They’d driven for hours to get here, the middle of nowhere, far from the comforts of civilisation, and now Jack said they were going to camp. As in, set up tents and sleep on the bloody ground. Why couldn’t they just book into a hotel or something?
Not that there were any convenient hotels in sight of course. Everywhere he looked, there was grass and trees and moss. Everything was green; it even smelled green. It was disgusting.
Bloody countryside, why’d Jack have to drag them all to the arse end of Wales anyway? Torchwood chased aliens, not missing people.