Torchwood: In Cardiff this evening...

[fajrdrako]

I did a delightful fannish thing this evening.

Instead of going for a pizza supper with other Torchwood Forum people, I bought a sandwich, a drink and a bag of crisps and went to the Mermaid Quay, and sat on a bench near the doorway to the Hub.

It looks just as you'd expect it to – in a way. It's there, like in all the pictures, with the mesh over it and the faded picture of the newspaper proclaiming Margaret Blain as Mayor of Cardiff, and the italic “i” for “information”.

But this is the world after Children of Earth, and fans have been there with tributes, flowers, pictures, and letters. Four bouquets stand on the ground at the bottom of the door. A plastic white rose is stuck into the mesh, and a handful of red ones. Little packets of coffee. Nescafe – wouldn't Ianto consider that an abomination? There are pictures of Ianto, and one lovely coloured one of him in Jack's light embrace, with the words: Don't forget me and I never could. There's a postcard saying To Ianto Jones – sadly missed, and numerous handwritten letters, some legible, some not, most addressing Ianto. My favourite was a simple note: IANTO – There are a lot of things you can do with a stopwatch.

And there was a rather beautiful one encased in plastic:

Torchwood II Glasgow
and the
Sarah Jane Investigators
bid farewell to Ianto Jones.
You were the heart and soul of Torchwood.

I sat eating my chicken sandwich while the sun set, thinking about the delicious intersection of fiction and reality, and how Torchwood, this figment of Russell T Davies' imagination, brought to the illusion of life by the BBC, becomes an entity beyond that, where characters are mourned as if real, where the popular imagination draws on the fiction and makes it something broader and more meaningful.

There were birds flying and fishing in the Bay. A party boat with loud music went by, swirling waves against the quay. Passersby, usually in couples, made comments about the Hub door. One woman said, “It's just – I just – I must take pictures for Richard.” And she did. Two burly grey-haired men stood and read the door rather carefully for a while, and then walked on without comment. A man drinking at the restaurant above looked down and made some comment, with a strong Welsh accent, saying he was going to tell the Missus about this.

So I sat in perfect peace, enjoying my not-so-good sandwich and my packet of crisps, watching the clouds turn mauve and purple, and the lights come on in the St. David's hotel across the way.