Bay, Busker, and Bad Writers
On the Great Western service to London Paddington, somewhere south of Oxford
We are leaving Oxford now, so writing about Cardiff is a bit of a stretch for me, so much has happened since. But I know that if I wait things will only get worse. Anyway, there is something very particular about our second day in Cardiff that I wanted to talk about, so here goes.
Once upon a time there was a television show called Doctor Who. It was very successful, but was dropped in the late 1980's. In 2004 a writer named Russell T. Davies led a revival of the series, and a few years later a spinoff called Torchwood began airing. Unlike it's mother series, which rambled all over the universe, Torchwood remained staunchly in Cardiff, and even included a number of its landmarks. Now, Torchwood carried a rather dark flavor, and over the course of its three seasons it managed to kill off all but a few of its principle characters. The last to go, Ianto Jones, elicited something of a outrage from the fans, who started letter-writing campaigns, protest petitions, and even went so far as to commandeer a piece of Ianto-related set and turn it into a public memorial to the character down on Mermaid's Quay in Cardiff Bay.
This has become something of an annoyance to the locals, especially those not interested in the show, who have to keep explaining to confused visitors that no, no one actually died, it was just a fictional character.
But I think it's very impressive, and I'm glad it happened. Because I think it's capitol mistake for a writer to become emotionally chilled as to kill characters off, willy nilly, instead of writing interesting and compelling reasons for them to leave. And sometimes, I think, successful writers can have a difficult time realizing when they have royally fucked up.
When armies of your fans come together from all over the world to erect a protest memorial, that's a pretty big hint that you might have made a mistake.
Unfortunately the writers of Torchwood are not so self-aware as to actually get the message, which is a pity, but of no great concern for me: I stopped watching it long ago.
Still, my sympathies definitely lie with the Ianto fans, and I left my own addition to the memorial before we left. It had to be improvised, as I hadn't thought to bring anything with me, but I think it makes the point I have been talking about pretty concisely.
Of course, this is not to say that gods do not make mistakes. And I'd be the first person to point out a few of their bloopers, but the message stands. It's stupid to play god, even if you are one, and if your're not… don't even try.
But on to more cheerful matters: Buskers!
I love buskers. Possibly because I come from a small town where there aren't any. But I think there is something about a real person performing real music out in the real world, when other people are not obligated to sit down and be quiet, that makes a place much nicer. I remember as a small child being absolutely enamored of street musicians, yet completely terrified at the same time. It made giving them money difficult. Fortunately, I have grown out of my fear, but not my appreciation.
Right, dragons, I had nearly forgot.Thank you, Dafydd.
I had so far resisted the urge to purchase a Ddraig Goch T-shirt, on the grounds that I already had drawer fulls of the things back home (T-shirts, not dragons, sadly). But I had recently worn out my very favorite cycling jersey, one that had had a dragon. I thought Cardiiff might be a good place to find a replacement, and thanks to some persistent phone calls from my aunt, on our last day, I succeeded.
Dafydd approved very much.
Also, before we left, I managed to make a drawing for our hosts. Living in the heart of Doctor Who fanville, I felt I should draw something along those lines, and since they grew up in the generation that had Tom Baker as their Doctor, I took that into consideration. The dog, however, is there own black lab, Max.
Next comes Oxford, but the train is almost to London Paddington, and I need to put the computer away.
We are leaving Oxford now, so writing about Cardiff is a bit of a stretch for me, so much has happened since. But I know that if I wait things will only get worse. Anyway, there is something very particular about our second day in Cardiff that I wanted to talk about, so here goes.
Once upon a time there was a television show called Doctor Who. It was very successful, but was dropped in the late 1980's. In 2004 a writer named Russell T. Davies led a revival of the series, and a few years later a spinoff called Torchwood began airing. Unlike it's mother series, which rambled all over the universe, Torchwood remained staunchly in Cardiff, and even included a number of its landmarks. Now, Torchwood carried a rather dark flavor, and over the course of its three seasons it managed to kill off all but a few of its principle characters. The last to go, Ianto Jones, elicited something of a outrage from the fans, who started letter-writing campaigns, protest petitions, and even went so far as to commandeer a piece of Ianto-related set and turn it into a public memorial to the character down on Mermaid's Quay in Cardiff Bay.
This has become something of an annoyance to the locals, especially those not interested in the show, who have to keep explaining to confused visitors that no, no one actually died, it was just a fictional character.
But I think it's very impressive, and I'm glad it happened. Because I think it's capitol mistake for a writer to become emotionally chilled as to kill characters off, willy nilly, instead of writing interesting and compelling reasons for them to leave. And sometimes, I think, successful writers can have a difficult time realizing when they have royally fucked up.
When armies of your fans come together from all over the world to erect a protest memorial, that's a pretty big hint that you might have made a mistake.
Unfortunately the writers of Torchwood are not so self-aware as to actually get the message, which is a pity, but of no great concern for me: I stopped watching it long ago.
Still, my sympathies definitely lie with the Ianto fans, and I left my own addition to the memorial before we left. It had to be improvised, as I hadn't thought to bring anything with me, but I think it makes the point I have been talking about pretty concisely.
Of course, this is not to say that gods do not make mistakes. And I'd be the first person to point out a few of their bloopers, but the message stands. It's stupid to play god, even if you are one, and if your're not… don't even try.
But on to more cheerful matters: Buskers!
I love buskers. Possibly because I come from a small town where there aren't any. But I think there is something about a real person performing real music out in the real world, when other people are not obligated to sit down and be quiet, that makes a place much nicer. I remember as a small child being absolutely enamored of street musicians, yet completely terrified at the same time. It made giving them money difficult. Fortunately, I have grown out of my fear, but not my appreciation.
Right, dragons, I had nearly forgot.Thank you, Dafydd.
I had so far resisted the urge to purchase a Ddraig Goch T-shirt, on the grounds that I already had drawer fulls of the things back home (T-shirts, not dragons, sadly). But I had recently worn out my very favorite cycling jersey, one that had had a dragon. I thought Cardiiff might be a good place to find a replacement, and thanks to some persistent phone calls from my aunt, on our last day, I succeeded.
Dafydd approved very much.
Also, before we left, I managed to make a drawing for our hosts. Living in the heart of Doctor Who fanville, I felt I should draw something along those lines, and since they grew up in the generation that had Tom Baker as their Doctor, I took that into consideration. The dog, however, is there own black lab, Max.
Next comes Oxford, but the train is almost to London Paddington, and I need to put the computer away.