In These Stones Horizons Sing

Bloody fucking shite.

I'm thirty years in the future. There are aliens.

And I'm in. Bloody. Wales.

Fucking hell, this is Snivellus's doing, I know it. I don't know how, but I bloody know it was him. When I get back home, someone will find their crooked, oversized nose up close and personal with the end of my wand. And the result will be even less attractive than the original. If that is even possible.

I will say this for this place, though. This thing is so much bloody easier than a quill.

I can hardly think of anything more awkward than waking up naked in a cell and having no idea how you got there. I bloody hate the full moon. Especially in Cardiff, after being brought through a rift in space and time. And especially when, in my time, the moon was only a few days ago.

But thank you, Miss Tyler, for bringing me clothes. And for explaining. And for the rather baffling flash cards. And I apologise, again, for the nudity.

Oh...and to the Torchwood people? Thank you for putting me a cell. It's far preferable to accidentally hurting someone, even if those weevils were bloody creepy. Is it possible this could become a monthly thing?

Oh! You didn't happen to find a wand did you? I sort of need it.