It always saddens me to see people of the twenty-first century mourning my death. I know I'm brilliant, but really! I'm obviously not dead, or I wouldn't be typing this on the holokeyboard for you to read.

Word filtered down to me recently that people have been visiting the Tourist Information Centre in Cardiff (21st century) to leave letters to me. Distressing. Here I am in the fifty-third century, and while I can see their letters in the Archives where they've been carefully preserved, how am I supposed to reply? Besides, it's blowing our cover!



After all, I wouldn't want them to think Torchwood doesn't care about civilians. Gwen practically exists to care. Still, I stifled my urge to reply, and distracted myself with Jack coffee various duties that fall to me as Torchwood's Junior Senior field agent.

But then the management of Mermaid Quay posted the following in the 21st Century. I mean really, how ungracious. "Removed"? We paid them rent for years and all I get is "removed"?



Well. By "paid them rent" I mean "occasionally blew up bits of the Quay but tried not to kill anyone". Still.

So I took matters into my own hands. Armed with a thorough knowledge of the Rift's eccentricities, I made contact with our Torchwood sleeper agent, Codename essayel, and sent her a counter-notice to post.



Torchwood: we don't even know the meaning of the word misinformation!

Well, this is a nice surprise. An e-rift through to my 21st century journal! Who'd have thought I'd find one of those in the low-orbit Accident & Emergency?

All right, let's get this out of the way: YES, I SHOT JACK.

But there were extenuating circumstances! And I shot myself too so I don't see why everyone's being so noisy about it. It's not like it killed him (much).

I had a very nice birthday. I went to the shops, I bought a new suit, I got a haircut, I thought, right. I'll go home and have a nice quiet birthday dinner and curl up with Max and Jack and a holofilm.

Jack knows I don't like to be surprised. Not that this has ever stopped him. I blame Gwen and T for suggesting the surprise party, though there's nowhere to place the blame for the showers of glitter but right on Jack's shoulders.

So there I am, with my nice new suit and my sharp haircut and my gun, because I am still Torchwood, and I open the door to our space suite and EVERYONE LEAPS OUT AT ME SCREAMING.

If you had a gun you'd shoot them too!

Except I got Jack first (so that's all right) and then I went for Gwen, not realising it was Gwen, and the bullet ricocheted right off her bulletproof bike jacket -- it looks lovely, Gwen, don't let anyone tell you otherwise -- and hit me in the foot.

Well. I can't tell you who was the most embarrassed.

So here we are, covered in glitter, in hospital. Having a birthday party while Martha helps them nano-repair my foot.

Surprise?

Who wants cake? There are hardly any bulletholes in it.

JACK. WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE LIBRARY.

GREETINGS from the 53rd Century! This rift between the 53rd and the 21st opened just in time, let me tell you!

First: yes, everyone is doing well. Jack's given you all the scoop on how we've adapted since coming here. Max in particular is thriving. Second: No, I'm not pregnant. Third: Just to prove I'm really coming to you from the 53rd Century, I had Jack take a holo of me holding today's newspaper:



Boy, has it been a rough week. To tell you about it would be SPOILERS! so I'm putting it behind an LJ cut. If it's behind an LJ cut it won't cause a paradox!

It was very upsetting. ( I even had to write a letter to Jack asking for advice! )

EDIT: JACK ANSWERED IT. FINALLY. JESUS!

( JACK SHOT MY PROBLEM IN THE FACE. )

Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, and other classy genders (or lack thereof) to the Torchwood Celebratory Supper!

We are gathered here today to eat pizza, fairy cakes, croissanwiches, and tiny nibbles on sticks in honour of Max, who is six months old today, and the new Torchwood "documentary", Children of Earth, airing next week (probably).



Please, take a seat -- NOT ON THE SUBETHERIC RESONATOR -- and have some nibbles.

After all, Torchwood's entire team, pets, and most of our allies are gathered together in one place. What could possibly go wrong?

WE WON! WE WON! I beat The Master and then Martha shot him because of socks and now he's not a Him anymore, he's some woman named River Song, who is a Time Lord and not Half-Belgian, and then she ran away and -- and --

I'm hyperventilating --

RIGHT. I'm triggering the lockdown release. PARTY ON THE PLASS. WE WON! KIND OF!

I'll be over here with my head between my knees.

If you're reading this, Team, it means the Hub has gone into lockdown. It'll cycle off when this is over. I couldn't risk anyone else during this fight.

I challenged the Master to a LOL-off. We're meeting on the Plass to throw down macros. If I win, he's mine to do with as I please. If he wins -- well, he won't, so that doesn't matter.

I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so, so sorry.

Right then.



COME ON, THE MASTER, I'M READY FOR YOU!

I laid down the challenge, so it's your shot first. Bring your best!

In preparation for the party on the first, I thought I'd clear out the digital camera and get some stuff off the desktop while I was at it. Who knew it would be such a trip down memory lane?

PS Jack I saved the "private photos" off to your network folder. Enjoy.

( Image-heavy. Lighthearted image-heavy. Torchwood is outside of physics and beyond the internet! )

( The Week, In Review )

Jack was rickrolled by dragons. CLICKY CLICK, PEOPLE.

As some of you may know, the Apple iPhone upgraded its operating system this past week. I normally wouldn't be this much of a tech-head, but I inherited Tosh's after she died. It occurred to me that I ought to review some of the proprietary Torchwood apps that a Top-Secret Government Agency offers:



I think Tosh basically wrote most of them anyway.

( In Review )

While you can't see it on the main screen, I can also heartily recommend the MyVibe vibrating-phone app. When they say in that review that it's not powerful enough, don't listen.

In the right man's hands, it's powerful enough.

Pulse setting. Oh yeah.

( The Week, In Review )

Why can't I help the tasteless jokes I make? Or the puns about lifts? I think the bear puns were the worst, though.

Thank you, by the way, to those anonymous donors who sent me the handcuffs and the whip as bedwarming presents. Quality kit!

Hello beautiful people on my butler's livejournal !

This is Captain Jack Harkness throwing to it you live from the hot sexy desk of Ianto B. Jones.



Ianto can't update the Weekly Log today because that GQ motherfucker is still sleeping in his blanket cocoon.

I have to pick up the slack, so I'm doing secretary work this morning! I'm wearing my Business Jacket and Business Jeans. Don't I look like I'm about to fax you something amazing?

For instance, I just answered the phone. Somebody called the Hub. Here's how it went down...

First, I heard it ringing. Then, I picked it up off the cradle. Lastly, I hollered "Captain Jack is busy, jesus christ!" straight into the mouth hole.

I wrote myself a note: "Somebody called the Hub looking for you." I put it in my inbox so that when I'm on break I can snap back into Torchwood Leader Mode and throw out that message. I won't be on break for another 20 minutes. I have a pretty strict boss. LOL.

Now I'm twirling in Ianto's executive chair and fingering his cup of pencils.

I inventoried his stationery. The inventory was "four". He's got four pencils.

Gwen and Martha keep swinging past here and making faces at me. Bitches! They don't know what it's like to slave at a 5-to- midnight office job. I know all about it. I've been a secretary for 37 minutes.

Part of working at an office job is looking at interesting things on the internet and forwarding them to your buddies.

I think this should keep you spell-bound for 3.39 minutes. So much ass was kicked in the opening scene of JCVD that my bottom felt sore just watching this.

J.C.V.D. opening sequence - unbroken tracking shot



Watching bad-ass videos gives me something to do other than fix Ianto's email account. He had everything in virtual "folders" instead of printed in stacks of paper. Once I get all the emails printed and sorted I'm going to grab Gwen's Missing Persons Bingo Dabber and colour-code them. Blue for urgent, red for sexy, yellow for bananas, etc.

By the way, if you're wondering how I was able to update Ianto's livejournal, the answer is: I hacked it.

I tore open the "in the event of my death" envelope he's got in his locker and found his Username / Password post-it note. Toshiko wasn't the only person with computer skills around here.

To sum up kids, you shouldn't mind that the Log won't be posted until saturday. You don't need words to sum up this week. I bet you could sum it up in feelings. Or smells.. or exclamation marks... (!!!)

Yrs helpfully,
Cpt. Jack Harkness

To whom it may concern:

If you are reading this, the Chronicle of Ianto Jones, it means that my Mainframe programming skills still pwn.

This post is set to automatically unlock on the day of my disappearance from Torchwood. Stop freaking out that there's no coffee or pastries for breakfast and read it, please.

Last night, in your timeline, I went to London to return some books long overdue to the Queen and have a Summit of Butlers (pub night) with Harold Putnam. Just after returning to Cardiff's city limits this morning I was swept up in what I can only guess is a rift storm and deposited in New York City, circa 1920. ( This is my story... )

Has anyone seen Max? He was here just a minute ag...



Oh! Who's a sneaky boy? You're a sneaky boy!

Rhys is mad for photography and as he’s still stuck on the Slow Boat Home I thought I'd helpfully download the photos off his camera. Look at what I found! Me looking dramatic. Gwen's adorable freckles! Jack looking his usu....

Uh...

Boss, are you out of that extra-hold hair gel I bought for you?

And there are some photos of some other random attractive people also, but I think those must be Rhys's coworkers or something.

I do feel I should warn everyone that if this camera fell through the Rift, as they tend to do, all the snaps at that link could be spoilers. Don't say you weren't warned.

We killed a whole bunch of zombies this afternoon, and afterwards introduced Martha to the joys of communal showering (because of Zombie Smell). Martha and Jack aren't in this picture because he was busy helping her get really thoroughly clean.



I am contemplating the fact that most of the hair got burned off the back of my head, but Gwen says it looks like I'm worrying about what she meant when she asked me to "do her back".

Look, I'm not going to outright say that Mainframe is a finicky harpy who doesn't like it when I jostle her code, but I'm thinking it.

I noticed yesterday morning that processing speed on Torchwood's mainframe was down 0.2% from the norm, and Toshiko wouldn't have stood for that, so I thought I'd investigate why she was running slowly. BIG MISTAKE. She got all annoyed, like why shouldn't she run slow if it's a Friday. Semi-sentient computers have such delicate feelings.

So I spent all day in the server room trying to talk her down off her high horse, explaining that I could make her better. I had the technology! She was having none of it and wouldn't let me log on at all. Very trying. She wouldn't even let me log on to see secrets about us!

I had to placate her with an offering of thumbdrives. So if anyone is down in the server room, LEAVE THE THUMBDRIVES ALONE. They're all that's keeping me logged in! Don't make her angry!

( The Week, In Review )

We peppered our conversation with puns this week. And someone sent me champagne, and a bone for Max! Thank you!

For centuries, the height of couture for a man of means and manners was the military uniform, tailored to suit. This look was attractive without being studied or pretentious, as a gentleman would have his uniform proscribed by his regiment, after which it would be laid out by a valet or underofficer. The ideal, carried over into civilian dress of the 19th century, was an attractive, trim look without the appearance of forethought.

This explains quite a lot about our 51st Century lads.

Here in the 21st, however, the balancing act between elegance and inattention is a difficult one. You can't simply snap on a pair of braces over a belt and excuse it with the use of an extremely sexy uniform coat, not while Jack's around anyway. Which is why I share the wisdom of couture, passed down through the Jones family line for generations (gran's knitted socks were always the most stylish).

( The 21st Century is when Everything Changes, except apparently fashion. )

And what Torchwood fashion post would be complete without a little CRAZY JOHN GALLIANO?

He's obvs. a Merlin fan.

In short: cool, bright but not glaring, a little touch of colour is enough, and I have an awesome coat.

Stay fashionable and stay safe!

It is a hard irony of life that the best parties are the ones you can't remember the next day.

I'd post photos of the event, but Hart at least one person is naked in every single picture, and I have a reputation to uphold now!

I did find these on the camera, though. Click to enlarge, if you dare.



I'm almost positive they're snaps of the breakroom floor that I'm going to have to tidy as soon as I'm willing to move again. I think that's Martha's shoe on top of Jack's braces, and that's Gwen's purse, and the condoms look like the brand Hart likes (says they're the chewiest).

I'm not sure I want to remember what happened.



And anyway I'm not willing to move right now. Even if I could get out from under Captain Jack "Sleeps On Top Of Me" Harkness.

Ow my hungover award-winning head.