Also known as "The Captain's New Clothes" or "Cup o'Beans, Mr Partridge?"
Children of Earth: Day Three
I do genuinely worry for some Doctor Who/Torchwood fans. After two series of what could, at the very least, be termed abuse and at the worst a flagrant disregard for all standards of decency and humanity, Torchwood is finally delivering the goods. And how. Yet, there are people out there in Webshire who long for Cyberwoman, who are gently rocking themselves to sleep, crying into the coat of their Captain John action figure and attempting to eek viewing 4,985 out of their terminally damaged Meat DVD. These people worry me. What on earth do they want? Would they like the gas to clear in the tank and for The 456 to be revealed as nothing more than Gray standing there naked apart from a prosthetic aardvark head and a bout of the norovirus?
Pray silence for Mr and Mrs Fiscal Tightening and their budgie, Cuts.
I suppose now that the hub's been blown apart series 4's main threat will come from keeping the tramps from pissing in the doorway of their new base - so normal service might be resumed after all. Of course there were moments of silliness, aside from the Primark version of Hustle. Jack's skewed priorities and Ianto's ability to pinpoint the nearest Army Surplus store - even if you've got to ask yourself which army, in this day and age - generates these sorts of surpluses? Is there a big stock of World War II great coats out there? Perhaps that's all the MoD have left to send the troops to Afghanistan with.
The offspring of John Le Mesurier and Richard Briers.
And the 24 hour rolling news woman's back again. This poor dear remains the sole US news anchor on duty, now entering her 5th consecutive year without so much as a minute's rest. At least the UK seems to have a fairly deep roster of anchors to chew their way through, Louise Minchin being the latest in the long line. What I would give to have Peter Allen be the next one. In fact, when the inevitable happens and we get subjugated by an alien overlord, I'd like to request that it is Peter Allen's grumpy tones that impart the bitter news to a shattered nation as we're taken, one by one, to a fantastical meat processing plant and filleted. Even if Minchin's big scene is basically a re-run of the Aliens of London/World War III (I can't be bothered to work out which one) scene where Andy Marr's running commentary covered the political arrivals at the Number 10 Ball. Pray silence for Mr and Mrs Fiscal Tightening and their budgie, Cuts.
The highlights of the series so far has been Frobisher, who I thought was almost about to give The 456 chapter and verse on diplomatic protocol right down to the correct temperature to serve Ferrero Rocher and Dexter who looks like the offspring of John Le Mesurier and Richard Briers. Perhaps The 456's slight dicky stomach is down to one too many Ferrero Rochers from their last diplomatic encounter. Who knows... perhaps it is Gray after all and the last two days will be spent petulantly sulking at the Universe?
At least it'll keep certain sections of fandom happy for a few scant moments.