A mind full of worlds

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I suppose the main one for me would be Torchwood, because there's pretty much nothing left of the show I started watching. (Not just the characters, but the setting, character's back stories and even the vibe of the world it's set it. Not to mention the fact that it changed from stand alone episode single overblown storylines and moved to a different country.)

Fixing it. Okay here goes. Since the Hub was blown up pressure has been building up in the Rift, and it eventually goes off. Queue people, aliens and who knows what else falling through into Cardiff.

The Hub is at the centre of it and Jack and Gwen (who have come back from who knows where) can interact with all the Torchwood 3 staff who've ever worked there - which includes Owen, Ianto and Tosh.

They all have to work together to fix the Rift. Tosh would get to work with Harriet Derbyshire to figure out how to get the Rift back to normal.

They soon realise the only way to stabilise the Rift is to set of a series of temporal explosions within it, but because of how it needs to be timed somebody from each time has to remain in the Hub to do it. What will happen to them they can't be sure.

Harriet agrees to be the one in her time and Tosh in hers, Jack says he'll do the one in the present.

Everybody does their goodbyes, because they don't know what will happen. Harriet's set off fine, but when it comes to Tosh's the destabilised Rift has caused the Hub to lockdown, meaning Owen and Ianto are stuck with her. They agree to set it off any way.
Finally Jack sets of his.

Big explosion, and when the dust settles the ruins of the Hub have become a mixture of Harriets time and the Hub as was just before it was destroyed. And in the Hub are Tosh, Owen, Ianto and Harriet.
With Jack, they all use the invisible lift back up to the Plas and meet up with Gwen. Torchwood 3 is back.

The earlier one that I'm sure of would be watching the raising of the Mary Rose on the TV in my Nan's living room. So I know that it was the 11th of October 1982, so I would have been nearly three and a half.

Sitting on the floor, watching the yellow frame holding the wreck rise out of the sea, on the funny old TV with its fake wood shutter front. My Nan's dog (A fifteen year old jack russell called Frisky who was the soppiest, loveliest old dog ever.) on the floor next to me by the gas fire.

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I don't actually have a closet (UK wardrobe), just a chest of drawers, and storage cupboard that everything that I don't need to be able to get too quickly gets thrown in.

I don't think there's anything that could be called a fashion faux pas in the chest of drawers as that's just got all my day to day wear + work clothes in it. The storage cupboard has homemade fancy dress costumes in it and a couple of my old digging shirts. I don't know if they count. If they do, I guess the Xena costume I had to be stapled into wins.

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I think that dubious honour would have to go the supervisor of one of the archaeological sites I worked on.

He never helped dig the site, and had ridiculous expectation of what we could actually get done in a day.

One such thing was bailing out the flooded excavation. It was a heavy clay soil site, and the trenches were about 5x5m square and about 1m deep, and were filled to the top with water.
He told us to bail them out, while it was still pouring down in rain. The ground was saturated and you could see the water you'd bailed out running back across the field and into the trenches. He refused to believe that it wouldn't work.

He watched us do this for three hours from inside his nice dry portacabin.

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The raising of the Mary Rose. I was only about three and a half, but I remember sitting on Nan's frontroom floor watching it on the telly. I started an interest in history that continued and led me to university to study archaeology.

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Go it alone. I hate admitting to not feeling well, and hate even more have to take a break, and being fussed over by people, however well meaning they are, annoys me rather than makes me feel better.

If I can I go on working (one of the reason that in the past ten and a half years of paid employment I've only had about 20 days off sick.) It's not always been the brightest thing to do - the time I had chicken pox, and thought it was just insect bites (I was on excavation at the time) and continued working until the supervisor said I looked ill and should go home, as he didn't want the whole site off sick.
I ended up taking 3 days off + the weekend which we didn't work anyway, then went back to work still feeling awful - needed the money to pay rent/bills/buy food. End result was I lost nearly a stone in weight in three weeks, and took near a year to put it back on. I also learnt that size 8/125lb isn't a good look on me.

I think part of the reason is growing up with a brother who needed a lot of medical care and that he was frequently sick. I felt that being sick as well wasn't fair on my mum so tried to pretend I wasn't whenever I could, or at least down play it. I think it's too ingrained in my mentality now to change.