I just had a very odd flashback while listening to Billie Holiday's I Cried For You; the day after Torchwood series three finished, sitting in a shopping centre in my half-hour break from work, eating a sausage roll, listening to this song and starting to cry about...well. Torchwood. I must have looked bonkers ( Read more... )

Fuck, I'm all over the place. Look no further than the tags.

Listening to I Cried For You by Billie Holiday isn't helping, either, yet I'm still doing it. I'm clearly a bit of a sadist.

I'm going to have a bath and read Northanger Abbey, I think. Or possibly Maurice.

I had a bit of a moment, earlier.

( Nostalgia, kitchen ornaments and the big bold future underneath the cut. )

I've just read something amazing; A Gambler's Lucky Streak by aerinbrooke. Jack sees Ianto as vintage jazz, which is a conceit brilliant enough to draw me in immediately, but the story is beautiful; descriptive and sensuous and exciting and almost aching in a way. She conveys the emotion jazz gives to the listener incredibly well, and it hit me on an ( Read more... )

I promised myself I wouldn't post again until Saturday, as I'm reaching the obsessed mode and very few people read this journal anyway; but then the BBC issue yet another preview of episode 12 and...well. I'm only human.

( Squee and spoilers under the cut. )

I have been posting rather a lot lately, haven't I? Most of it incoherent hysteria over Doctor Who that makes me sound a little unhinged, at times ( Read more... )