watching?’
‘The Weevils didn’t harm her, why not?’ Gwen stood where she expected the creatures to be.
‘He’s controlling them.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he can.’
‘How?’
‘Because he’s like his father.’ The Doctor strode away into the night and Jack followed his gun drawn, ready. Gwen made to follow, as Jack instructed that she returned to the hub and monitor the screens. She returned to base slightly relieved.

‘So were you two close?’ Jack walked beside the Doctor, their strides matching in symmetry.
‘We grew up together, we used to be friends once, but you know the score Jack, you saw what he did, how he was with people.’
‘And you think his son will do the same?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Nobody knows for sure what a person will do until they’re pushed to the limits, look at Miguel.’
‘You had to bring him into the equation didn’t you?’
‘I miss him, don’t you?’
‘You know I do.’ He forced back the pain to concentrate on his quarry. ‘Miguel is nothing like the boy.’
‘Miguel could control the Weevils.’
‘What?’ The Doctor stopped dead and stared hard at Jack.
‘Miguel, when he was here, they never touched him, not once. They were protecting him.’
‘But that’s impossible.’
‘Is it?’ Jack narrowed his eyes. ‘They may not have been part of the Order, but they protected him against everything when he was here. He even knew them by name, talking to them in their own language. Now that takes practice, and he had it.’
The Doctor felt helpless, he didn’t know what to think anymore and turned away ashamed. ‘I never knew. I never asked him about here, the hub, your connections. He never said.’
‘He didn’t want to hurt you I guess. The fact he knew so much I guess he didn’t want to rub your nose in it all the time. He knew the same amount of languages that you did, but he never had the Tardis to help him understand.’
Jack walked towards the Doctor who stood staring at the ground, he tilted his face towards him and saw the tears down his face.
The Doctor pushed him away, he didn’t like to show his emotion in public, but the death of Miguel had hit him harder than he ever expected.
‘I still see him, just for a second. I could work underneath the ship, fixing wires and I’d turn and see him smiling back, electrocuting himself on her circuits.’
‘She liked to tease, that’s for sure.’
‘Prophecies, Jack. Remind me never to get personally involved, don’t let me get that close again.’ He looked up at the ex Time Agent, his face wet from tears and saw the same in his eyes.
‘He was your family Doctor, you can’t tell me that you were going to ignore him, walk away and let him fight alone.’
He sucked in the air, his lip wobbling. His face contorted several times as he tried desperately to bring himself back into check. He vowed he would never lose it in public, but he and Jack had travelled to the ends of the Universe, and he above everyone else except for Rose knew what it was like to lose someone you cared about deeply.
He tried to focus on the task ahead, but the images of his great grandson smiled back at him and he broke down as Jack held him close.

He awoke to the putrid breath of the Weevil who had kept guard; it was shaking him out of his slumber. The dawn was rising over the sea, people would be waking soon. He scrambled off the boat with the creature and followed it in search of breakfast.

The Doctor lay back on the sofa against the wall, his feet rested on the arm. He stared up at the dirty brown ceiling and his mind drifted back to Gallifrey and the Academy as a child. He saw the woman he loved, the woman he couldn’t have, saw his one time friend the Master chatting her up and causing her to blush. It had pained him then that the pair would get together, but it hurt worse to realise that the child running about Cardiff with a group of vicious creatures was the son of his arch nemesis.
He blinked away from the ceiling and stared at the monitors, he caught glimpses of creatures running along the deserted streets and sat up when he saw a young person in amongst them. It was a strange feeling at first as he imagined Miguel running with the pack, he blinked again and watched the dark haired child with the turned up combat trousers and red trainers cut through the back of a row of shops. He read the name of the street and lifted his coat from the hook on the wall and was gone.
Jack lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Last night had revealed a pain that both still shared and both still couldn’t completely let go of. He still missed the young man he regarded as his younger brother, the one child of the future who sacrificed everything to save the planet. He heard the alarm sound and climbed from his bed pulling on his clothes as he ran. At the monitors he caught sight of the long overcoat worn by the Doctor disappearing between the shops along the quay.

The smell was foul as he neared the back of the supermarket, its bins open and wafting through the air, the out of date coleslaw, milk and cheeses. He heard scrabbling in the roll top bins to his left and walked slowly and carefully past it. As if sensing an intruder, the noises within the bins ceased and the Doctor felt uncomfortable. The head of a Weevil poked out of the bin, its face marred by dairy products several hours old. In its hand it held the remains of a barbecued chicken drumstick, the bone chewed in half and still visible in its mouth.
The Doctor grinned uneasily, he was not in the best of positions, there was only one exit and that was blocked by several of the same creatures in the bins.
‘What’ve you stopped for?’
The Doctor glanced behind him towards a blue metal bin near the steps beside the supermarket building. The boy looked out and leaned his arms against the side of the bin and neither smiled nor glared at the Doctor for a moment. He watched him, his head slightly on one side as if to mimic the creatures, picking up on their patterns.
The nearest Weevil to the Doctor stepped closer and sniffed at his coat, he stepped away from the creature, its evil open mouth and sharp teeth a welcome reminder of what lay in store.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
‘What?’
‘I wouldn’t step away, let it sniff you. Think of the calebs, they pick up on fear. You’re not scared are you, Doctor?’ He instructed, teasing the words at the end.
‘You know my name.’
‘Everyone knows your name, my father knew your name.’ He replied pulling out a large hunk of rotting meat and tossing it to a small group of creatures. They swooped and pulled at the meat in a frenzy as the boy walked closely beside them. The smell and the actions of the creatures disgusted him, but he showed no fear.
‘They don’t scare you.’ The Doctor noted as he glanced back at the Weevil nearing his hand.
‘What is there to be scared of?’
‘They’re dangerous, they can kill, they might kill you.’ The Doctor spoke with more confidence now the Weevil had rejoined his group.
‘They might kill you, but they won’t touch me.’ The boy noted smugly.
‘How are you controlling them?’ The Doctor’s eyes narrowed and he stepped towards the boy. Suddenly the group beside the boy frantically ripping the meat apart growled and stepped into the middle of the two. The Doctor stepped back terrified but tried not to show it. A group behind him grabbed him by the arms, their hands tightly gripping his arms and shoulder.
The boy stepped towards the Doctor and stared directly into his eyes. He cocked his head to one side and reached up a sticky blood stained hand and touched the secured Doctor’s temple and closed his eyes. He felt the Doctor jolt in the grip of the Weevils. The shock of the connection coursed through the Doctor’s mind, he grimaced with the pain as he tried to stop the psychic energy routing out his memories. He yelled loudly as the pain ran through his skull as bad as a sensitive tooth hitting cold ice-cream.
‘Who am I Doctor?’ The young man spoke, a voice so familiar that the words fell out of his mouth too quickly.
‘Master.’
‘Ooh, that must pain you to say that word, all those years and you thought he was gone and lost forever. But he’s back make no mistake, Doctor.’
‘But you can’t be, the Master died, he took a bullet, he didn’t regenerate.’ The Time Lord leaned back against the Weevil, his legs had buckled, he felt sick, dizzy, tiny beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead.
‘He lives through me and only me.’ The boy’s eyes glinted, the deep penetrating hazel eyes that the Doctor recognised so well.
‘Then do something different, you don’t need to follow in his footsteps.’ The Time Lord begged.
‘Who says I was going to be like my father?’ The boy flicked his head towards the Weevils holding the Doctor. ‘I don’t remember him at all, only the ring that my mother kept around her neck that I hear laughing sometimes in my head. She says he was a great man, full of ideas, full of plans, always going somewhere and dealing with adversaries across the galaxy. Doctor, I want to travel, I want to go places, learn about the great man, my father, the Master, what was he like?’ The boy was eager and spoke like a child eager to find where his birthday present was hiding.
‘He was a friend once, at the Academy. He stared into the Untempered Schism when he was still a child and it drove him mad. But as the years went on he became twisted and evil, he was always trying to beat me, turning good into evil. I couldn’t change him, I couldn’t stop him.’
‘So who killed him, who fired that shot, you?’
‘No, I abhor guns, always have. It was his wife, Lucy Saxon, the name he chose for himself when he became Prime Minister of Britain.’
‘Prime Minister eh, that would be worth aiming for, a position of power.’
‘Dressed like that, feeding out of bins.’ The Doctor looked disdainfully at the scruffy child in trainers looking very much dirtier than Bolognese sauce.
‘We all gotta start somewhere, I bet even you started at the bottom, Time Lord.’
‘Stop it.’ He straightened his jacket and looked about at the feeding Weevils gorging themselves on waste products. ‘So is this your great army, ready to take over the world, from the sewers upwards.’
‘You’re mocking me, Doctor, I don’t think I like your tone. I could get them to kill you now and save any more pithy remarks.’
‘What’s stopping you?’ The Doctor replied, curtly.
‘Him.’ He pointed to the man in the flying jacket, gun poised in the direction of the Doctor and the boy. The Weevils looked over and flanked the Master’s son, growling and waving their hands in a bid to deter the American.
‘Step away Doctor, I’ve got a clean shot.’ Jack called, one eye closed, the target primed.
‘Come back with us, if you want to take over a planet, I’ll take you somewhere, you can start again, be a different person.’
‘I like it here, food in abundance, friends all around me.’
‘Living like an animal, sleeping and eating on the streets is that what your father would have wished for you?’
‘My father’s dead, they’re all dead. I don’t have what you’d call parental guidance, so I’m making it up as I go. Where were you when the planet burned? Where were you when they all died?’ He turned away genuinely grieving for his mother.
‘There was nothing I could do, I had no choice.’
‘How can you be sure that the Daleks would have destroyed everything, you had no proof.’
‘Daleks and Time Lords never worked together, your father knew that.’
‘My father was resurrected because of the Daleks, he was the one who could make deals with them, he didn’t run away like you did. He stayed, he fought, you ran like a scared child.’
‘Yes, but then what are you doing, aren’t you running away, taking trips on board my ship, containers, shuttles and transporters, you’re no different to anyone else, you’re no different to me.’
‘Doctor, step back this way, I don’t have enough bullets to stop them all.’
‘You’d better go Doctor, once they taste real meat, there’s no telling where they’ll stop.’

Part Two

The Doctor and Jack ran from the supermarket back entrance with several Weevils in tow. They dodged around cars and cut through office buildings, they ran along the lower levels and through the car parks, but all the time, the Weevils were one step ahead.
‘We’re trapped, everywhere we go, and they’re there.’ The Doctor panted, he leaned forward on his knees and gathered his thoughts. He felt tiny prickles around his memories.
‘He’s using me. Split up, I’ll lead them away, you get back to the hub, I’ll draw them out towards the harbour.’
‘Not on your life, these creatures show no mercy.’ Jack replied shaking his head.
‘These creatures are being used, if I can draw them out into the open there might be a chance I can transfer the psychic field back.’ The Doctor ran out of the building, leaving Jack alone.
‘Nah, I don’t like this one bit.’ He watched the Doctor’s coat tails disappear around a corner followed by the weevils and began to run towards the hub, but a familiar yell stopped him and he turned and headed out towards the harbour.
It had all been going so well, the run out to the harbour, he felt like the pied piper, but he knew he couldn’t drown them. On the harbour wall sat the young man, swinging his legs over the side, sitting arms folded and concentrating all of his efforts on the Time Lord. The prickling sensation through his brain shot through his whole body and brought him to his knees, he could hardly breathe, his senses became weakened, what power this boy possessed. He fought against the pain but it increased until the final yell as he fell the few feet onto the walkway below the young man. The Doctor was down.
Jack ran along the Plas, his sidearm gripped in his right hand, holiday-makers and locals alike stepped aside as he made his way towards the shore line. He caught glimpses of the blue overalls moving along the harbour, he saw boats moving out of their moorings, and as he reached the jetty watched the Maria Celeste steer out towards the other side of the Bay. He stamped his foot in annoyance as the young Master waved back wearing the largest grin since the Doctor. As he walked back along the jetty, he collected the sonic screwdriver lying wedged between the spars.
‘Damn it.’ He cursed staring back out to sea.
The Doctor felt nauseas, his eyelids were heavy and he couldn’t move, but he was aware of movement nearby and struggled to focus on his surroundings. He heard an engine and the slopping of water against the walls and judging by the movement he knew he was onboard a boat. He closed his eyes again and groaned.
‘Where’s the Doctor, Jack?’ Gwen looked up from the monitor and passed Jack as he strode up the steps.
He pulled around a monitor and typed in the ship’s name, clicking on a series of codes beside them.
‘He’s on the Maria Celeste, series 7, one of the fastest boats in the harbour. We’d need a cigarette boat to catch it. He had to go and do it, he couldn’t just let me go with him.’ Jack muttered loudly.
‘I take it we’re talking about the Doctor here.’ Gwen replied, her full attention on Jack as he kicked various bits of equipment as she winced.
‘Who else? He’s as stubborn as his great grandson.’
‘Surely not, Miguel was a lot more stubborn, why I remember……’
‘You’re not helping.’
‘Sorry.’ She lowered her head. ‘Is he with the boy?’
‘And the Weevils.’ He nodded. ‘I heard a yell, when I got to the harbour, they were just pulling out of the jetty.’
‘And you definitely saw the Doctor leave?’
‘He dropped the sonic screwdriver, he doesn’t go anywhere without it.’
The boat’s engines stopped and the Doctor became aware that he was suddenly alone. He slowly rose to his feet, gripping hold of the side of the boat as the world went black. He wanted to throw up, but steadied himself, slowly he began to focus on his surroundings. He climbed out of the galley and onto the main deck of the small motor boat. He was definitely alone, no Weevils, no child and no prickling sensation either which bothered him. He looked along the row of boats jettied out along the Bay, his was tethered along the road towards the docks.
‘I know this place.’ He followed the steps out of the harbour and along towards the empty docklands, huge cranes sitting dormant, rusted containers stretching as far as the eye could see, huge warehouses, their windows smashed and awaiting a new lease of life. He stood on the overgrown road, a lone man against an invisible enemy, one man without a sonic screwdriver and no back up plan.
‘Into the valley of death I shall fear no evil…..’ He muttered as he strode casually between the empty containers, their doors open and the foul smell of decay available to all.

Jack scanned the boats across the harbour, there were several over the other side of the Bay, moored up at various points around the quay. He growled his frustration and stormed to his room, slamming the door. Gwen continued the search, quietly. She heard the chink of glass against bottle and knew it was starting again. She slid off her seat and entered the room, lifting out another glass and setting it beside the bottle. He poured another shot as she looked at him, but he looked away.
‘You have a lot of heart Jack, first Miguel, now the Doctor, what is it about him?’ She asked softly, lifting the potent liquid to her lips.
‘It’s not like that.’ He could see where this was leading. ‘He’s different, they both were.’ He downed the Bourbon and poured another.
‘The last time the Doctor was here, when the Daleks were in the Bay, you couldn’t wait to go and find him. He has a power over you that’s for sure.’ She said.
‘It’s not like that either. The Doctor is a legend, the only man who could stop the Daleks, the only one left who could save the planet. I first met him during the Blitz; I danced with Rose beside Big Ben on the Chula ship I borrowed. He showed me a different world, fun world, where anything was possible, but then I met the Daleks again…..and I was killed, but Rose brought me back. He’s…the Doctor’s like, once he’s in your life, you can’t imagine the world without him.’
‘You said that about Miguel.’ Gwen recalled.
‘He’s related to the Doctor, they have the same aura, I guess you can’t have one without the other.’
‘You still miss him, I hear you yell out his name in the night.’ Gwen said lowering her half empty glass. ‘You need to talk to someone about this Jack, you can’t go through this on your own.’ She gently squeezed his arm, her eyes watery and her smile soft, he lifted his hand and stroked her chin.
‘I have to. It’s what keeps me fighting.’ He drained his glass and rose, leaving Gwen alone.
The Doctor heard commotion coming from a large dilapidated building to his left. The grey painted walls peeled and flaked after years under the scorching sun. It was a long building and for a few moments his eyes couldn’t see the creatures milling about chasing and tigging each other around the metal tables and units. As he focussed he heard the yells, growls and acknowledgements that he’d been spotted. He stood firm, he had no reason to run, but the knowledge that he now stood with no device in which to deafen them weighed heavily on his mind.
He walked into the warehouse, the warmth from the sun upon his back now felt cold inside the building. He spotted the young man, the red converse now as dark as dirt. The boy was flanked by Weevils as he stood a good distance from the Time Lord.
‘Welcome to my new home Doctor.’ He said, his American accent slipping.
‘You should have said earlier, I’d have brought a house warming gift.’ He replied.
‘You being here is decoration enough.’ The boy replied. ‘I have plans for this place. I was thinking about your idea of me having an army, and you’re right, there are enough soldiers here protecting me.’
‘Why would you need protection?’ The Doctor folded his arms and frowned at the young man.
‘I’m the Master’s son, I’m his sole heir, I can command who and whatever I choose. I brought the great Doctor to his knees – if I can do that, taking this world by storm will be easy.’ He was grinning, so cocksure of everything, just like his father.
‘The world has already seen what the Master was capable of, I’m certain they won’t let the same happen again.’ The Doctor growled.
‘But with you out of the picture, and me just a boy with an ability to bring even you to your knees, how could they stop me?’
The Doctor stared at the right hand of the boy and saw the ring on the third finger of his right hand.
‘You’re wearing the ring.’
The boy grinned. ‘I know, and suddenly everything is a lot clearer, the world makes a lot more sense, I know who I am, I know why I’m here, and I know why I needed you now.’
‘Why?’
‘My father hated you; you were cause of his downfall.’ He strode through the Weevils who melted away from the boy; he strode towards the Time Lord and stretched out his right hand. ‘Well not anymore Doctor.’ The force of the psychic wave pushed the Doctor backwards against the nearest unit, he cried out as he landed against it and squirmed on the ground in obvious pain as the boy’s outstretched hand worked its magic upon him.
He struggled to find a focus, but the electricity generated from the boy was too strong, he knew the Masters powers were far greater than his but this was just a child, if he could just……. He closed his mind, and concentrated his efforts on the young Master. The electricity prickled through his body, tensing up his muscles causing them to go into spasms, causing him to go beyond the pain, through the searing agony, hit the wall and beyond.
The young Master felt a prickle of emotion trickle into his memories. A happier time on Gallifrey, the Academy, the Untempered Schism, the drumming, he could hear the drumming.
‘No-you-don’t.’ He struggled, he wanted to inflict the pain he was feeling at the loss of a life, a corrupted life, but free of rules and free of the Doctor, but now the drumming was back, that uncontrollable drumming. He was weakening, the Doctor was gaining strength. ‘No-I-won’t-let-you-do-this-to-me again.’ He struggled but it was failing, the Doctor wasn’t writhing on the ground, he was staring at him, and not out of pity, not with forgiving eyes, but this time with anger, a rage so dark and yet so menacing that the young man couldn’t be sure anymore if his powers had transferred to the Time Lord.
‘Who are you? Why are you doing this?’ He stumbled backwards as the Time Lord rose to his feet.
The Weevils who had up until this time hidden in the darkest recesses of the warehouse began to edge closer to the two men. They saw the change of power, they saw the young man on the ground and the dark figure standing over him and cowered with fear.
The young Master turned to face the creatures. ‘Kill him, protect your master, kill the Time Lord.’ He bellowed, but the creatures remained cowering. ‘Why don’t they listen to me? I’m their Master, I control them, they do what I tell them.’
‘Not anymore.’ He held out a hand and pulled the young man to his feet. He looked at the ring upon his finger and slid it off.
‘Your father was a fool, a danger to everyone and every living thing. He had no cares for you, your mother or anyone he came in contact with. You want to be like him.’ The Doctor looked over the young man’s shoulder at the weevils looking away from the dark glares of the Time Lord. ‘Then convince them you’re still a force to be reckoned with.’
The boy turned to face the Weevils, as the Doctor strode out of the warehouse, the ring gripped tightly in his clenched fist.
‘Weevils – I command you. I am still your master.’ He shouted as the creatures strode towards him, all teeth and no fear. ‘Doctor, what did you do to them, Doctor.’ He called as the creatures surrounded him. But the Doctor was gone.

Twilight glistened across the shore, dancing sparkles of moonlight stretched up towards the horizon and a tall man in a long overcoat leaned against the bridge and stared towards the quiet dockside. The warm summer heat blew in his face and raised the tails of his coat around his legs. He looked down at the green and silver signet ring in his hand, he could hear the manic laughter of the old Master and the desperate scream of the young boy trying to follow in his footsteps. He closed his hand around the ring and inhaled deeply.
‘Tough day and you think it would have been any easier if it was me?’ He turned sharply and saw a dark haired young man wearing a black shirt and jeans leaning against the bridge beside him.
‘At least you weren’t planning on taking over the world.’ He replied.
‘Would you have stopped me if I had?’ The young man cleared his throat and looked into the eyes of the Doctor. He saw pain etched across his face, and his jaw flickered.
‘Why didn’t you regenerate?’ A stray tear trickled down the Doctor’s cheek and landed on the bridge.
‘Maybe its better like this, that old Kenobi way.’ The young man turned his back on the sea and leaned against the bridge, he glanced sideways at the Doctor his dark blue eyes sparkling in the light of the moon. ‘He’s not a bad kid you know, he just didn’t have the right beginning, but you can show him, you can teach him.’
‘He’s dead.’
‘No he’s not, his father was a Time Lord, his mother came from Gallifrey that gives him as much chance as anyone to come back.’
‘But you didn’t.’
The Doctor glared at him, his face full of anger as a few people passed them on the bridge. Miguel watched them go, he waved at them as they passed and smiled inwardly.
The night life was in full swing around them, music and chatter filled the open bars and restaurants, a few people strode arm in arm across the quay and along the walkway and Gwen Cooper watched from an empty table outside a Bistro as the Doctor glared into space.
‘You want an argument with all these people watching you fine.’ Miguel stared across the quiet quay and smiled at a familiar face staring back.
‘That’s the one thing that really hurts above everything else.’ He muttered in a low voice, sighing.
The Doctor followed his eye line and caught sight of Gwen sipping a cool drink and staring their way.
‘All the things I miss, that’s gotta be in the top five.’ Miguel lowered his head and the Doctor reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. ‘Look but don’t touch, you know the rules, those two universes will collapse.’
‘So.’ Miguel laughed followed by the Doctor. He leaned against the bridge once more and stared out across the harbour.
‘The one thing you taught me above everything else was to believe in myself, believe I could be whatever I wanted to be. Isn’t that what the boy is doing, believing he could be just like his father? I wanted to be like you, I wanted to feel compassion for people, I wanted to lose that hate. Sure I can be as dark as the night sky, I can feel the evil forces inside of me playing against my good side, but I always chose the light. I could easily have gone along with the Professor, but I knew the prophecy, I knew what I had to do, and we did it. The war was won, everyone came away happy.’
‘Not everyone.’
‘No, but most of them, those that mattered, those that stood a chance of surviving.’ He put his head to one side and the Doctor saw the stray tear fall from his face. ‘I wish you’d been my father, I reckon I’d have stood a good chance then.’ He turned and walked away as the Doctor stared after him, the warm night air gave way to a coolness picking up from the sea. As the Doctor looked away Miguel turned to face him.
‘You’re the legend man, the one they all talk about. You could change his future with the click of your fingers. If he regenerates he’s gonna need a friend, he’s gonna need someone, why don’t you let it be you, why don’t you…… look after him, keep him safe, he may even surprise you one day.’
As he talked he saw Gwen walk towards the Doctor, he smiled and was certain she’d seen him. He inhaled the sweet scent she wore and forced back the pain in his heart.
‘Say hi to Jack for me, will ya.’ He grinned and the Doctor grinned back nodding. As he turned to face Gwen, Miguel disappeared into the night air.

Onboard the good ship Tardis a young boy awoke from the weirdest of dreams, he pulled on his shirt lying beside the bed and swinging his legs over the edge rubbed his eyes and looked about him. The gentle purring of the Tardis console whirred below him and the faint smell of familiarity wafted through his nostrils. He climbed down the winding staircase to see a man in a pinstriped suit move about the console with ease, thumping and turning various dials and levers. He looked up and for a moment and stared unblinkingly at the young man, then the corner of his mouth lifted and the boy felt at ease.
‘There’s a new sun burning just off the Eastern Nebula on the Seven Velvet Tears, want to see it?’
The boy smiled and followed the Doctor towards the door of the ship, he stood in awe at the landscape of stars and planets across the sky, he pointed and asked questions and the Doctor answered each one. He looked down at the young man not yet a fully grown teenager, his dark black hair and tanned complexion so familiar that it hurt.
‘Want to see it closer? Maybe we could eat out tonight, what do you say?’ He asked, closing the door of the ship and returning to the monitor to find somewhere to set down.
‘Sure thing Pops.’
‘And then I’ll tell you a story about your father.’

The last kiss goodbye

2010-10-06T07:32:00.000-07:00

She stood in the kitchen randomly sorting the washing into piles, the non ironing ones against those that needed to be un-creased. The socks lay singularly on the table between the two piles. Brendan stood leaning beside the kitchen unit opposite, his arms folded, his face soft and considerate, what he had to say would rock her world, and he knew that and felt such a shit for what he was about to say.
‘I’m going to head back.’ He announced across the quiet room where even the clock had held its breath during the two minute silence.
‘Well it was never going to work out was it?’ She replied matter-of-factly, pairing up the socks and poking her fingers through the holes in the thick black sports socks belonging to the man of the house.

‘No, suppose not.’ He watched her working methodically, pushing her hand into the socks and turning them the right way. The sunlight burst through the large kitchen window, brightening the dull afternoon and drying up the rain. She finished her chore and opened the quiet washing machine, pulling out the damp clothing onto the chair she’d pulled across the floor.
‘You’ve been a good friend, thank you.’ He said softly struggling for the right words.
‘And you’ve not tried anything on.’ She replied and saw his mind work.
‘Not for want of trying.’ He thought. He caught her smile and gave a short laugh and stared at the blue lino with the paint spots from the garden furniture.
‘Are you sure you want to go?’ She asked surprising herself.
‘I think its best, don’t you?’ He looked at her, his big brown chocolaty eyes twinkled in the sunlight and she blushed, and he laughed again.
‘You’ll stay for coffee at least.’ She rose to flick on the switch but he beat her to it, pulling two mugs from the cupboard beside his head and working his way around the kitchen preparing the brew. She wandered in and out hanging out the washing on the damp line, the sun bright and the sky blue, hardly seemed right after the torrential downpour for the best part of the day. He stepped out into her back garden, the sun welcoming him with both arms wrapping her warmth about his body.
‘I’m sorry.’ He said.
‘What for?’ She asked pegging his boxers to the line and pausing a while.
‘For Cheryl and CJ, for losing you a friend.’
‘It’s alright.’
‘No its not, you acted like a friend and I acted like the arsehole I always am.’
‘Cheryl was ok till she met you. She had her head screwed on, was going places, could have travelled the world, her and the laptop, that clapped out motor, the cat. Then you entered her world and all hell broke loose.’ Debbie sighed resignedly and looked at him, squinting against the sunlight between them. He was good looking bloke was Brendan and it was hard to switch off her feelings for him but she’d tried and she’d succeeded for a while.
‘I’m amazed you didn’t…..’ He let the sentence trail as she hesitated and looked away. Picking up another handful of washing and pegging it out she responded:
‘Why do you think I was sitting on my hands the whole time?’ He gave another short laugh which broke into a wider laugh and she grinned, hiding her blushes behind the white shirt of her husbands.
‘Not once, in all that time did you try and make a pass at me? I can’t believe it, I must be losing my touch.’
‘My hands will never be the same again, well and truly sat on, several times a day, have you ever tried typing with pins and needles, have you?’ She peered out of the washing and it seemed a serious question she required answers for.
He shook his head and grinned. The kettle clicked belching steam in the small confines of its space, the condensation dribbled down the cupboard and onto the unit as he entered and made the drinks.
She leaned against the kitchen sink, her hands either side of her, gripping the edge as if she would fall if she didn’t. The starlings were busy gathering their nest supplies in the garden and occasionally squabbling broke out amongst them. Today she wasn’t concerned about the garden activity, the one man who made her feel warm inside, the one man she had hidden from the Police when CJ had been worked over was leaving and she suddenly didn’t want him to go.
‘If things had been different, d’you think you’d have stayed?’ She asked as he stirred her coffee mug and passed it across the cooker towards her.
‘No, maybe not. You’re different from the others, you’re not wanting to leap into bed with me first chance you get.’ He replied licking the spoon and turning her insides to goo.
‘You never once made a move on me, you came into the house as scared and as white as a rabbit caught in the headlights. What was I meant to do?’ She replied.
‘I must have screwed up your sleeping arrangements, what did you tell your husband?’
‘I said, I’m just taking a man into my bedroom, going to shag his brains out don’t disturb me, you can come in when I’m done.’ She said quickly and saw his mouth fall open, and grinned.
‘You didn’t.’ He remarked.
‘I did. What was he going to do? He didn’t marry me, he married an extension of his mother, I cook, clean wash, do all the usual necessary things, but the one thing I really want. So I have you, had you, for less than a week, hiding in my cupboard, sleeping in my bed, listening to my poor taste in music. I had a man in my room, thankfully not farting too much, someone to hold and to feel close against.’ She spoke quietly towards the end, soft and almost as though the memory was too sad to mention.
He put down his coffee mug and walked towards her, his eyes studied her face, her deep blue eyes, he brought his right hand up and stroked down the side of her face and she closed her eyes and felt her skin tickle. Just having him touch her made her stomach surge with butterflies, he smiled inwardly and as she opened her eyes he gently leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. He brought his hands around her shoulders, and caressed her body as her arms found their way around his neck and she ran her fingers through his hair. She felt him against her, pressing her, pinning her against the sink unit, she wanted him so badly, she didn’t know why he would want her. She pushed him back, breathing heavily and hot, she couldn’t understand why she’d reacted.
‘This isn’t me.’ She said, feeling her eyes stinging with tears, she touched her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue and didn’t know what to do next. He felt his old self slipping back in like a glove and forced the feeling aside. He could quite easily laugh it off with sarcasm as before, but somehow it wasn’t right, she wasn’t the same as the others, he wasn’t the same as before.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, I wanted it, I so wanted it.’ She felt herself cry, an emotion contained for so long, a feeling of closeness with a man she hardly knew, that was berated by every woman scorned by him, but she didn’t care. She knew there were dangers becoming entangled with him, she was still married, had two lovely children and an insane dog, but suddenly those things hadn’t mattered in that insane few moments of closeness.
She reached out a hand and touched his shirt, the warmth from within, the scent of his aftershave still as strong wafted towards her as he stepped towards her again.
‘It’s not fair.’ She said fighting with her tears and emotion. ‘Why do I have to be the sensible one, why do I have to make the decisions all the time to please everyone else?’ She breathed heavily, fighting the urge to cry against his shoulder and be someone pathetic like Cheryl had been, she didn’t want to be like that.
He put his arm around her and held her close, she could hear his heart pounding against his chest, the pulse in his neck throbbed and she found herself kissing it and feeling his warm skin against her lips.
‘I’m such a child.’ She found herself saying and felt him laugh. He rubbed her shoulders and back and held her tight, as she clung onto him.
‘I should go.’ He said releasing her suddenly and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed.
‘Yeah, you should.’ She said not looking up. ‘Have you got everything, toothbrush, passport, sunglasses, car keys?’ She looked up at him briefly, any longer and the flood gates would open.
‘Yeah, all packed.’ He brought his right hand up and wiped the tear falling down her face and smiled through an emotion he wasn’t prepared for.
‘Stay in touch, yeah.’ She said as she watched him walk into the hallway to lift the bag beside the door and his coat from the hook.
‘Sure.’
‘Goodbye then.’ She said, her voice wavering, she gripped onto the kitchen sink, her legs feeling as though they’d give from under her.
He held out a hand for the door and stopped. It was wrong, to just leave and walk away, she’d risked everything for him, but he couldn’t stay, he knew that. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, but she had nothing he could possibly want, could possibly gain from. She lived in a rented house, she had £4 in her pocket to see her through till the next week. She had a husband and he was loving in his own way, he could whack him over the head and make him see sense, but whacking people over the head had brought him running in her direction. He heard her sniff, the emotions of letting go were getting too much to hold back. He turned to face her and saw her hand come up to her face and wipe the tears. He lowered the bag, strode back towards her and tilting her head up, kissed her with a passion she wasn’t expecting, but reciprocated it and they held each other in a long embrace. She felt him close against her and this time she didn’t push him away, she let him take her against the unit, pushing the kettle against the wall and slopping the coffee in the mugs causing a disaster on the cleaned units.
She felt him enter her body, she had never been taken like that before and it felt like a drug she didn’t want to end, a dream that should never be woken from. When it was over, she didn’t know what to feel, elated, excited, worried, she lay there beside him, feeling him kiss her on the bare skin that was available to him. She had reached a climax she’d never experienced before and if nobody else was going to say it, then she would. Brendan Block was a serious good fuck and she’d finally given in to temptation.
He lifted the bag from the floor and turned the handle to the front door. She watched him leave, her twinkle had returned, she felt revitalised. He grinned as he stepped out of the house and as he closed the door behind her and walked towards his car, she turned back towards the kitchen sink and beamed like a child receiving a gift she’d never forget.

The Cry for Help

2010-10-06T07:20:00.000-07:00

Natalie Holden, her hair tied back in a pony tail, her thick woollen jumper that kept in the warmth that the heaters in the little office failed to provide, stared at the photographs pinned to her cubicle wall of her children and smiled. She touched their smiling faces with her forefinger and sighed; so much had happened since her return to the bright lights of Blackpool. She’d found Peter again, only to lose him once more to another, she’d made new friends, new acquaintances, fallen in and out of love so many times it had prompted her escape, packing her bags and leaving to clear her head and question what she really wanted to do… Now back in Blackpool had she really made up her mind, had anything really changed, would it ever?
She jumped as the phone rang, bringing her back to the here and now. She composed herself and lifted the receiver, slipping back into a familiar role and emitted the immortal words:
‘Hello, Samaritans.’
‘I..I didn’t know who else to call.’ A woman’s voice spoke quietly, her voice containing a broken heart and many hours of crying already worked through.
‘That’s alright, I’m sure we can help…’
‘I’ve never done this before…’ The woman sniffed.
‘Take your time…’
‘I thought I could cope being home, I thought being here with my family would fill the gap in my heart…but it doesn’t…it doesn’t even come close.’ The woman’s voice seemed so familiar to Natalie, but people normally did over the phone, accents and familiarity that she dismissed it.
‘I can’t tell anyone how I feel, they wouldn’t understand…they wouldn’t believe me…but I miss him, I miss him so much, it hurts…’
Natalie could hear the pain in her voice and could feel the pain she suffered from her own feelings of Peter and past relationships, yet she pushed them aside and concentrated on the caller.
‘Was he someone close?’ She asked eventually.
‘Yes. I loved him…I loved him so much.’ She heard paper tissues being wrenched from their box and the familiar face wiping and nose blowing and sympathised.
‘What was he like?’
‘To everyone else he was hated by most, but to me…he was everything. He always had time to listen, to talk, we bonded from the first moment he came here. We were just friends, but it felt more than that…I wanted it to be more than that.’ She sniffed, her voice wavering as she fought the emotion welling up in her throat.
‘It’s alright to cry, love.’ Natalie replied feeling her own emotions rising to the fore and pulled out a cascade of tissues from the cube on her desk.
‘Your voice sounds so familiar.’ The caller spoke, sniffing again and blowing out an emotional breath.
‘Does it? Have you called before?’
‘No.’
‘It’s likely the accent; it’s pretty common around here, the Northern tongue!’ She joked.
‘It’s where it all happened…’
‘Where all what happened?’
‘Where everything went to shit and I lost him forever.’ The caller spoke with an empty heart. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’ve nothing to apologise for.’ Natalie assured her, wiping her own eyes as she stared at Danny’s face as he smiled back at her in happier times.
‘I’ve never done this before…I don’t know what to do.’ She replied, so desperate for a direction, or an instruction to follow.
‘What would you like to do?’
‘I’d like to hold him in my arms…I’d like to go back to before Blackpool, before Tom, before I lost him…’
Natalie exhaled sharply, she clasped a hand to her mouth and sat up straight. ‘Oh..Debbie.’ She pulled her seat closer to the desk and leaned forward speaking closer into the phone. ‘Debbie is that you, it’s Natalie. Oh my god I’m so sorry…’ She pulled more hankies from the box and wiped the tears falling from her face as she remembered the young girl trailing after the tall, lanky Scotsman with the dark eyes and handsome complexion.
‘Natalie.’ It seemed to hit her more knowing she’d found a connection, a link, it seemed to twist the knife in deeper, pulling at the heart strings.

Debbie leaned back against the wall in the narrow hallway of her home, scattered about her were the used paper tissues, screwed into tight balls and littered about her knee and floor. The house quiet of children, devoid of any human contact and a single photograph of Brendan in a frame stared back at her, the smile, the soft brown eyes, a look she’d never see again except in that one photograph she possessed.
She was back home, and yet it felt a million miles from the world she spent in a flat with Brendan and Tom. It seemed like only yesterday when they’d fooled about in the flat, when they’d acted like teenagers. Now it was as if someone had pressed fast forward and she was an older woman staring back at a life she once had. Her chin wobbled as she tried to hold it together, Natalie had been that one link in her life, a friend she could talk to, share a drink with, have a laugh at Funny Girls.
‘I thought you and Peter were solid, what went wrong?’ Debbie asked struggling to compose herself, trying for the normal conversations that might take her mind off her feelings…
‘Oh it’s a long story and anyway, this is about you, you don’t want to hear about me.’ She sniffed back, laughing at her weakness.
‘I haven’t been able to talk to Tom, even after the fight they had…it got too much.’ She sniffed, her eyes stinging red with tears. ‘Maybe Miguel was right, my life wasn’t in Blackpool, it was here.’ She swallowed back the pain as her lips quivered again and fresh tears fell.
‘It was a shame you couldn’t have stayed longer, you could have stayed with me.’
‘You’d gone, I tried calling you, but then Ripley and what he did…’ She looked away, forcing the terrible memories from her mind, the big man and his desire to take something from her that she didn’t want to give. It hurt her too that in all of her ordeal, it wasn’t her husband and the thought of losing her children that affected her, it was losing Brendan and never being able to see him again.
‘I’m sorry about Ripley.’ Natalie replied.
‘It’s not your fault. I was spiralling out of control on a cocktail of coloured liquors and a family bag of Skittles, it was hardly going to be a happy ending was it?’ She sounded so cold, but then Ripley had that effect on people.
‘Maybe not.’ She leaned back against the plastic padded swivel chair and sighed. ‘You just need to be happy, don’t you? I sometimes wonder if I should get out of Blackpool for good.’
‘What’s keeping you there, if you’re not with Peter and I doubt you’re back with Ripley…’
‘No definitely not.’ She replied quickly making that point quite clear in her mind. They may have sorted out some of their differences, their children would still come first, but that was as far as she was prepared to go.
‘You can be a Samaritan anywhere, or be anything you want to be.’ Debbie replied with an air of confidence that had crept from her subconscious. Natalie smiled.
‘True, very true. I suppose I was trying to be there for Tom, but he doesn’t need me…and there’s the kids too…’
‘One of the reasons I had to return…’ She became quiet for a while and Natalie felt perhaps the confident air had been consumed by guilt and grief. ‘I couldn’t keep the kids at a friend’s indefinitely could I?’
‘No that’s true.’
‘If Brendan hadn’t gone down to Blackpool, I wonder if things would have been different, whether he’d still be here, whether he’d still want to come and visit me, you know…’ The emotion began to take its toll once more and her lips quivered. IT’S NOT FAIR…he was my friend and they’re hard to come by up here…’
‘Believe me, they’re hard to come by down here too.’ Natalie replied wiping the tears that fell from her cheeks onto her jeans.
‘I still have his boxers in my drawer upstairs…seven pairs of Calvin’s, they still smell of him. Oh Nat, why…why did he do it, why the hell did he do it?’ She broke down, the tears, the grief, the emotion. She drew up her knees and sobbed into them, hugging them she cried and cried, the phone receiver gripped tightly in her right hand as though it were her only life line.
Natalie herself held the phone to her bosom and fought with her own tears, leaning back in the chair and wishing she could do more for her friend, so many miles away in Scotland.
‘Oh Debs.’
‘Nobody understands me, they all think I’m this mother with schools and coffee mornings…and I am but….’ She wiped the tears with the palms of her hands, she exhaled the warm emotion of grief, she was physically wrecked, drained and yet still she could cry, tears still kept falling and she couldn’t stop it. ‘In the park, he was there Nat, after the funeral, I saw him, he reached out for me and…I just want to hold him again. In my bed, in my arms…god why the fuck did he do it, why couldn’t he tell me, I always listened to him, he did everything for me.’ Her voice became almost inaudible; it was higher pitched and forced.
‘Sometimes love is a drug, you can’t stop taking, it consumes you. Maybe there was no way out for Brendan.’
‘But the gun…Nat, where did he find the gun?’
‘It was Tom’s…Debbie..’ Natalie sat forward. ‘Debbie, there’s no easy way to say this but Brendan planned it all, right down to the hotel. He couldn’t…he couldn’t carry on anymore…he left a note for Tom. I’m so sorry Debbie…’
The phone went dead and Natalie felt sick. She pushed the seat away, made her apologies and ran from the building clutching her bag and ran to the car. It had been a moment of weakness on her part to have told her the bad news, it went against all ethics and professionalism but nobody had told Debbie, even her closest friend of all, CJ Miguel hadn’t told her, and he above all would have known.

The late afternoon sun warmed the front of the house and the birds sang for their supper and returned home to their nests tired. The children now home from school cycled up and down the pavements and walkways and shouts and yells from nearby gardens could be heard from all around her as she walked towards the house. She climbed up the steps towards the front door and rattled the letterbox, from somewhere in the neighbourhood a dog barked and she looked about at the row of houses, people all slammed together like peas in a pod.
She heard and saw through the glazed door a figure walking towards her, as the door opened Natalie smiled at the pale faced woman with the short cropped hair and tired, tear stained face looking back at her.
‘Oh Debbie, I’m so sorry.’
She stepped into the house and instantly wrapped her arms around Debbie who hugged her back and cried into her shoulder, if nothing else could be salvaged from Blackpool thought Natalie, then a friendship between two people who had shared the lives and the nights and days with Tom and Brendan was something to keep his memory alive.

Slipping Away – Avril Lavigne

Confessions of the The Guardian

2010-10-06T07:04:00.000-07:00

He watched as she folded the clothing onto the kitchen chair from the clothes horse, his mug of coffee sat half drunk beside him. Her mind was occupied by so many things these days and rarely to do with the house or him or the family. As he looked at her face, she no longer resembled the woman he’d married all those years ago, no longer had she the face of the happy mother and wife.
She caught him staring at her, the rugged complexion of the man who for the last eighteen years had been her main focus in life, who had kept her on the path of family woman, with children and tray bakes and amongst everything else, the perfect soul mate. But it was all a lie, she knew that, she was playing a part, acting if you like. Her life was far removed from the role she played for him and the children, it was fraught with danger at every turn, it took on a dark and sinister path where anything was possible and usually was. She smiled at him softly, but knew instantly what he was thinking, she knew too much about him, had singled him out when she was at her most vulnerable. Will had told her the first few months or years would be the hardest, settling back into a life that she’d already lived, going back twenty or so years to find the child and bring him to safety, change his direction from whichever path he had already chosen, altering the future and saving the human race, just as he’d saved her.
She sighed and gathered the clothing into her arms and looked at Mack, his four days growth gathering at his chin and the beard he threatened he would grow if she didn’t stay and become the wife she was meant to be and not the gungho fighter she claimed to be.
‘Suits you, the beard.’ She said as she passed by him to go up the stairs, where the ironing board sat beside the window, overlooking suburbia.
‘Tell me about him.’ He called in his soft Glaswegian accent, turning to watch her climb the stairs and she saw him closer, the balding grey patch on the top of his head, the worry lines of the busy banker, financial adviser, whatever it was he did, that she couldn’t remember.
She sat the clothing on her knee as she sat on the stairs and looked at him through the banister railing. She sighed.
‘What do you want me to say?’ She threw the question back.
‘How did you meet, why is he more important than the family, why you have to drop everything to be with him and leave us again?’
She picked up the clothing and walked to her room that she shared with Mack and sometimes the children in a thunderstorm. She sorted out the ironing into piles as he came in and leaned on the doorframe.
‘You’re not going to drop this are you?’ She sighed looking at him, and he shook his head.
‘It’s every other day, sometimes its all week, you’re gone for ages, no word, no messages, no calling home to see if either of your children are missing you.’ He said.
‘But they don’t miss me, they know where I am if they need me. If they don’t call, they’re safe.’
‘Safe?’ He snorted.
She dropped the clothing back on the bed and sighed heavily. It was time to tell the truth, it was time to open up but fearing that the men in white coats would come and cart her away, she made a mental note of not telling him everything. In the world of Science fiction, who would believe her anyway?
‘I’m a Guardian, I’m responsible for CJ Miguel, everything he does in his life, I have to make sure he follows the right path, I have to be there if he gets shot, loses blood, I have to provide my own to keep him alive.’ She said watching his eyes and noting that somewhere he was taking it in.
‘But you’re anaemic, how can you provide blood for another when you can barely cope with what you’ve got?’
It was true, she mused, her last iron count was way too low, but the Order saw potential in her, she was the only one in this area while he was in this country who could keep him alive, and blood was easy to produce, she was told that when she was pregnant with her first.
‘It’s complicated, but I have the same blood group as he has.’
‘So would others, why are you so important to him, why do you need to be with him, nearly 24/7?’
‘I’ve known him nearly all of my life, I saved his life years ago, I joined the military to learn how to defend myself and save the human population. Me, the same person who can’t even wire a plug, but can put together an AK47 or an M16 blindfolded. In the field I’m on fire,’ she smiled, ‘In the field I command a platoon, me, I have grown men hanging on my every word and doing as I ask, because I know what needs to be done. In one battle my team wiped out a whole army of clones, the gas was the worst, we all had to don our gasmasks else the green gas would have sent us delirious, some might have turned on each other.’ She watched as he took this information in and shook his head and she sighed and collected the ironing up.
‘So you were a soldier, before I knew you.’
‘I never left.’ She replied, pushing the socks and pants into the drawers and folding up jumpers she couldn’t see herself ironing in a month of Sundays.
‘Wait a minute, you’re still a soldier, I don’t believe you. And this man in a suit who comes to collect you, driving you around like Lady Penelope, what’s that all about?’
‘This is ridiculous Mack, you’re not prepared to believe me, why would I explain this to you?’
‘I want to know who I married, I want to believe that you’re not lying to me, that everything we have here is real, is it, tell me, the truth, please.’
She frowned for a moment, and then she spoke, and he sat on the bed, leaning his head against the poster of a certain Time Lord and listened. She took him right back to her childhood, the treehouse at the end of the field, the 14 year old boy with injuries no other 14 year old boy should have, and a history and life that no other child should have. She told him about her family and how they were all dead now, and that what she has now, are just connections with her past, places and people she knew once in another life. She knew he wouldn’t understand that, but she told him anyway.
‘I was sent back to find Miguel, and bring him to the here and now, and save the human race. It’s always been about that, everything we do now, every little step makes a big difference in the future.’ She explained sitting beside him, taking his hand and knowing that what she was telling him made no sense in his normal banking world where everything was a series of figures and facts.
‘So you’re telling me that you came from the future and were blasted back here completely naked and became like a terminator?’
She sighed and lowered her head. ‘No. I was sent back from the future by means of wormholes and the time and space continuum, I don’t get to meet myself, because I’m me, I’ve not travelled in a Tardis and I’m not stepping on time lines, I’ve had to return because in the future none of what we have exists anymore, its all gone. Everything you’ve worked for, has gone, the bank, the system, minerals and resources have all been destroyed, plundered, stolen, the army from beyond the stars, and don’t roll your eyes at me, you wanted to know, so I’m telling you. The race of creatures coming from beyond the stars, through the darkness, take everything that the Earth has, and as a parting shot, destroys the human race…so I was sent back, sent back like all the Guardians were, and we find the child and we bring him to where he is now, and we find ways of stopping Galliano and the clones and the entire army building in every corner of the globe and we stop them…we have to, because if we don’t, there’s nothing left to build on. Do you understand now?’

She watched as he strode down the steps and into town, it would be some hours before he returned, light headed and ready for round two, but she wouldn’t be there, she would have returned to her military life, and the children wouldn’t worry, because somewhere in their subconscious, they already knew.

2010-07-30T09:45:00.000-07:00

A FAN GIRLS DIARY BY D.J. FORREST

‘The object of your desire should be within easy reach, should be accessible at all times and should know how you feel about them.’

Day One
Discover where said celebrity lives, what his status is and move nearer to him. Rent an abode that is small and cheap, I mean let’s face it, you’re hardly going to be living there, it’s just a base, a place to store your clothes, food and where you might sleep once in a while, dingy bed sit ideal!
Next secure a job where he buys his groceries, at least this way you guarantee on seeing him more often than not. Take the job at Gupter’s Store, the local mini mart as a check out girl, hell you can’t get closer than that to handle his meat and two veg without getting really personal and intimate.
Ok, job and flat sorted, now to sort out the next phase, your terrible dress sense.
When stalking, no too strong, when pursuing your idol best wearing clothes that are warm and comfortable. High heels and thin clothing are not suitable when you could have to climb creeping vegetation to peer in windows, sit on park benches, or hide in bushes. Waterproofs are a must but not the noisy ones which squeak when you walk, or rustle or are so inflatable you get hanked on vegetation!
Top up mobile, it never hurts to have back up once in a while and most fan girls run in packs, although the ‘silent assassins’ such as yourself prefer to work alone and report back much later on the forum with all the latest juiciest gossip in a ‘Beat the Fan Girl score’.
So, bed sit, job – ok the money is a bit shit, but it doesn’t matter, you’re only doing this so you can obtain your heart’s desire, no other personal gain required yet. Once conquered personal gain, then consider better paid job. Dress sense organised, this girl is wearing ‘black’. Well, when up vegetation, best to blend in, pink and white stockings do not hide you well when the police are called!

Day Two
First day at work, seven a.m. start, God what possessed me to do this job, what was I thinking. I only read in the Hokay Magazine that he was seen with a carrier bag of groceries, it might have been a one off.
Day never really got started for me, I think Mr Gupter sussed I was a fan girl as he saw my Cult of Tennant t-shirt under my uniform. It wasn’t as though I was going to rip it off in front of the man had he come in, it’s cold at the front of the shop and nylon does nothing for me but make me itch, in places I’d rather not mention.

Day Three
Oh my God, there he is, he’s coming to my till, bloody hell, calm down woman. Deep breaths, oh bugger, I’ve just squashed and scanned this woman’s lettuce three times. Sorry, she’s angry. ‘Ok that’ll be £5.42 thanks, sorry about the lettuce, you can still eat it, I didn’t squash it too much. Don’t know what came over me. Well there’s no need for that attitude, I did apologise.’

Oh bugger, he’s looking at me, smile woman NO NOT THAT SMILE, you’ll scare him. Oh shit he’s laughing at you now, but could be a good thing; at least you’ve relaxed him. Right, don’t fluff it up; pass the items over the scanner like the woman before. Deep breaths, he’s almost standing beside me, god I feel flush, my cheeks are burning, and he’s smiling again. Stop blushing, he’s just a man, a normal tall, very good looking man, god I feel wet in places.
‘You’re new here aren’t you?’ He asked in his so cute Scottish accent. DON’T LOOK UP, YOU’LL BUGGER YOUR LINES, YOU ALWAYS DO, THINK OF RICHARD.
‘Y-Yes, started Monday, you?’ What are you doing, of course he doesn’t work here, get a grip woman. Have I taught you nothing?
‘I don’t work here.’ He said flashing his biggest smile.
‘I know, nerves, get like that, sorry. Checkout’s aren’t my usual job.’ Good, great comeback, there’s a chance yet.
‘So what other job do you do?’ He’s still talking to me, there’s a queue of people behind him and oh bugger, Mr Gupter is standing by the mic again.
‘Silent assassin, that’ll be £22.40 please.’ He’s got a credit card and I don’t have to press anything. Phew!
‘Silent assassin?’ He’s looking at me now, puzzled, I know that expression, it’s the same one the Jehovah’s Witnesses use when I say I worship the Cult of Tennant. Explanation time!
‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’ Brilliant come back, the one liner, he can’t say anything now.
He lifts his bag of shopping, smiles one last time at me and he’s gone, but contact has been made. Now clear this back log before Mr Gupter puts you on toilet duty.

Day six
Yes, I’ve jumped, it’s not that I can’t count, nothing bloody happened, and despite him buying only a smidgen of food the other day, he hasn’t returned. So next phase, night time stalking, I mean pursuing.
Let’s face it girls, stalking brings with it a whole heap of trouble, the Police, psychiatric treatment, I mean nobody wants their brains fried, dribbling is most disgusting although watching somebody eating chocolate when you’re on a bloody diet is one cause of dribbling for me however, back to the job in hand.

I know where he lives, I’ve seen his house, it’s quite high up, obviously it’s flats and it’s an old building and you’ve guessed it, vegetation grows up the walls. I’ve watched Casanova, I know it’s possible to climb the vegetation and when I was pursuing someone else I have been known to do it, and looking at the thickness of the suckers and vines it would hold my weight, I’m sure of that.
One thing to remember; take winter clothes, even in summer, because despite what the weathermen say, it can still be bloody freezing at 2am sitting outside in a street pretending to call an invisible cat when someone walks past. Don’t grab the first cat you see however, note to self, take First Aid travel pack, cats scratch and bite and owners can get a little possessive when you pick up their moggy and run down the street with it!

It was a cold wet night, the first night I stood outside his flat. I’d followed him home, didn’t mean to, well, yes I did really, but I’d watched enough cop shows to know that you don’t walk too closely, and I did lose him a few times and that was upsetting, as I’d wandered into an unknown part of the city and damn near got myself lost.
I saw his silhouetted figure walk past the lit window with the curtains drawn, he looked alone, I could soon sort that out. Oh, hold up, there’s someone arriving, a taxi, best conceal myself, no, just watch, why hide, I’m doing nothing wrong, I’m outside, it’s raining and I’ve lost my cat – AGAIN.
Must remember to get it a collar tomorrow with a bell! What am I thinking of!

GASPS! He’s opened the door, he’s standing greeting the woman who’s just pecked him on the cheek, he’s smiling. GASPS again, he’s looking over here, no, isn’t he meant to be short sighted or something, he’d never actually see me from this distance, with this coat on and hood, but I can see him, SIGH, be still my beating heart.

Day eight
Checkout’s been busy this morning, all these people stocking up for a party somewhere, I should have muscles on me by the end of the shift, I’ve humped that many boxes of beer bottles over the scanner either my back will break, or my arms will extend down to my ankles.
There’s that woman from the other night, oh there’s David, he’s with the woman, they’re holding hands. Shit!
He’s seen me, he waved at me, I’m waving back and smiling like I’m a teenager again. Well if nothing else happens today, a wave is good, worth mentioning in the diary, gains probably only 1 point in the score so far.
She’s taking him to Sherbert’s check out, hoi bitch over here, sigh. Oh well, nice bum, not hers, jeez if anyone reads this back they’ll think I’m lusting over her. He’s whispering in her ear and she’s laughing, why can’t he be doing that to me, why would he do that to me, let’s face it, I’m a checkout girl working for the minimum wage to pay for a flat I rarely live at.
‘Are you going to be doing any work today girl?’ Mr Gupter is standing in my line of vision.
‘Yes, sorry, sorry.’ I’m apologising a lot in this job, it might be the last day I work here at this rate. Wonder where he drinks, maybe I should get a job working in a bar? No, rates are even worse and what’s the fun in that, I couldn’t sit outside his flat then could I?

Day nine
Will this weather ever relent? I’ve given up pursuing the invisible cat, for the past few days he’s not had any visitors, his car is parked in the driveway at the front. Maybe he’s ill, should I knock on the door and hope he opens it and play nursemaid? Do I look like a nurse?
Silent assassins don’t tend to wear nurses outfits, but they could be persuaded. I crossed the road from the park where I was standing. I was glad of the warm coat and despite the gloves offering little to no protection against the cold, they would however offer protection on the wall. Time to climb the ivy.

It was quite thick in places and had been there for years, unclimbed, undamaged until a pair of size 7’s scrambled up it and attempted to make it to the middle window that had the curtains closed last night.
I was quite glad I’d had that physical training of humping bottles of beer across the conveyor scanner, it put me in good stead to pull myself up the wall – Spiderman eat your heart out.
I edged nearer to the window; I could hear talking, actually behind me I could hear a car pull up, a door slam and a woman’s voice.
‘Oh for god’s sake, come down you mad woman.’
I turned to see a blonde haired woman in her early twenties standing at the doorway tapping her foot and with her hands on her hips. She looked irate and to be honest it did look bad from where I was standing, perched against the wall like something deranged.

‘I’m getting my cat, he’s stuck up here, bloody animal, never known one to climb ivy before, but ever since a little kitten he’s climbed everything. Can you see him; I think he went over that way?’ I pointed and then hurriedly grabbed the ivy again as I felt it give a little.
‘Get yourself down or I’m calling the police, this is private property.’ She called up before entering the house with a key, I noticed.
Ok, this was slightly embarrassing, I’d made myself into a stalker, this could turn ugly and could lose me the object of desire, more so could get me banned off the forum!
I could hear her ranting inside the flat as she went up the stairs, I could hear his soft Scottish tone calming her and then the only other sound I heard was the ivy coming away from the wall and me crying out in fright. THUMPF!

Oh now that was embarrassing, could have been worse, could have landed on the concrete paving and put a serious dent in my skull, however the Toyota Prius broke my fall, but I broke the windscreen, dented the bonnet and hurt my neck. I saw him look out of the lit window at me lying on the front of the car in not quite the mode I was aiming for. Not quite the beach clad woman in bikini and covered in baby oil. No, more like the waterproofed tall, skinny woman with fat arse protruding through windscreen of crap car! I was still holding onto the ivy in my hands and gave him a little wave, similar to the one he gave me in the mini mart.
Well needless to say, I’ll now have to work extra hard at Gupter’s to repair the damage to one car windscreen, bonnet and car aerial. Apparently I also landed on that and had to have that surgically removed, hmm. I will so not be able to walk properly for a while, nor will I be able to look him in the face I reckon.

Chapter Two

Week 3 of diary.

It’s not been going at all well this, following Richard Thomas my childhood sweetheart was easier and his vines were so much stronger. Perhaps its because this is in London and Richard lived out in the sticks somewhere, must be the smog that did it, weakened the branches or something.
I didn’t get any visitors, unless you count the Police officer who sat beside the bed drinking endless plastic tea and eating my grapes. Someone had sent them, not sure who as I couldn’t reach out to read the little card attached to bag before the cleaner came and emptied the table card and all.
Amazingly Mr Gupter kept me on, I think it was because I was the only applicant for the job and he had trouble filling the posts. He was a bit of a slave driver, but he did pay the rent for me so he can’t have been that bad. He even suggested I moved into the flat over the shop, but that’s going a bit far isn’t it, I hardly know the man. Still if the worst comes down to it!

I was back on the till by Thursday after much needed rest and the neck brace came off. I’ve apparently been mentioned in the newspaper, not me by name but of an unidentified person stalking a known celebrity and smashing a Toymota Penis car. Have to admit though, was lucky it was one of those, with the flatter sloping windscreen and bonnet than the skoda, although wouldn’t have minded landing on a Ford Escort apart from knowing that the aerial would have hurt more on extraction.

I was on light duties too, such a nice man Mr Gupter and I got out of toilet duties, well you couldn’t expect a woman like me who’d fallen 15 feet onto her back on a hunk of metal to bend over and clean bogs now surely?

David came into the mini mart alone the following evening, no girlfriend or woman friend at all. I saw him dart along the aisles as I was serving one of the teenagers who frequented the off licence with his mates. Nice lad just needed a swift boot up the arse to remove himself from my counter right about now.
I did feel a little uneasy at seeing him and thought David might have taken himself off to Sherbert’s till, but up he came with a nice red bottle of wine and some cheese – immediately I could only think of those ghastly cheese and wine dates I’d gone on in the early 90’s.

‘Hi there, didn’t expect to see you back in work so soon.’ He said smiling cheerfully although I’m not altogether sure it was because he was genuinely pleased to see me.
‘Flat won’t pay for itself and someone’s got to keep the mice fed and the cockroaches in the corner playing with the dead rat under the fridge. Ok, enough said, did you change the car yet?’ I asked thinking that perhaps it would be better to choose something a little less expensive should another fan girl fall from the skies.
‘No, still got that one, insured for the year, likely pick out something else when it’s three years are up, you know how it is?’ He said making small talk.
‘Do I, don’t think so, see I’ve still got a battered old Mini, room in the boot for the mice and my imaginery cat up the ivy.’ I grinned and so did he. His eyes twinkled, he was staring at me a bit more now and for once Mr Gupter wasn’t sshouting over the mic at me.
‘So what made you think you could climb the ivy exactly?’ He asked as I handed him back his credit card and pushed the bottle into the carrier bag.
‘You ask me these questions like you expect an answer. I’m a silent assassin, if I told you, I’d have to kill you.’ I said a little louder than I planned and then saw that the entire shop had fallen silent.
‘When do you finish your shift?’ He asked, clearing his throat and lifting the carrier off the packing area.
‘Why?’ I asked curiously.
‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’ He grinned and so did I as he sauntered out of the shop, turning around only briefly to grin again before pushing the door with his back and walking out.
Mr Gupter looked at me shaking his head, I think he was getting used to me now, he could see I was definitely after the Teninch and there was to be no stopping me, other than a lengthy jail sentence.

I shouted good bye to Mr Gupter at ten oclock and headed back home. I’d changed into my normal clothes straight after the shift, well you know what its like, walking in nylon, could start a fire in the nether regions. I was in enough trouble as it was.
I decided to take the long way back home, right past his window. The ivy was still hanging down as though a group of heavy baboons had been swinging on it but the car was still there, new windscreen, devoid of aerial I noticed, but who needs a car aerial, buy cd’s or tapes, just as good and avoid the comments about mad deranged women sliding off walls to smash your car.
A soft Scottish voice spoke behind me at the gate to his flat and I jumped. I turned and there he stood, in a really nice brown velvet jacket, now where had I seen that before, and it was related to a car programme. Ah yes!
‘Admiring the car?’ He asked.
‘Not really, just remembering the pain in my backside to be honest.’ I replied and suddenly felt my behind being touched. I touched my back tooth with my tongue and swallowed suddenly, normally I would have walloped anyone who handled my rather large behind, but on this occasion I chose not to, hell I’d not long come out of hospital and didn’t want to snap the bloody neck this time.
‘Lost something?’ I asked turning to face him, although that did mean physically moving my position. ‘No girlfriend tonight?’
‘What, oh no, she was my PA.’ He replied so matter of factly. He raised an eyebrow as I raised mine. He walked towards the door of the flat and turned back to stare at me. ‘Well, are you coming in or….are you still looking for that bloody cat?’
I looked about me, nobody was looking, I pinched myself, I’ll wake up in a minute, this is a dream and I’ll still be in the hospital listening to that woman at the far end throwing up again. I nodded and walked towards him into the heat of the house.

The Very Last of the Time Lords Fan fic

2010-07-30T09:41:00.001-07:00

The Very Last of the Time Lords by D.J. Forrest (Doctor Who fan fic)

It had been a quiet week, the phone hadn't rung which was unusual for a call centre, the lines were down completely, work on the wires according to head office. She took her mid morning break, gathered her bag and headed out of the building and along the street. She hadn't gone too far when a tall man in a long brown coat bumped into her literally, knocking her backwards onto the pavement. He apologised but was rushing, he turned back to face her "Sorry!" and then he was gone, around the next corner and out of sight.

'Asshole!' She muttered under her breath and continued on her journey towards the coffee shop. That too was quiet, what was going on she wondered. The waitress a young freckled lass with ginger hair took her order and disappeared into the back of the shop while Debs stared out of the large window at the world outside, for a bright hot summer's day it was unusually quiet, no cars zipping up and down the street, no kids running with dripping ice lollies or throwing water bombs at the glass as they usually did while she had sat drinking her coffee.

The swing door opened and the waitress came back with coffee and a bread roll, she hadn't ordered a bread roll, she'd ordered a tea cake.
'Where is everyone?' She asked staring at the waitress who seemed as distant as the silence in the room.
'Didn't you read the papers, didn't you hear the radio?' She said in a timid voice.
'Hear what?' She said a little worried now.
'End of the World.' The waitress returned to the back of the shop and much activity could be heard as pans clattered and doors opened and closed.
Debs rose from the chair and walked from the coffee shop, she stood out in the road, unafraid now that a vehicle would run her over, the road was ghostly, she waited for the brushwood to rustle past her, but just the gentle breeze, nothing more.
She looked up towards the blue sky and the glorious sunshine, but she saw nothing, no space ships, no rockets hurtling towards Earth, nothing.

She looked down to Earth again at the street, out in front of her and back up the road. As she turned to look up the road at the right she saw the man in the long brown overcoat standing watching her. He seemed amazed to still see her standing when all others had run for cover.

'Have you come to apologise again for knocking me over or do you aim on doing it again?' She shouted although why she felt she had to shout in such a quiet street.
He began to walk towards her, his skinny frame almost like hers, but she felt her hips probably let her down in some way.
'What are you doing out here?' He asked a voice of concern now that he was beside her. His voice so thoughtful, his face young, young but spoke like someone much older.
'I....the waitress said End of the World, but I don't see anything coming.' She said.
'Come with me, you're not safe out here.' He said leading her back the way he'd traveled.
'My bag, its still in the shop.' She said attempting to retrieve it.
'Is there anything important in it?' He asked.
'No.' She said thinking what she did have.
'Then you don't need it, you'll waste valuable seconds, now run.' He said almost in a panic. He pulled her along the street towards a blue Police box where he snapped his fingers and the doors opened.
'What the hell is this place, this won't protect us.' She scoffed, but as today was proving an odd day she went along with it. Her mind was constantly being tried and tested for things that didn't make much sense these days.

Inside the blue box things looked a lot bigger, she was going to run back out and take a second look when he clicked his fingers again and the door closed before she could. He ran to a central control unit and began flicking levers, buttons and whirring things. She slowly walked towards the unit herself and watched him in action, something was beginning to come back to her, something she wasn't sure had been a dream, but then it shook her so much she grabbed for the hand rail to steady herself. She stared at his face, her recollection after all those years and he was back in her life not a day older than the last time they'd met. Oh my God.

'You're the Doctor!' She said, her voice wavering, unsteadily. He looked up at her and smiled.
'That's me, do I know you?' He asked now looking at her face closer and bringing out the sonic screwdriver to scan her. He viewed the readings and his mouth fell open, he did know her and he'd forgotten her.

'Debs, it's really you?' He said clamping a hand on her arms, his big beaming smile emitting from both corners of his mouth. He embraced her but she was still in shock and didn't reciprocate the hug. He noticed the lack of response and stood back to inquire her thoughts.
'What happened to you? Where did you go?' He asked remembering only too well the last meeting with her all those years ago.
'You don't remember, I'm trying to forget. You abandoned me, left me in that warehouse, the soldiers came, they took me back to base and interrogated me and Dad, clamping devices on my head, reading the thoughts and messing with my dreams. I heard my Dad screaming in the next room, his heart bursting under the pressure, then they started on me. Why did you leave me behind?' She asked looking at him as the central column of the control unit rose and fell in perfect harmony with the rest of the ship and she took them to safety.

'I didn't abandon you, I thought you were already onboard, I gave you the key, I swear I thought you were already onboard. When the Tardis was out of the nebula constellation it was only then that I discovered you weren't. Debs, I'm so sorry. Your Dad was a great man, you must hate me I'm sure.' His eyes reflected the pain and sadness he felt for her, he did like her Dad, the man of wisdom, akin to the Time Lord but now he was gone, lost to the soldiers of the planet, those non-believers, the non UNiT task force. Thank God they didn't still exist!

'So what have you done with yourself?' He asked leading her to the seat beside the unit and sitting beside her.
'I got out, traveled, came here and once again I fall under the spell of the humans and realise that I'm back where I started, being knocked over by the Time Lord, always in a rush, always running about, apologising for life.' She said in a low voice.
'Do you miss home?' The Doctor asked putting his arm around her.
'Gallifrey, always. But then I never was one to settle down was I? My head full of dreams, my Dad trying to keep me under control, funny lot the Time Lords, it used to scare the pants out of me when Dad would change his body. That shuttle that left before the War, that last look back, I thought one day I'd return, put right my mistakes, apologise like you for all the wrongs my family had done. Dad wasn't perfect, he was a scientist, he always mucked up somewhere, but the Time Lords liked him for his ideas on how to rid the Galaxy of the Daleks, but in the end, even they couldn't stop it, could they?' She said staring at him, with his sad eyes as he remembered the Time War.

'If you'd had the choice, would you still have done it, Theta?' She said looking at him, teasing him with his nickname.
'Hmm, I've not heard that name for awhile.' He smirked.
'It's what they all called you in college, funny the names you remember after all this time, and you thought you were the last of the Time Lords.'
'Apart from you, I am.' He said staring past her, through her.

'So why call yourself Debs?' He said.
'You called me that when we were in school, when we sitting beside the old man reading the scribes and boring the pants off us mere children. Defiant Enigmatic, Brilliant, Scientist - to give me my full title. However working in a call centre before the world explodes wasn't how I intended my life would end up.' She said feeling her old life coming back.

'Do you still have your watch?' He asked.
'Oh this thing.' She rooted in her pocket and withdrew the old pocket fob watch her father had passed onto her as if he knew his time was coming to an end. 'Dad gave it to me, the handing down of an heirloom, like it makes it better. You can have it, I don't need it anymore.' She said dropping it into his lap as she stepped down from the seat.

The Doctor knew his friend better than this, she would never give up her watch like that. He stepped from the seat and walked towards her holding the fob watch by the chain and hanging it in front of her.
'What's happened to you, you'd never give this up, you valued life too much.' He said in a soft voice as she watched the fob watch swing before her.
'People change, I changed. Maybe that's why you didn't recognise me, one transformation after another, one fall from grace, one bloody big mistake I can't put right. I'm the reason behind the world ending, some things never change, the Master knew that, he could always rely upon my Dad to bail him out when his plans were likely to go awry. His call to arms against the Daleks was the entire downfall of our kind.' She rambled and a solitary tear fell from her cheek as the Doctor lowered the fob watch and his soft face turned to anger and frustration. She was confessing to a murder that would take place in a few hours from now, he had to put it right, he wasn't prepared to lose this planet, so many memories, so many assistants and companions, he couldn't lose their memories and families, not after all these years.

'What did you do Debs, what did you do this time?' He growled and ran back to the control unit and pulled around the monitor. The dials were going crazy but he traced a familiar source back to the nuclear warheads below ground on the American Air base twelve miles north of where he picked her up and where he'd chased the Montisilian before it teleported back to its own ship.

'The Master was a powerful Time Lord....' She began but was interrupted.
'The Master was an egotistical fool who would never destroy the planet he was on, he would never kill himself, what would he achieve?' He growled back, she was a live wire then he'd hoped she would have calmed down after all this time.

Debs sat down on the metal steps and stared at the door, the images of her home life on Gallifrey were distorting, like a bad DVD copy. She shook her head, eventually clamping her hands on her head to control the images and what was happening to her.

The Doctor watched her, it was happening again, the old thoughts threatening her very existence, her Dad had stuck by her just as before, to keep her sane, to keep her in check, but without him or her medication, hard to come by now Gallifrey was gone, perhaps they were in her bag, she said she didn't have anything worth keeping, nothing of importance.
He reset the co-ordinates towards the air base and strode around to sit in front of Debs. He looked up at her face, her head shaking from one side to the other, what was wrong, why couldn't she hold it together?

'Debs, Debs.' The Doctor spoke calmly. He held her hands and brought them down and rested them on her lap, he kept a firm hold of them, and looked into her eyes. She was forcing herself to bring order to her already crumbling existence. She had done what the Master had ordered, as though he were somehow connected to her very being, she had idolised him in the early years, his ideas hadn't been that far from her own, but the Doctor had also been a wise man, full of dreams that would take him far beyond Gallifrey, to planets distant from home, Earth was a place not far from his own Mother's heart, and now she was here, but not completely away from trouble.

'He made me do this, I didn't want to, I knew it would hurt you.' She said pitifully. This wasn't like her, she was acting like a punished child, caught for pilfering or worse.
'Debs, what happened, what did you do?' He asked reaching a hand up to touch her face, her soft skin so young like his own, her new regeneration, but still the same old Yanti, nothing ever changes.
'He had plans to create a new world, he had ideas that would alter the scheme of things on Earth, but I knew it was wrong, people only saw things in his image, but I saw them for what they were.' She said now arguing with the images in her head. She pulled her hands free of the Doctor and pressed them against her forehead.
'He hypnotizes people, you of all people should have realised that Yanti, why fall for his charms all over again?' He said sitting beside her and pulling her close.
'Because I couldn't have the one man who would make a difference in my life.' She said looking at him. 'I always loved you Doctor, from the moment we started out together at the academy, right through our teachings of the Order, I always loved your wild out there ideas, but the Master had ideas too and they were really out there.' She said confused as to whose to go for.
'The Master was dangerous, nobody could reach him, you couldn't trust him.' He muttered.
'He was your friend.' She said becoming emotional for the planet she was born on.
'I know, but people change, we all did, and I'm not just talking about regenerating I'm talking about changing inside, our feelings. I didn't know you felt that way about me, you never said.' He was about to get deeper into the way she felt about him when the Tardis signified they were nearing the landing site. he pulled himself to his feet and navigated her to a good spot and stood beside the door contemplating his next move.

'What did you do to the nuclear warheads Debs?' He asked in a serious and more deadly tone and she knew she couldnt cross him now, or he would really abandon her for ever.

Tonight's The Night 25th July 2010

2010-07-30T08:25:00.000-07:00

TONIGHT'S THE NIGHT BBC STUDIOS GLASGOW SUNDAY 25TH JULY 2010

We left for the studio at a little after 12pm as the kids had to be dropped off at my sisters on the way. Hubby assured me the Sat Nav was good to go and was properly charged, so having scribbled down the list of instructions from Google Maps on how to reach the studio once arriving in Glasgow City Centre, I grabbed various essentials and we hit the road.

Kids dropped off and smiling as brother in law didn't know John Barrowman, figured there were 2 people in Scotland now who didn't know him, we headed off for the motorway. Along the road I saw a sign on the motorway alerting us to road delays at J8 Camberland but the J8 made me smile. Almost like one of those signs or good omens for the day.

Hubby yelled at the Sat Nav for trying to direct us off the motorway when we knew where we were going for Glasgow, just getting in was a nightmare.

We stopped at Hamilton on the way up, still giving us plenty of time and called in at Asda for lunch, where hubby stuffed his face with the full English and I had a baked potato with Cheese, figuring to have the baked tattie with the baked beans was seriously pushing it if I was that nervous heading up to the studio. Cheese wasn't fantastic and I had to drink several mouthfuls of water to push it down and then suffered stomach cramps for an hour until I bought mints.

We gave up on the Sat Nav that took us around some dives in Glasgow, I mean seriously, scary places, run down and although it wasn't the area of Maryhill Taggart it was seriously not the nicer side of the city. We turned off the sat nav as it kept recalculating and recharging and went by the instructions from google, hubby thought he knew where he was going and the directions for the studio got steadily further away from us till we were on the opposite side of the river from the studio and staring at Tall Ships and the SECC. Now I know where that is.

Back over the river and towards Andersen Quay we found Pacific Quay and the BBC Studios although hubby did lead us into the Hotel car park first. Still we did have an hour to kill.

We arrived at the Science Centre and BBC studio for 2:30pm which in itself was early, but as I noticed walking towards the studio from the car park of the Science Centre there were people arriving already and the reception area was already filling up with glamorous people. I began to feel less than glamorous myself, but as I entered the busy reception area of people queuing for coffee and snacks and others standing in a queer shaped queue that circumnavigated the seating area missing out the cyber seats where everyone was on the Book of Face. Passed the tall robots from 2110 cbbc programme I've yet to watch, the glass cabinets filled with items from Raven which were cool close up if a little fake, I came to realise that for a guy, I was glamorous. smirks

The eTicket stated that we were to be at the studio by 3:15pm. So we were already in the first conga, I mean queue grins Looking around at the many men and women I felt less nervous. As we wandered over to register we were given ticket numbers mine was 144, hubby was 143 and we each had a red sticker on the ticket. For what I have no clue, as nobody checked our ticket after that. We had to surrender our coats to the two people at the coat stand and they gave us the ticket 20 to collect later when we came out. So now my trousers were bulging leave it out I said only dressed like a guy with keys, phone and hankies and no room for the boy scout.

It was a long time after that before we were to head into the studio for the show. So time to read the Doctor Who Adventures on the stand by the main desk and the Radio Times and read up on the interview with Steven Moffat about Sherlock which I'd planned on watching on my return that evening.

The loos were queued so I did what any other desperate housewife does..went to the mens. Amazingly it was quiet although I did hear action coming in and stayed in the cubicle until I physically couldn't stay in any longer, nodded to the lads when I stepped from the cubicle and washed my hands "alright lads" and then came out. I have to say BBC toilets are exceptionally clean aside from the puddle before the toilet, but we'll forget that.

moving swiftly on

We finally went into the studio after we were checked over by security and their bleeper. I prayed it wouldn't be like it was in the Welsh Assembly when I had to physically remove all items in my pocket and take off my belt. All mobiles were switched off in the studio and we weren't allowed juice.

There was a fair amount of techical work to be done and the warm up guy who hubby said looked familiar and this comes from a guy who would send an innocent man to the gallows from a line up entertained us until John came on. I won't tell you the colour of his suit (Green) but I had guessed correctly on the road coming up. The one thing I was pleased to hear was John's Scottish accent. You get so used to hearing his Capt Jack voice it made a refreshing change and boy was he on form. Although a little restrained due to a few kids in the audience and there was me thinking it was for 16 years and over

There were regular visitors to the set and some who had booked tickets for every episode of the show so far. So ardent supporters and fans who John recognised as did the warm up guy. I think I spent most of the time staring at John, just as well he's used to all eyes on him, but I did watch the acts also.

Because it was a live show and wouldn't be going out till next saturday a lot of the stuff was out of sequence and we started with a big set before John normally comes on singing I've got a Feeling We were given our cues for standing up and clapping, when to cheer whoop and wolf whistle if we could. We gave full support to all those wanting their dreams to come true and by golly all those who came on had a good voice. And belted out their numbers. The J8's were brilliant.

During one of the scenes one of the J8's ripped his pants so they had to do the take again. Made a change from John ripping his. There were a lot of takes from different angles, from the filming the set sequences, the next camera angles were focused on the audience and we were clapping at an empty stage, although at times John came on and danced a jig of sorts and we cheered him no matter what. By the end of the sets my hands were sore from clapping and I craved ice cubes.

During the pieces where he spoke to audience members, you know the families of those who have been nominated he was on the step below me twice. It was awesome. I couldn't quite reach out and touch him, but he was there and I had that same feeling of being unable to speak when he came around as I had after saying hi to David the previous fortnight on the set of Decoy Bride.

Surprising an audience member

All the middle section had to stand up when John stood on that step down from me and asked for those who had done charity work to remain standing. Hubby at this point remained standing. I was curious.
John then asked for those to remain standing who had completed a marathon I sat down. Hubby remained standing. John then asked for those who had completed a marathon in under 90 minutes I tugged at hubby's trouser leg and made him sit down. I have to mention at this point Mark has only ever raised money for charity by buying raffle tickets and buying from charity shops. And the only Marathon was the ones wrapped in chocolate and renamed Snickers. I don't think that was what John was meaning. LMFAO

The show started at 5pm and finished at 7:30pm. It was free to get in. You had to book online or enter the studio for an eTicket. I often complain about the cost of my tv licence, but after seeing the show and being there in the audience I class it now as the treats you can enjoy by paying your tv licence.

There were a lot of folks in to see the show but not that many seats, but there was another set like the 'green room' so to speak where it catered for those who could not be part of the main audience and John still went in to entertain them from time to time and answer questions. Although when he came into the main audience section, there were questions I wanted to ask him but couldn't. Because one I'd lost the ability to speak, and 2 there's a time and a place and those that know me would know why I couldn't ask what I wanted, or say what I wanted to say because nobody else would a) get it or b) I could see a lot of awkward looks and questions asked later on. So I kept quiet and although I did want to shout out my home town when they were asking where folks came from I chickened out.

But looking back I am glad I never called out what I wanted to, as JB had never been on Facebook in rp and so perhaps someone was looking out for me. A guardian angel. Preventing me from shouting out something I might embarrass myself with.

But I would recommend to anyone who wants to go and see a free show, to be in an audience, apply online to BBC shows and get an eTicket and go and enjoy yourself I mean you pay £160 for a tv licence, you are entitled to get something back for your money. And Tonight's the Night is definitely worth going to see.

I for one will be watching it on Saturday but will need to work out how to do the print screen on Vista as so far what I wanted to save hasn't worked and I don't know where to retrieve it to.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/scotland/pq/studio_a/ that's the studio it was filmed from

http://www.bbc.co.uk/scotland/pq/ gives you an inside glimpse of the studio inside and outside covering the room where John pointed out he sits if you watch Behind the Scenes of Tonight's the Night

On The Set of Decoy Bride

2010-07-30T08:18:00.000-07:00

On the set of Decoy Bride, Caerlaverock Castle, Dumfriesshire 13th July 2010

The film was written by Neil Jaworski and Sally Phillips, and will be directed by Sheree Folkson. Other cast members include Federico Castelluccio, David Tennant, Kelly MacDonald, Sally Philips, and Alice Eve. The film is reported to centre on the marriage of an author and film star who escape to an island for some comedic entanglement. Ecosse Films' Robert Bernstein and Douglas Rae will produce the film with Paul Ritchie.

A five week shoot took place on the Isle of Man but also two days shooting took place at Caerlaverock castle.

Filming began at 5am, but I didn't arrive till after 12:30pm. Everything was under way. The bride Kelly MacDonald from such films as Trainspotting and Nanny McPhee stood slightly windswept in the cool breeze that whipped through the set lifting anything that wasn't secured. Including a black tent Michael Urie from Ugly Betty and Sally Phillips from Smack the pony and Bridget Jones' Diary dressed in wedding suits and outfits and the man I'd
come to see dressed in a smart wedding suit and who needs no introduction, oh alright David Tennant waited in the car beside the mock road and the prop telephone box playing out a scene in a black BMW.

I was somewhat nervous, in my head I'd played it over several thousand times Hello David....then random chatter but then I'd figured as I usually do the bigger picture. This was a film set, there were people everywhere with folded up pieces of paper in poly pockets stating scene sequences, times and orders, clipboards, voices shouting Quiet on set people with mics and hand held radios clipped to their belts running this way and that, making sure the actors were ready, had the right dresswear, had enough food, reporters from the local press there to ask random questions, make up artists, costume artists, people to calm the stressed out crew, runners, camera crew, directors, rolls of coloured sticky tape to cover the lens covers of various camera distances, and logged down so they have the right one when they replay another shot!!!

The film set was buzzing with activity and despite in my previous note of expecting to see a lot of women clasping boards of We love David above their heads or fairly close and clutching a copy of something they wanted signed, there were only a handful of people. Well three. The rest belonged to the set and the visitors who had come to the castle thinking it might be open and spent most of their time wandering around the set as if it was part of the Caerlaverock feeling and watched avidly at their heart throb dashing over the grassy mounds towards his position on the bridge over the moat and who walked back and forth over a period of time, shooting various scenes in and around the castle.

David looked smart, as he always does, and so stick thin I still can't get over it or how long his legs were. But he was in his zone. Perhaps I should have followed the little girl with her dad up to the mini bus to watch him being interviewed and perhaps got a picture with him then. But I didn't want to follow him, there was no crowd, everything was calm and I was told by the AD that I could snap away all I wanted but not to interrupt David or the other cast as they would be in their zone and going over
pieces while they were on their break. Understandable enough. So I didn't get the shots I was hoping for, nor the autographs I was intending on.

One thing I noticed was that when he looked over I felt embarrassed as though I shouldn't look at him and my mouth ran dry, even though I'd brought enough water to sink a small vessel. He sat on his own in a black tent which I jokingly called his black tardis, and yes this was the said tent that blew away much later on while he was acting out his scene. I didn't say it to his face obviously, but to the Geordie beside me with the camera that took better shots than either my phone and camera combined.

But he was so close, and there were no evident security in place and it was relaxed and I sat by his tent pretty much all afternoon and watched the show. I was a little nervous about stepping too close to see the goings on, I felt out of place with my black jacket on and rucksack over my shoulder carrying everything in it, including the Snowglobe 7 book which I was tempted to read but wanted signed. But you know these things I guess I could have got had I have gone to the mini bus, but for some reason all those nervous doubts you have about going anywhere, following him like the pied pipers children into the cave or in this case a field full of trailers and cars and vans and taxi's, I was a little like the child I used to be. I suddenly felt awkward, uncomfortable, out of my comfort zone.

The photos I do have I've managed to print out so I have some personal ones to keep. My camera my shitty camera with its pixellated photos has once again let me down and the bid to buy a new one is on. I have more places to visit this year and more people to see, I need a better camera with a faster shutter time so I don't just get a shoulder and a hat tip. sighs

I did get to meet up with a few people who were in Native Son having noticed Alice Stilgoe playing out her scene as one of the Islanders. Must watch out for her in the film, she and I took the screenwriters course together. The film crew were friendly and smiled in passing, and I had the occasional hi from some. Others I recognised from the film I'd appeared as an extra in. It was fun to catch up.

Looking out of my bedroom window now at 16:38pm on this wet wednesday I am glad I went yesterday, I am glad they filmed a bulk of their filming on one of the warmest days so far. They were filming intense scenes today so they would have barely have said two words to any visitors and viewing of the actors would have been limited. And with this rain, the cast and crew might have been a little testy.

I think David had finished most of his filming yesterday, and I for one can't wait to see the finished result. This will be one film I will want to watch.

To sum up the day in one word is difficult, as such words as Awesome, Wicked, Fantastic spring to mind. Entering a film set and watching the production for a writer like me, is a fantastic feeling and I know this is where I want to be, this is what I want to do, and as for starting late in life there are many of us out there.

I know my photos are not fantastic, but the memories I have and how close David was when he strode up, those are moments I will cherish forever. smiles

Mr Saturday Night

2010-07-29T09:53:00.000-07:00

Please note that this is not related to anyone who is on the telly right now and if anything sounds familiar to perhaps say TTN its not. But I had this sudden desire to write this as I was washing up and so wish I'd had the dictaphone handy as a lot of what I did mutter while I was downstairs chatting away to myself in two characters is lost.

This sketch takes off after the girl Kate announces to a live audience something relating to the presenter of the show. Something that perhaps shouldn't have been aired in public. let me know what you think as I might take it further and elaborate more.

MR SATURDAY NIGHT.

Mr Saturday Night script

INT KITCHEN DAY

While young girl washes dishes David Hardwicke enters, nostrils flaring still het up about the show an hour earlier when girl accuses him of something. Door still open at the front.

DAVID (storms in talking)
You, what the hell are you playing at?

GIRL
(Washing dishes, doesn’t flinch)
I felt they needed to know

DAVID
(loud, voice raised)
In the middle of rehearsals? It was a live show

GIRL
That goes out next week it will be on the editing floor cut likely

DAVID
But the audience can’t be edited, they heard all of that. What the hell are you playing at? Is it money, pay back?
(frowns pacing back and forth, hand stroking over his head worried expression)

GIRL
(Lowers sponge stops cleaning dish looks over at you)
You never asked, not once

DAVID
Asked what?

GIRL
How he was?

DAVID
Who?

GIRL
And that’s why I did it. That’s why I mentioned it. You asked any questions, totally unscripted, you’re very brave these days. There was a time when you would have kept questions purely for interviews where you knew nobody else would hear or read it until you’d had the entire convo checked by your adviser

DAVID
That’s different (growls)

GIRL
Mr Saturday Night, maker of dreams come true, the ultimate Mr Fix It. Only you couldn’t fix his. He wrote in you know.

DAVID
(frowns)
What? Who?

GIRL
He wrote in every week but for some reason David Hardwicke couldn’t perform miracles. Only divine intervention could do that.

DAVID
Who are you talking about? I don’t understand

GIRL
August 1989 before you were famous you pledged your love to someone. Said you’d never forget them, you carved your names in a tree, DH heart PB.

DAVID
(dawns look of horror)
Oh god. You’re different.

GIRL
(rolls eyes)
Not me you plum. Peter Brucefield was my brother.

DAVID
Was?

GIRL
(resumes with the dishes)
Welldale Bridge 9pm Saturday, (counts back mentally) four nights ago. He made a wish.

DAVID
( narrows his eyes)

GIRL
He used to watch you on the telly all the time, smile when you smiled. He told everyone about you. He was so proud of you. He came out when you told him to, up until that moment he had friends. They never believed him when he said he was out with David Hardwicke. He used to phone me a lot and tell me of his new love. Buying a flat together. The day he moved out and in with you. Proud moment for him. Mum cried.

DAVID
(Smiles)
When I wanted to go out, he wanted to stay in. When I came home I just needed to work on the next routine. We were both in and yet I never saw him.

GIRL
You always look into the camera, smile that charismatic way, he used to say that smile was directed at him. That was your Peter smile. It broke his heart when you guys split up. He never loved anyone else, it was always you. He’d hole himself up in his room, I think he still has the flat. I’ll need to check on the lease. (sighs and continues to pile the dishes on the mounting draining board)

DAVID
We wanted different things in the end. I lost touch. I never deleted his number, don’t think I deleted anyone’s or maybe one or two. Lawyers, sharks the lot of ‘em. What did your brother go on to be? He had pie in the sky ideas a lot of the time, I never knew if he was dreaming or if any of the ideas would work?

GIRL
They were all pie in the sky. After you left, there was a huge void in his life. All those people who claimed to be his friend filtered away because they were really your friends, it seemed. They accused him of trying to make money off the back of you, because of whom you are and what you do. But he never stopped believing. He always expected that phone call, that letter, that perhaps he’d see you. I think when you stopped his calls he had to find another way to get in touch with you.

DAVID
Peter got obsessive, night and day he’d call me. I’d put the messages onto voicemail so I could filter them out later. Hell he must have contacted me a hundred times a day, would have hated that bill. He never bitched that was the one thing I couldn’t understand. He never criticised what I wore or how I acted with others. He just wanted to be there, be a part of my life and you know sometimes I didn’t mind it. But during parties and after show drinks I never saw him. He never joined in for those. He wasn’t a people person. Very reserved.

GIRL
He was criticised for cashing in on you, making money in your shadow. He lost his job, the money dried up. He still kept the flat but he stayed at home with Mum. She loved it, he was there all the time. Under the duvet, on the computer, endless letters. Dear Mr Fix it, please can you make my dreams come true so I can meet David Hardwicke. Seems the bosses must have noticed the name and binned the copies.

DAVID
(nods)

GIRL
(silent returns to dishes until all done and begins drying them)

DAVID
(gets up walks over)
You said the Welldale Bridge?

GIRL
It was after he was diagnosed, the desperation of getting in touch with you became almost too obsessional for words. I knew if he never got to hear from you it would never stop, but as he got steadily worse….I often thought he’d be like one of those restless poltergeists, going through the afterworld never letting up. I couldn’t let that happen. So I applied for tickets and lo and behold I was able to get into the audience. Different name see.

DAVID
You married?

GIRL
God no.. That’s the thing about the internet, there are so many opportunities to be someone you’re not. You can set up bank accounts and email addresses, join websites and not have to show any personal ID. (smiles) its so easy to be invisible. Peter never thought about that. I suppose it was safer he didn’t, could you imagine, my brother in the audience, eyes fixed on you, penetrating, piercing… (looks at David deeply, as he looks away)

DAVID
(laughs lightly)
Yeah scary (rubs the back of his neck..habit)

GIRL
In the audience of Mr Saturday Night, middle row, right at the front. Watching the action and waiting for the reactions of the audience and floor crew. God even with make up on the colour of your face (laughs lightly). I was angry. He’d tried so hard just to even say hi. He accepted there was no chance of you and him getting back together. You were married.

DAVID
Civil partnership

GIRL
Same thing. You were with someone else. It wasn’t him. He’d accepted you and him would never….well it was never going to be. You were going places, he was sick..

DAVID
Was it?

GIRL
No.. no just one of those terminal things. I even forget the name of it, some long convoluted title. You’d think I’d remember, since it was me and Mum who cleaned up after him, dealt with his bed sweats. He lost a hell of a lot of weight but it was you that kept him going. Just that one phone call, that’s all he wanted. He called you, four nights ago. He’d made a decision. If he heard from you, if you spoke to him, that would have been enough. That’s what he told me and Mum.

DAVID
I er….I never got the call.

GIRL
Did you turn your phone off? Put him onto screened calls?

DAVID
No I had my phone stolen two months ago, just hadn’t put all the numbers back on. I never thought about Peter.

GIRL
Oh…buggernuts.

DAVID
Where is he?

GIRL
He called me up, it went to voice mail. I was in the shower I think or dealing with Mum. He’d left a suicide note, she’d found it.

DAVID
Oh god!

GIRL
He phoned to tell me he’d not got through and that he’d never had the chance to say goodbye.
(grips the sink jaw flickering no emotion other than that)

DAVID
Oh god…no..

GIRL
Dear Mr Saturday Night, please can you fix it for me to see David Hardwicke face to face for the last time before I leave the planet for good and travel on the sky train to Xanadu.
(laughs) He was a little mad to say the least

DAVID
(laughs whispering response)
Yeah

GIRL
Will you press charges for what I said? For the way I accused you of not giving a damn?

DAVID
(shakes his head)
No.

GIRL
Thank you.

Hair today - gone today but it was worth it!

2008-11-14T14:05:00.000-08:00

The day of reckoning, my shaved head. It is a little draughty around the back and obviously all over, but you know, it was worth it. And do you want to know the best bit - David sent me a signed photo of him from Stratford upon Avon and that just made my day. So thank you David Tennant, you are most definitely my hero!

The day went well, at 10:40am I received the phone call from Radio Scotland and Fred MacCaulay spoke to me on air at 10:55am and it was fantastic. They all said I was brave and announced to the whole of Scotland that I am on Facebook. Well I did announce it too, but Fred announced it again. So it would explain probably why Facebook suddenly crashed or ceased to work for me after I'd secured my perfect Profile pic of my baldness.

I'm more aware that its happened now, the photographer and reporter were fantastic from the newspaper and Hazel Farish took the snaps for Facebook and so far my cousin and Hazel have been the only ones to leave messages about the hair shave. But hey, early days. I've raised just over £150 for Children In Need, and its been a fantastic day. My hair is so short I reckon you could strike a match on my scalp. It's not quite as short as I was expecting, ok its short, but I was expecting it to be completely shaved, but hey, it'll do and I will be collecting the money over next week. Some of it will be collected tomorrow as I have a few errands in the town to do in the morning.

So thanks to everyone who donated and sponsored me, Pudsey will be happy!

Fear

2008-10-09T06:02:00.000-07:00

Fear is good, fear is bad, fear is the best fun I've ever had!

I have to say as an opening line in my Fear poem that I wrote a few years ago, it conjures up all kinds of images as to what sort of fun you could have with fear.

As a kid growing up I was terrified of most things and most of the things I was scared of were created by the media. I avoided horror films because the word 'horror' conjured up blood and gore and scary monsters worse than Doctor Who. But horror in itself also invited you to watch because you wanted to know what the kids in school were so hyped up about. The film most people talked about was 'The American Werewolf in London' which I have to say having watched the film, I am still spooked by certain elements, mostly mirrors I have to say.

In the film after the main character was attacked by the werewolf and his friend was having his guts ripped out in the background and his face attacked, he reappeared in stages of decay in the mirror of his friends bathroom. That in itself scared the hell out of me for most of my teenage and adult life, after that the only other two horror films were The Shining and Salem's Lot.

Salem's Lot I only watched because at that particular time my heart-throb was David Soul, so naturally I would watch anything he was in. Plot line of the story seemed to be that the character David Soul played was returning to his old stomping ground of Salem, or he was a writer. I didnt pay much attention obviously to the plot line, and spent most of the film with my hands in front of my face and peering between my fingers. If only my fingers had stretched far enough over my ears I could have blocked out all the sounds which guaranteed would be keeping me awake for the next three nights. Mostly because outside of my bedroom window happened to be a tall bush that scratched on the glass during gales. When I called my Dad to let the dog sleep in my room, the dog was going through a devil stage and leapt on the bed, pinning me completely within his legs and I couldnt move, he could have bitten my neck and I'd be vampired. He was no help at all!

The Shining was different, I watched this film as an adult in the new house in Scotland which had a long hallway, similar to that where the twin girls stood in their blue dresses. Yeah, that seriously freaked me out, in fact apart from the ucky woman in the bath, that was probably the only part of the film that scared the begees out of me.

Fear is fantastic for a writer but I have to be careful when I write about fear at night because I have been known to scare even myself.

I wrote a poem a few years ago after a child I looked after suffered bullies terribly, but as I wrote it I began to write from both sides of the scale, from the victim to the bully and then I kind of drifted towards Fear having a voice of its own, which became something stronger and then I found I couldnt finish it. This is a problem I face a lot when I write poetry, after covering five pages of verse I find I can't always wind it up, I find there is more I need to add until suddenly you feel like Shakespeare, reams and reams of words and where does it end?

As a person I do have an active or perhaps over-active imagination, I can see elements of fear in most things in life. I fear the dark, I imagine there are all kinds of creatures and non-creatures lurking in the dark doorways, behind the trash cans in alleyways. As the shadows grow tall and the darkness creeps over the city or the town, suddenly the streets become bare, the people all hide from the darkness, what are they scared of?

Me probably!

I am now a proper grown up, although perhaps not completely that grown up as I still watch Doctor Who, have posters on my walls of the 10th Doctor and models of Star Wars ships on top of my wardrobe and a 12" Dalek on my chest of drawers, hardly what you'd call a proper grown up, then!

I love sci-fi which has its own fear factor, take Aliens for example, how many of you knew that the alien was still in the ship as Ripley was setting her course for Earth? Yeah, I did leap from my seat and darn near wet myself. But the aliens are fantastic, I love them, even to the point of buying a full on head mask of a drone alien. You can see this proper grown up image is slipping further into the gutter as I continue.

Fear keeps you alive though, if you had no fear, you would have no imagination, you wouldnt be able to consider the possibilities of the worst case scenario. You couldnt make those plans, the what if this happened, what if there really was someone hiding behind that trash can, they might jump out at me, what do I have in my defence? So your mind takes over and compensates, it ensures you have somewhat of an idea how to protect yourself, it might even suggest you don't become the next victim and NOT walk into that dark alleyway, perhaps find an alternative way home, or better still, why leave it this late, why not get a bus, taxi or just hey, maybe not go out???

I will be adding my poem to this piece of nonsense I've written, it's been a while since I wrote anything. I've been busy, I'm enjoying life at the moment, but the Fear poem might make you think otherwise.

All This and Chocolate

National Coming Out Day in UK

National Coming Out Day in UK

Screaming on the Inside

Weekend starts here

The Heist of the Rhinestone Diamond

Centrus7B9 (working title) Torchwood story

The girl in the ragged dress

The Time Machine

Goodbye Cheryl McDonald

A Ghost a Doctor and a new beginning (10th Doctor who fanfic)

The Kitchen Sink

My Wonderful T (written on the night of Planet of the Dead)

Like the aftermath of a car crash

Sex Talk

With the safety scissors and the glue sketch

I write because......

The Stowaway - Doctor Who/Torchwood fan fic

The last kiss goodbye

The Cry for Help

Confessions of the The Guardian

The Fan Girl's Diary By D.J. Forrest Copyright 2009

The Very Last of the Time Lords Fan fic

Tonight's The Night 25th July 2010

On The Set of Decoy Bride

Mr Saturday Night

Hair today - gone today but it was worth it!

Fear