Oh My God, The Girl In The Purple Jacket On The Left Side Is Me:D An I Was So Nervous!

The moment my cat got pissed off with me when I laughed too loud :D

Badass Mrs. Hudson

Okay, so Amanda Abbington has been getting a lot of hate and even death threats because of her upcoming role as Mary Morstan in Sherlock. No one deserves that, and especially not Amanda.

So, we’re going to create a video to send to her!

You may be asking, “How can I get involved?” Here’s the...

Sir Ian and Martin on working with each other.

As a German I can say that Willemijn is the best Elphaba I've ever seen. And Oz is she beautiful! It always makes my day when she smiles. The second thing I adore is her infectious laugh.

One of the things I love about Willemijn’s Elphaba is that she generally trolls the hell out of all the Galindas in this scene.

I made some silly reaction gifs from the Nativity! behind the scenes video. (x)

Please use and enjoy.  (likes and reblogs are love.)

You can help preserve our planet just by surfing the web! #loveearth

This is a safe way to donate to charity! It's absolutly legal!

The Times - Whats not to Love About Benedict Cumberbatch

He was an all-action Sherlock Holmes for TV and now he’s conquering Hollywood in Star Trek. Caitlin Moran joins the actor at his parents’ home for Sunday lunch

I don’t know if you remember, but some time last summer – between the end of the Olympics and the return of The X Factor – it briefly became the thing to have a go at Benedict Cumberbatch for being “a posho”.

However many times Cumberbatch tried to explain that he was “just middle class, really”, a sum kept being done, over and over: “Harrow education” + “called ‘Benedict Cumberbatch’ ” = “A man who wipes his bum on castles”. There was a series of catty columns about it, with headlines like “Posh off to America” and “Poor posh boy”.

The underlying presumption seemed to be that Cumberbatch was some dilettante princeling – stealing roles such as Sherlock Holmes in Sherlock, and the painfully repressed landowner Christopher Tietjens in Tom Stoppard’s Parade’s End, that would otherwise have gone to working-class actors such as Danny Dyer, or Shane Richie from EastEnders, and that this was all a great pity.

Of course, as with all these things, it blew over quite quickly – not least because it was superseded by the news that Cumberbatch had been cast in the new Star Trek movie, and was, therefore, about to become one of the most successful British actors of the past ten years. But I am reminded of it all today, in the back of a cab, leafing through a pile of cuttings on Cumberbatch.

“What a load of balls that was,” I muse. “The whole posh thing. What a load of old balls. What a funny old world.”

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and I have been invited to lunch with Cumberbatch at his parents’ house in Gloucestershire. Star Trek Into Darkness is now about to open and this is the only day he has free to talk. I have made the great sacrifice and taken a train to Swindon.

The cab driver drops me outside the house.

“Here you go,” he says.

I climb out of the car, and stare at a gigantic, honey-coloured mansion, with immaculately tended lawns. Parked in the driveway are a black London taxi and a vintage silver Rolls-Royce.

Last night, Benedict had offered to pick me up from the station, saying he has a “loooooooooovely car”.

“Yes – you have, haven’t you, Benedict?” I think to myself, staring. “You’ve got a lovely pair.”

I crunch up the drive, carrying a massive bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine, and shout through the letter box.

“Hello! I’m from London! I’ve come on holiday, to the countryside, by accident!”

Silence. I circle the house. The place is so big, I can’t work out where the front door is.

I decide to go to ask a neighbour for advice on how to penetrate the Cumberbatch estate.

I head towards a nearby crofter’s cottage.

Benedict Cumberbatch is standing in the doorway of the tiny cottage, in a pair of knackered navy corduroy slippers, watching my progress across the lawn – lavishly strewn with hyacinths – with some curiosity.

“What were you doing at Kate Moss’s house?” he asks, mildly.

Ah. Kate Moss. The working-class girl from Croydon made good. That mansion is her house.

The “posh” Cumberbatches, by way of contrast, live next door: three small rooms downstairs, three small rooms upstairs. Every available surface is covered in books, family photographs or owls.

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Hmmm that kind of fic spooked through my mind since I finished Out of OZ... I think that we should combine our "wisdom" about the book and write it together :)

I wonder, who could be interested in writing some gelphie-fanfic as if in the end of the forth book Glinda wouldn’t die but was saved by Elphaba from prison (she was brought to life with Mombey’s spell). They would be living together somewhere far away from Emerald city. Just one day. Gardening,…

Ian Hallard has just posted this on twitter in response to some unkind tweets aimed at Mark. My aim in posting this isn’t to call anybody out (and please please don’t harangue the tweeters) but to point out that after a week in which twitter abuse has been in the headlines it’s worth remembering...