This is the story of an elegant, dapper gentleman, his short-tempered lady wife, and an alien kamikaze disguised as a one-eyed bear-

"Elegant?!"

River, please, I'm trying to tell the story.

"And I'm trying to tell you that just because you've never heard of anyone being prosecuted for libel against themselves doesn't mean it's not possible. Doesn't mean I wouldn't see to it, sweetie."

River, it's for charity, now may I kindly go on? Thank you… Anyway, like I was saying, once upon a time there was a brave married couple who had gotten very good at saving the world and who were now, apparently, just expected to do it at the drop of a hat and nobody else even seems to try anymore. Actually, I've just made a really good point by accident, where the devil have Jack and his lot gotten to?

"America."

America, ladies and gentlemen. Torchwood Three, officially charged with your galactic safety, are in America. They're in America and do you know what is in Britain? Do you know what is currently at the very heart of your nation?

"Well, don't let's exaggerate. It's at the BBC."

Which is rather important where you and I are concerned, darling, wouldn't you agree?

"You can glare at me all night if you want, but that's not going to help the good people of the United Kingdom with the immediate threat to their lives and liberty you have yet to tell them about."

A bomb! A bomb, you wonderful lovely people! Well, no, really it's an alien kamikaze, as I already explained, essentially a lifeform which can engage in a massively explosive self-destruct process at any given moment, and belonging to a race which does so professionally and without remorse, where payment is continued down rich, sacrificial bloodlines but really, essentially, layman's terms, a big blooming bomb is currently sitting at Television Centre! And, to add insult to imminent injury, my friends, it is a bomb which has disguised itself in the furry yellow pelt of one Mr Pudsey Bear!

"Which just isn't cricket. It's not. That bear does so much to help out and-"

River, I think you've been away from Earth too long. The bear's just a mascot, it doesn't really do anything. It's a symbol of the overall movement.

"You're kidding? I grew up in a children's home waiting for a one-eyed yellow bear to arrive with toys and schoolbooks and playtime and… lovely things. You're telling me the bear's not real?"

The bear is just a man in a suit, darling. I would have thought you'd have spotted that big zipper up the back. The head comes off, River, there's a seam there. That's how the alien got into the costume. What did you think? That he had to actually skin Pudsey in order to adapt that particular cover?

"…Oh, well, this isn't half so gruesome as I was imagining. Carry on, dear. The people still don't know where they fit into this."

Oh, quite, quite. Well, the endearingly childish preconceptions of my wife put to one side-

"Watch it…"

-I shall continue my tale. I am, as I'm sure you'll all agree, an awfully good soul at heart and- River? River, why are you laughing? I am. I'm awfully good. I am awfully good, River, now kindly stop-… Thank you. I'm a good soul. And an old enemy of mine (which particular one does not concern you) was counting on this. This ancient foe has hired the explosive alien to infiltrate tonight's Children In Need celebrations and to make them go all boomy and flamey and firey and make them end badly and abruptly. And why? So that the big computer that counts up all the donations will be destroyed, and all the money lost, and the hard work of millions of people all come to naught in a single blast.

"Sweetie, you're making it sound like it's all about the money."

But it is. We discussed this before.

"Yes, and we also discussed what you really meant and how you were going to phrase that so that people would understand your true intentions and so on and so forth. Is any of this even ringing a bell? Do you pay any attention to me when I'm speaking?"

Quiet! I'm concentrating on how to say this so that people will understand. Nobody's ever put it to me like that, I'm having to think about it.

"Oh, for heaven's sake…"

Oh, just listen! Just listen, it's not about the money! It's not. Well, it is about the money a little bit because without the money none of it happens! Without the money, a children's choir doesn't get a new microphone. A troop of Girl Guides is stuck with a hole in the roof leaking the rain down on their every meeting. A little boy in a broken home where nobody ever stops shouting has no after-school club to escape to. Children will live in poverty, or on the streets, or even in danger in their own homes who didn't have to and who wouldn't have done so if the money had been there! So willingly given, so purely and simply and humanly donated to those who have nothing and worse than nothing!

"…That ought to do the job."

Don't be cynical, River. Charity. It is charity that makes humanity such a wonderful race. Charity that brings me back to you over and over again. The capacity for compassion and empathy and the love of a stranger for another stranger, the understanding of need. It's what makes you what you are. And I cannot, in good conscience, sit idly by while this mercenary menace blows it all to smithereens, and nothing left of itself to even take to trial. Except that…

"Just tell them."

Well, it's a bit embarrassing, really. River and I have come all this way, and we're right outside BBC HQ. They're filming inside. That thing is somewhere in there. But we can't get the Tardis in. Television Centre, you see, currently runs a very sophisticated temporal dislocation field and every time we try we end up in 1842 when the land in question was a pig farm and now we smell.

"Tell them why the BBC runs a very sophisticated temporal dislocation field, sweetie."

No.

"Tell them what happened."

They had Daleks, River, what was I supposed to except storm the place with Strax and half an army? What would you have done, if you'd found out they had Daleks?!

"Only they weren't really Daleks, were they?"

No, they were props, for some television program, but how was I to know that!? They looked like Daleks, they sounded like Daleks and when I saw them on that documentary about me they were certainly behaving like Daleks!

"It wasn't a documentary, though."

Well, I know that now. I wondered why I couldn't remember you dressed as Cleopatra… Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, long story short, we're standing outside, and we smell, and the stench keeps distracting the doorman, so the psychic paper isn't working and he won't let us in without a ticket. Now, I've managed to get a couple up on eBay here but, well…

"Suffice to say, all our funds are currently tied up in strontium mining on Cloridon Four, and for some mysterious reason we can't get hold of the gentleman in charge of the dividends-"

It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get in on the ground floor of an exciting new operation with massive rewards. It'll come through, darling.

"When pigs fly over a frozen hell…"

We're strapped. That's all you nice, lovely, generous Earthlings need to know, alright? The one person we have managed to get a hold of is Miss Garmonbozia, who is allowing us to use her account here on this website so that we can appeal to you directly. We need ticket money. So that we can save Pudsey and, consequently, lots of children. And the best thing about it is, it's not going to cost you a penny – all you have to do is leave a message here, and Miss Garmonbozia will donate one of your Earth English Sterling Pounds to our most valid cause. Any sort of a message at all, private or public or just something called 'fave-ing', she says, and that'll count. And we'll pay her back when the strontium deal comes through.

So please, please, please just get us through this door. For the one-eyed bear, and for the kids.

"And for Terry Wogan. I couldn't bear to see him blown to bits."

…River, is there something you want to tell me?

"No, my love. Just be in another galaxy next Eurovision night, alright?