"Having A Sister Is Like Having A Best Friend You Can't Get Rid Of. You Know Whatever You Do, They'll Still Be There"

Once before, dear blog reader, this blogger grandly announced that - due to certain changes in his life at that time - you would likely be seeing a lot less of From The North in the immediate future; only for that situation to change within a couple of days. Over the weekend, this blogger explained - at some length - that recent-health-related circumstances had made him consider the future of From The North and that, for at least a short while, From The North was closing its doors and locking up. However, with chilling accuracy, it seems, this blogger noted 'From The North may well be back ... this blogger had made a tentative decision that this blog had more-or-less run its course on more than one occasion in the past only to have an Al Pacino-in-The Godfather Part III moment and get pulled back in again.'

You know, dear blog reader, when you write something and think 'yeah, that'll never happen'? However, this blogger simply couldn't leave From The North entirely behind without one further outpouring of thoughts. Firstly, the - quite superb - return of From The North favourite Peaky Blinders to the BBC on Sunday evening and, in particular, a couple of paragraphs from Stuart Jeffries' Grunaid Morning Star review – Tommy Shelby's Back Where We Want Him To Be: In All Kinds Of Trouble which deserve to be highlighted; 'I've mentioned Tommy Shelby's peerless silhouette, but you could cite Arthur Shelby who, even when off-his-nut on opiates, is quite the dandy, or Michael Shelby, who, though in Stateside chokey, wears collar and tie under his prison duds. Instead of Birmingham's customary civic self-laceration, writer Steven Knight has given the city swagger. I doff my cap.'

'More swaggering yet is Anya Taylor-Joy as Michael's spouse Gina,' he continued. 'There's a moment in this series opener in which Joy Division's 'Disorder' starts up on the soundtrack like a beautiful anachronism and she sashays down a corridor, heels clacking in time to Hooky's bassline. Moments later, we see her busting jazz moves to a dance band on the radiogram, with the same aplomb she gave us when cutting a rug to Cilla Black in Last Night In Soho. What we are witnessing here is the succession of the title of Peaky's Queen of Swagger from Helen McCrory's Aunt Polly to Taylor-Joy. McCrory's untimely death last year created a problem for Steven Knight. How do you write out the family matriarch? Here, Aunt Polly's corpse lies inside a burning Gypsy caravan while the Shelby men stand hatless. It's Birmingham's equivalent of a Viking funeral and, given her Romany blood, what Polly would have wanted.' As Stuart concludes: 'The show that has become, balti curries notwithstanding, Birmingham's leading export product. Given that the city's most distinctive contributions to world culture (Black Sabbath, Steel Pulse, Cadbury chocolate, HP sauce and Jack Grealish's calves) have broken up or sold themselves to foreign capital, every right-thinking Brummie is behind the looming Peaky movie that will, fingers crossed, prolong the franchise.'

Secondly, a necessarily reminder that, even if Keith Telly Topping survives his current brush with horrible mortality - and, indeed, even if the world manages to survive its currently brush with The Butcher Of Grozny deciding to flex his groin in public and play chicken with Kyiv, we still might not have much of a world worth this blog being around to comment upon if an IPCC report warning of the 'irreversible' impacts of global warming is to be believed (and, let's face it, why wouldn't it be? No, hang on, don't answer that - they are some ruddy strange people out there).

However the final words in this - temporary - From The North revival must, necessarily and deservedly, go to a member of Keith Telly Topping's family. In October 1966, the first record by The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) which was ever bought for this blogger - for this third birthday - was bought by this blogger's brother's then sixteen-year-old girlfriend, Maureen. (This blogger still has it, if you're interested, in its original mint-green Parlophone sleeve. It's been played quite a few times, since 1966, though, so it's hardly in mint condition.)

Five years later, Maureen became this blogger's beloved sister-and-law and although she still, to this day, sometimes regards Keith Telly Topping as 'that little horror', she has, over the subsequent fifty years, become one of this blogger's best friends, most trusted confidantes and the person with the least time and patience for this blogger's occasional vainglorious, high-falutin' schemes and pretentious twaddle. She tells it like it is, dear blog reader. She was the first person Keith Telly Topping called from hospital on Monday and was his regular contact during the following few bizarre days, calming his less lucid moments and always happy to share a joke and lighten some really dark moments. After Keith Telly Topping got out of The Joint, Maureen spent time and money on Saturday and Sunday, making sure this blogger was fed, watered and comfortable (providing perishables, some necessary new bedding for The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House pit and a completely cush new pair of slippers and a dressing gown for this blogger to replace his existing, somewhat threadbare examples). She did this selflessly and without being asked to, because she - like her husband and their two children, this blogger's nephew and niece - they are good people who value family and friendship. This blogger never says it anywhere near enough but he's going to say it now, in public. Our Maureen is a properly remarkable woman; a kind and considerate woman and, not for nothing, still the babe she was in 1970 during a Telly Topping family holiday on the Isle Of Wight.

The kindness of strangers, dear blog reader, is frequently commented upon and is, indeed, a jolly good thing. The kindness of family is less widely noted. But is, if anything, even more a thing of beauty.

Anyway, dear blog reader, as mentioned in the last From The North update, this blogger will be spending much of the next few weeks with his feet up in the Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House, trying to get himself better with occasional visits to the local medical centre to be stabbed in the arm with B-12 (the first of those is tomorrow). So, From The North is unlikely to be updated again any time soon; unless something genuinely world-shattering occurs (and, as we discovered when that was last said, back in 2019, that's a very dangerous thing to threaten). We now return you to a reflective period of - self-enforced and, in many ways, blissful - silence. Stay well, everyone, life's easier that way. Seriously. 

The Moment Has Been Prepared For (Even If It Is Only Temporary)

Keith Telly Topping always believed that when/if the end came for From The North (even if it was only to be a temporary finale), it would be due to some Earth-shattering and unimaginable event. Like, say The Russians invading Ukraine and dragging the world to the brink of nuclear war. It was going to take something suitably unlikely and ridiculous as that to bring this blog to a conclusion, surely? 'Once I believed that when love came to me/It would come with rockets, bells and poetry.' Or a bit of Armagideon Time if you prefer. Sadly, closer-to-The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House-style events of a personal nature could be the ultimate cause.

As this blogger has mentioned on several occasions earlier this year (and a couple of times at the back end of 2021) Keith Telly Topping's general state of well-being (or lack of it) fluctuated between 'feeling a bit grotty' and 'feeling a lot grotty' since Christmas with most, though by no means all, of the concern focused on this blogger's long-standing back-pain issues. All of that changed over the weekend and, particularly, on Monday when a general state of 'feeling much grottier than normal' kicked in big-style at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. The symptoms included (and the list is by-no-means all-inclusive), dizziness, light-headedness and at least one incident of yer actual fainting, a - not-exactly-new-but-certainly-much-worse-than-normal - bout of explosive diarrhoea and, at the same time, a (probably-related) urine infection, a general lack of energy and a lack of appetite. There was also something almost definitely related to the last point, a rather dramatic weight-loss (over two stone in under three months), a re-occurrence of that nasty fungal naval infection previously mentioned on this blog, some overnight leg cramps which caused this blogger a lack of quality sleep, the back-pain (muscular rather than nerve-related, it would seem) and, another oldie-but-goldie, a persistent cough (particularly during the early part of each day). Add-in a recently-acquired 'pressure ulcer' on this blogger's lower lumber (a case of 'too much sitting around whinging about how bad he's feeling to you lot', no doubt) and you have a picture of just how 'feeling much grottier than normal' Keith Telly Topping had found himself. Every bit as grotty, in fact, as those grotty shirts that George Harrison thought were 'dead grotty' in A Hard Day's Night. Effing appallingly grotty in actualité.

This blogger had, initially, intended merely to ring his local medical centre for a bit of general advice and to book in an appointment for, perhaps, later in the week with one of the doctors. But, receiving a call-back from Doctor Nasir - whom this blogger had previously sought advice from but had not seen in some time - brought about a conversation which had Doctor Nasir concerned enough to arrange to come to The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House in the afternoon. For a shufty at the grotty state yer actual Keith Telly Topping had got himself into, chiefly. In addition to the back problems, Doctor Nasir was most concerned about the diarrhoea, the light-headedness, dizziness and fainting and, most of all, a symptom which Keith Telly Topping hadn't even really noticed but which Doctor Nasir correctly identified straight-away as a potential cause for some, if not all, of these other symptoms. Anaemia is a deficiency in the number or quality of red blood cells in ones body. Taking one look at Keith Telly Topping slumped in the Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House pit, apparently white-with-a-tinge-of-yellow-as-a-white-and-yellow-tinged-sheet and looking as anaemic as one of Count Dracula's victims, caused Doctor Nasir to exclaim (only not in so many words) 'Good God, Keith Telly Topping, you look as white as a ginger bird's arse. Off with you to the hospital this instant ... or, within the next four hours as I've ordered you an ambulance.'

Approximately five-and-a-half hours later (once the ambulance men'd had a - one trusts - particularly fine extended tea-break), the doors of Stately Telly Topping were fair knocked off their hinges as the duo arrived whilst Keith Telly Topping had, temporarily, fallen asleep in his chair having waited far longer than he'd been led to expect. The overall situation wasn't exactly helped by their decision to get Keith Telly Topping and his assembled-during-the-afternoon overnight bag (and The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House walking stick) into the ambulance and then to conduct the initial 'so what's wrong with you, then, pal ... though you do look a bit peaky?' (the answer to at least one of the questions they asked was: 'I've been shitting pints recently, guys, it's been a real problem') whilst the sliding doors of the ambulance remained wide-open. And, at least a couple of The Stately Telly Topping Manor Estate youths were riding their bikes up and down the street within earshot of the ensuing conversation going on inside. Keith Telly Topping, at this point, asked if there was 'any chance we could do this with the doors closed, lads? Some of it's a bit sensitive.' So sensitive, in fact, that Keith Telly Topping is now writing a blog about it. 

Turns out they could and, indeed, did. After a thorough pumping - including such gems as 'so, to sum up then, you're feeling much, much grottier than normal? Even more grotty than them shirts George Harrison didn't like in A Hard Day's Night?' the ambulance sped off. Perhaps mercifully, they did not knock over either of the Estate-youths-on-bikes, the ambulance lads' driving abilities proving to be considerably more skilful than their tact and discretion when it comes to private medical information. Shortly after 8pm on Monday evening Keith Telly Topping arrived at The Assessment Suite of the - world-famous - Royal Victory Infirmary in Central Newcastle (established 1752, twice winner of an entirely deserved Outstanding Rating from the Care Quality Commission) for a damned good dose of that there assessment.

This took place over approximately the next hour - much quicker than yer actual had expected - and, aided by Doctor Nasir's jolly helpful suggestion that Keith Telly Topping should use his time whilst waiting for the ambulance to make a list of all the various symptoms which this blogger had described to Doctor Nasir earlier - it was decided that Keith Telly Topping should be kept in overnight. To be moved into The Assessment Suite-proper and given a right good further assessing by the magnificent NHS staff. This having been done by 10.30pm, Keith Telly Topping then enjoyed a slightly-disturbed-by-drugs night's kip. Let it be noted, the staff were every bit as utterly superb, helpful, caring and on-the-ball as this blogger - a fan of the NHS his entire life - had expected. In particular Doctor Lottie and Doctor Christian, aided by Nurses Molly, Claire, Grace, Lewis (with whom Keith Telly Topping really hit it off) and Kay were terrific and, very quickly, came to similar conclusions as Doctor Nasir with regard to the most important and potentially serious of this blogger's symptoms - the diarrhoea, the dizziness and the anaemia.

One wishes the same could be said for the other numbskulls taking up beds in The Assessment Suite along with yer actual Keith Telly Topping. The Assessment Suite clearly being a general dumping ground for ninetysomethings with dementia whose idea of a good time is to spend the night bellowing 'HELLO!' and keeping us other - less 'mental-bloke' - patients awake.

This blogger then spent a reasonably comfortable Tuesday morning, afternoon and evening. And a perfectly hideous overnight-Tuesday-into-Wednesday, a long-dark night of the soul whilst he threatened, with increasing loudness - and increasing seriousness - to go across the ward and give the chap bellowing 'HELLO!' for the fifty seventh time a damned good fisting in the mush. Really hard. Finally, just as this blogger had managed to drop off to sleep (having earlier made the idiotic suggestion that the bellower's bed could, perhaps, be moved into the corridor so the staff could put up with what we'd been putting up with for the previous twenty four hours - a suggestion that this blogger was astonished to find taken seriously and then adopted), The Assessment Suite chose that moment (4am on Wednesday morning) to move this blogger. To Ward Thirty, which covers a variety of complaints, one of which was/is Gastro-Related. So, the rest of Keith Telly Topping's already much-interrupted Wednesday night's kip was interrupted further by moving wards until unconsciousness finally biffed him in the gut like a bowl of warm custard and he surrendered to welcome, blessed oblivion sometime around 5am.

Wednesday, itself, after a long, long, long lie-in wasn't actually too bad a day, all things considered. The various tests continued - lots and lots of blood tests (mostly into the back of this blogger's black-and-blue hand as finding suitable veins in either of his arms often proved to be too difficult), a CAT-scan, some chest x-rays, regular checks on this blogger's blood sugar-levels (he is, of course, in addition to everything else, type-2-diabetic) via those fingers-prick-type affairs and, blood pressure and ear-temperature tests. None of them too unpleasant, per se. That joy was to come the following day. The heroes of Wednesday were, in no particular order other than the purely hierarchical, Doctor Shannon and Doctor Alex, Sister Emma, Nurses and Auxiliaries Vicki, Lianne, Kayleigh, Jovie, Danielle, Georgina, Lily, Patricia and, this blogger's particular heroine, Trainee Nurse Sarah who really came into her own on Thursday.

Firstly, she managed to organise - and, indeed, aid - Keith Telly Topping in getting a hot shower first thing in the morning, washing his greasy hair (although, efforts to get The Stately Telly Topping Manor chinny-chin-chin shaved to anything approaching acceptable levels, were abandoned very quickly). Then, in the afternoon, Sarah got to accompany Keith Telly Topping on what was, without doubt, one of the worst experiences of his life, an endoscopy. Type that word into Google, dear blog reader and you get a rather bland-sounding explanation, 'a test to look inside your body. A long, thin tube with a small camera inside, called an endoscope, is passed into your body through a natural opening such as your mouth.' Mouth? Yeah. Right. That may be one definition of the procedure but, it hasn't been Keith Telly Topping's experience on either of the two occasions that he's gone through it; rather it would be somewhat more accurate to say 'having a stick with a camera on it rammed right up yer sphincter.'

Keith Telly Topping was given an endoscopy once previously, six years ago and has always described that as 'the single worst experience of his life.' That record, dear blog reader, was equalled, broken and then shattered into a million tiny fragments on Thursday of this week. Afterwards, apparently, Sarah was happy to tell her colleagues that I'd been 'very brave' during the endoscopy. That was a lie, dear blog reader - though bless her for saying so. This blogger doesn't feel he was that or anything even remotely like it; in fact, at one point he almost lost his shit completely - if not literally - when the chap doing to procedure expressed his 'interest' in the fact that, although (thankfully) no obvious lesions or other potentially life-threatening points of 'interest' were on display, a - marginal - thickening of the sphincter wall was causing the chap some (mostly aesthetic) intellectual curiosity. 'I'm glad someone's finding this interesting' wailed Keith Telly Topping, full of self-pity and woe.

After what seemed like forever but was, probably, about twenty minutes, it was all over with many - sincere - apologies offered by Keith Telly Topping to the sphincter-probing staff. For his damned poor performance as A Man and lack of ability to demonstrate some stiff-upper-lip in the face of - not that significant - adversity. We then had a half-hour wait for someone to wheel a sore Keith Telly Topping back to Ward Thirty during which time Sarah expressed interest in Keith Telly Topping's writing and journalism career with Guinness, Virgin and Telos back in the 2000s and we chatted about some forthcoming telly of, ahem, 'interest.' Keith Telly Topping advised Young Sarah to catch up with Peaky Blinders (really good interview with From The North favourite Cillian in the Gruniad this week). Sarah herself, meanwhile, extolled the virtues of a former From The North favourite Westworld - albeit, unusually, she is more of a fan of the critically-less-than-slavvered-over series three rather than the acclaimed earlier episodes. We chatted about Buffy, Angel, Doctor Who, Life On Mars, The West Wing, Qi, Would I Lie To You?, 24, Kermode & Mayo's Film Review, Last Night In Soho, Nobody, No Time To Die - the usual malarkey, in fact - and eventually, we got back to the ward in, more-or-less one piece. Keith Telly Topping was now off the 'no solid foods' regime he'd endured for most of Thursday (which shall forever be referred to as 'The Day The Camera Went Up The Arse') and he was able to eat something.

A word about that. Keith Telly Topping had, of course, heard all of the 'hospital food' horror stories and jokes over the years but, a couple of overnighters during his childhood notwithstanding, had little previous experience of lengthy hospital stays and he found the food not at all unpleasant. And, as a consequence, he tucked into his (for example) mild chicken curry with boiled rice and jam roly-poly pudding with some relish (or, some hot custard anyway). In fact, this was a good sign as although Keith Telly Topping hadn't (and still hasn't) entirely recovered his missing-in-action appetite, at least he was getting fed a bit more than he had been of late at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House.

Keith Telly Topping also had another meeting with Doctor Alex and Consultant Sara about his case and, the general impression he got was that they couldn't wait to get him out of their nice clean hospital and back to the filth and squalor of The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House at the earliest given opportunity. The general consensus of the medical team was that, yes, Keith Telly Topping was - and remains - quite sick and the previously undiagnosed anaemia was still a cause of concern. The main reason for the majority of Keith Telly Topping's symptoms, it appeared, was directly related to this and whilst some of his blood-levels were, as yet, less responsive than hoped, the hospital had, at least, identified one of the causes, B-12 Deficiency. 'What are the symptoms of vitamin B-12 Deficiency anemia?' you ask on Google and it lists several which even someone as medically-useless as yer actual Keith Telly Topping could easily recognise as belonging to him, personally. Weak muscles, numb or tingling feelings in the hands and feet, decreased appetite, weight-loss, irritability, lack of energy or tiring easily, fatigue, diarrhoea, smooth and tender tongue - something Keith Telly Topping had/has but hadn't even thought enough about to mention in any of the various chats he'd had with medical staff - and a fast heart rate. Yep, all perfectly present and completely correct (the irritability isn't new, incidentally, that's a permanent feature of Keith Telly Topping's life - you may have noticed). Keith Telly Topping was prescribed with a series of B-12 injections ('sharp scratch' noted the nurse administering the first ... to be followed by what Keith Telly Topping can only describe as 'something like what Janet Leigh goes through in the shower scene from Psycho') and, also, folic acid tablets. And, that was it for Thursday evening; they'd found the cause of much of Keith Telly Topping's current (and recent) medical woes, if not the entire cause and, much-less, the reason why it had suddenly appeared around Christmas time. Cautious good news.

This blogger must confess, dear blog reader, that he was probably more relieved by the fact that they found something rather than what it was they actually found. For the past three months Keith Telly Topping been telling anyone he thought might be interested about how rubbish he was feeling and, frankly, no one seemed particularly interested and just wanted him to go away and bother someone else with his self-pitying crap. There was, genuinely, a moment when this blogger thought he might end up with a gravestone containing similar sentiments to those of the late, great, Spike Milligan.

What then followed was the second horrible night in a row experienced by Keith Telly Topping. He just could not find himself a comfortable place in his hospital bed from about midnight onwards as ruffled undersheets on a rubber mattress, getting woken up every three hours for more blood pressure checks and finger-prick blood-sugar tests occurred as did some seriously disturbing nightmares (at least one related to a camera going up Keith Telly Topping's rapidly-shrinking ringpiece). All of which made this blogger wake up in the early hours of Friday morning feeling far more irritable than, he believes, the compilers of that Internet list of symptoms related to B-12 deficiency ever through was possible in a human being.

On Friday morning, Keith Telly Topping met yet another Doctor, Cameron (no, not the character from Doctor Finlay's Casebook) who was another model of efficiency. Except in one regard, but we'll come to that later in this already overlong bloggerisationism. This blogger noted his conversations with Consultant Sara and Doctor Alex the previous day and the general impression he'd been given that, whilst there were several aspects of the case which were still baffling to medical science, they'd gotten somewhere close to the bottom (ahem) of it. That new drugs would help and that a - future - series of outpatient visits to the RVI over the next few months would, hopefully, fill in most of the still-existing gaps. And that, a couple of further blood tests notwithstanding, Keith Telly Topping could go home. One - marginally amusing - sidenote; one of the things that brought Keith Telly Topping into hospital in the first place was diarrhoea. This blogger was, of course, required to provide a stool sample to the hospital which he did, in the early hours of Tuesday morning and which he poured into a stool sample container with the dignity of a far-from-sober man. What happened to that particular plastic bottle of dirty brown liquid is now completely lost in the midst of time and inner workings of RVI Newcastle. It simply disappeared ('this is horrible shit, go away and fetch us some nicer shit' was, perhaps, a not-at-all-unreasonable conclusion to the contents).

Anyway, at more or less exactly that point in the story the Keith Telly Topping bowel-system suddenly decided not to co-operate any further - with anyone, not least Keith Telly Topping his very self. Four days on, this blogger remains as constipated as it is possible to be without someone ramming a sodding great cork up there; this despite a regular course of sodium ducosate being administered by the hospital, the resumption of, at least a taste of, solid food and, last but not least, having things probed up there. When Doctor Cameron (not the character from Doctor Finlay's Casebook) mentioned that they'd like stool sample to add to their already massive collection (the fact they'd already had one and lost it, notwithstanding) this blogger did offer that if that was going to be a deal-breaker, they might be in for a long await. But, the need for this blogger to vacate his hospital bed was, seemingly, far more important a priority than the need for him to vacate his bowels and it was decided for that to be an issue for another day.

The blood tests were scattered throughout the rest of the morning and, by 2.30pm, Keith Telly Topping drew a visit from Pharmacist Molly suggesting that the hospital had been in touch with Keith Telly Topping's local medical centre, who were perfectly happy to administer the next few B-12 shots and that the addition of folic acid tablets to Keith Telly Topping's regular prescription was not going to be a problem. So, sorted, then. The peripheral venous catheter which had been inserted into the back of Keith Telly Topping's right hand and which had been feeding him occasional fluids and medication over the last few days was removed (to Keith Telly Topping's immense relief since, whilst not painful exactly, it had been a bit - that word again - irritating and dangly in its catheter-type malarkey). One final blood test was taken and the waits began. And, this blogger says 'waits' for the simple reason that there were, in fact, two of them. Firstly a bit of context, upon meeting Doctor Cameron (just to repeat not the Doctor Finlay's Casebook character), Keith Telly Topping explained that one aspect of the Telly Topping psyche is that Keith Telly Topping suffers from a - not massive and but, frequently, very irritating - splash of OCD. You might have noticed, dear blog reader, From The North is full of examples. In Keith Telly Topping's world if he has ninety nine problems at any one time then he can only concentrate on one of them to such an extent that this one issue becomes, effectively, Keith Telly Topping's World. Until it is sorted, at which point he can, happily move on to 'I got ninety eight problems cos the first one ain't on Ze List any more.'

Keith Telly Topping's immediate problem at that exact moment was that, as he explained when he first entered to hospital he has, recently, been on Ze Sick, covered by what is - with laughing daftness - these days known as 'A Fit Note'; and that his current 'Fit Note' was due to run out over the coming weekend. Still not knowing at this stage if he would even be in a position to spend the weekend trying to track down someone at his own medical centre, much less someone who was going to be au fait with four days of the constantly shifting narrative on what, exactly, is up with yer actual Keith Telly Topping this blogger wondered, nicely, if there was any way someone at the hospital could issue him with a Fit Note. One covering, say, the next few weeks and which made clear Keith Telly Topping is, in addition to all of the rest of the things that are wrong with him, suffering from B-12 deficiency-related-anaemia, a serious - if not exactly deadly if treated correctly - condition (with other, as yet undiagnosed, related causes of which further outpatient tests were/are pending). Would it be possible, Doctor Cameron, Keith Telly Topping idly wondered, for you to do this for me? To Keith Telly Topping's immense relief Doctor Cameron (not the Doctor Finlay's Casebook character) said, effectively, 'yeah, that won't be a problem.' As it turned out it was though only in so much as it then took Doctor Cameron (just to repeat definitely not the Doctor Finlay's Casebook character), until after 5pm to finally get around to it so that yer actual Keith Telly Topping could concentrate on worrying about other stuff. But, to be fair to the chap, he was/is a jolly busy man with, you know, actual proper sick people to attend to. Eventually (a word which no one with even a smidgen of OCD likes to hear), a successful outcome was, indeed, achieved. On that score, at least. Keith Telly Topping noted, that he would have hugged Doctor Cameron ... if he hadn't been wearing PPE at the time.

With regard to the other waiting issue, Keith Telly Topping had to wait for a final package of drugs to be delivered to him so that he could get his sorry - even though the camera stick had been removed - ass out of the gaff. And, so an afternoon and early evening of the least-enjoyable aspect of hospital life, clock-watching, began. Whilst Keith Telly Topping waited for someone up on the next floor in Pharmacy, to put together - in the end, a rather small and disappointing - bag of one box of folic acid tablets and those four future B-12 shots to his bedside. So he could then ring up his sister-in-law and impose upon the kindness-of-family to get a lift back to the cold, after five days of being empty, Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. Something which both Our Maureen and Our Colin had assured Keith Telly Topping was not in the slightest bit a problem (because they're, you know, nice) but which this blogger was feeling more than a touch guilty about (because he's, frequently, not). So, Keith Telly Topping waited. And clock-watched. And clock-watched and waited. You get where I'm going with this?

Keith Telly Topping's time was not entirely misspent on Friday afternoon; he was still worrying about his Fit Note for much of this period - until he wasn't. He spent much of his time chatting with Nurses Lianne, Patricia, Alyson and Jacky. He finally plucked up enough courage to walk down to the reception to administer that most British of things a Sergeant Wilson-style 'I'm terribly sorry to bother you but I've been waiting for five hours ...' when he really wanted to scream 'just what the fek is going on in Pharmacy? Have the tea-breaks been extended to All Day now, or what?') to Nurse Molly and Administrator Jacqui.

Keith Telly Topping also had the opportunity to witness the only displays of 'entertainment' he'd had since leaving The Assessment Suite, one chap apparently coming down from Very Hard Drugs deciding he was going to stage of jailbreak and leave (he failed, spectacularly). And another - seemingly very reasonable and affable but also apparently quite long-term - resident, breaking down in floods of tears and getting all agitated, stroppy and discombobulated when told he was drinking too much coffee and tea for his own good and he was being rationed to a maximum daily limit of three cups. He was not a happy man. So, anyway, if on the off-chance that any of the Trust Directors of the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle Upon Tyne, England, The World happens to be reading this rambling diatribe of quite obscene proportions, the opinion of Keith Telly Topping (taxpayer) of your establishment is as follows: You run a World Class hospital, free-at-the-point-of-entry to everyone in way that in, say, America (you know, the people who think they own the world) simply would not exist. Your Doctors, Nurses, Auxiliaries, Trainees, Admin Staff and Specialists, are wonderful, caring, smart, helpful and talented people who will bend over backwards and then still go that extra mile to help the people who've been foisted upon them. It's true that, frequently, you could do with a patient transplant (this blogger with his ceaseless whinging about what are, ultimately, relatively minor matters very much included). But, all-in-all, his five day experience of Great Britain's much-vaunted and much-undervalued by scum politicians National Health Service could not be higher. Except, possibly, for your Pharmacy Department - they're a collective fucking disgrace and could do with a rocket being shoved up where that camera on a stick went in yer actual Keith Telly Topping's interior the day previously.

Serious point here; in 1966 a member of this blogger's favourite popular music act wrote a lyric which stated (with his trademark sarcastic bent aided by lots of - decidedly non-medicinal - drugs and regular bouts of giving his missus a Saturday night backhander) 'my friend works for the National Health'. This blogger endorses, entirely, Good Old Peace-Lovin' John's views on that particular matter (and many others, if not the whole 'Cold Turkey slipping down the charts' malarkey). And this blogger means that sincerely (whilst acknowledging that Good Old Peave-Lovin' John may not, necessarily, have).

Established by this blogger's favourite government in 1948, the National Health Service of Great Britain is a bloody little marvel, the envy of every civilised nation in the world (and America), the work of dedicated, wonderful, inspiring people. In a sentiment voiced on more than one occasion this week by this blogger to the people concerned, however much these ladies and gentlemen are getting paid for their work by Johnson and his squalid, sleazy gang of Tory thugs and criminals it isn't even remotely enough.

Anyway, finally - finally - the Pharmacy got their shit together, delivered the long-awaited package, this blogger was able to use the - freephone - facility to ring his family (a source of fairly regular entertainment during the previous four-and-a-bit days) and say, 'could you get me the Hell out of here, please?' Always add a please when people are doing you a big favour, dear blog reader, it saves so much hassle in the long-run. After five days in a hermetically-sealed and warm environment, this blogger found the cold 'hospital reception in the middle of the chilliest February on record with patches of snow on the ground' thing a bit depressing. But, once Our Colin Telly Topping had rocked up in his jam jar with a MP3 playlist sounding uncannily similar to the Hospital Radio this blogger had spent much of the previous five days listening to, this blogger was back at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. Which was, as he'd expected, absolutely fekking freezing just in time to watch an episode of From The North favourite Qi XL and then crawl off, willingly, to his pit for his first uninterrupted, undisturbed by nightmares and shower scenes from Psycho, sleep in a week. The two Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House hot water bottles certainly helped. 

So, that's where we are then, dear blog reader. Yer actual Keith Telly Topping is home, deficient in a significant number of red blood-cells and vitamin B-12 (and, possibly, lots of other things but those will do for the moment). But he's alive, feeling a bit - actually, more than a bit - better than he was on Monday, with sodding great bruises all over his hands and arms due to the various blood extractions. Also, with one of those little white plastic wristband things still attached to his arm; having re-read a couple of chapters of Mark Lewisohn's Tune-In - which he'd helpfully packed into his overnight bag along with a change of underwear and a toothbrush - between listening to cross-ward cries of 'HELLO!'; with a precious bit of paper in his hand saying 'this is to certify that yer actual Keith Telly Topping is, like, Not Very Well so, if you could leave him alone for a bit whilst he tries to get his shit together, he'd really appreciate that'; somewhat housebound at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House (a few future trips to the local medical centre and the RVI outpatients notwithstanding whilst Our Maureen Telly Topping kindly offered to go and get him some necessary perishable supplies ... and a decent pair of slippers). And with memories - of kindnesses shown (and pharmacy inefficiency - sorry, I just can't let that one go!) which will last a lifetime. However long that is.

And so to the bottom line here, dear blog reader. From The North (established 2006, initially merely as a vehicle for Keith Telly Topping to ramble on about any old nonsense he felt like, something to which it has, admirably, succeeded) will be closing down for a while. Possibly permanently, Keith Telly Topping still hasn't decided on that score just yet. Time, having something even vaguely worthwhile to say (since when has that ever been an issue in the past, this blogger hears you ask? Fair point, actually) and future medical developments will tell. From The North may well be back in a few weeks - this blogger had made a tentative decision that this blog had more-or-less run its course on more than one occasion in the past only to have an Al Pacino-in-The Godfather Part III moment and get pulled back in again. Who knows? Only The Doctor. And, possibly, The Curator.

As it stands, this blogger is currently feeling - a little, lingering headache notwithstanding - better than he has for a fortnight, at least. So, as ever, all best wishes being sent his way (even if only psychically and in-passing) are always appreciated. But for the moment, dear blog reader, this is where it all ends; pretty much exactly where it all began in 2006, in A Mod's Odyssey. It's been emotional.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness & Others Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them

A mural to mark the final series of the award-winning From The North favourite Peaky Blinders has been unveiled in Birmingham. The BBC period drama starring Cillian Murphy follows the lives of a family of Brummie gangsters in the early Twentieth Century. (You knew that, right?) The mural, by street artist Akse, was commissioned by the BBC to announce the - previously secret - broadcast date of 27 February.

Meanwhile, Peaky Blinders creator, Steven Knight, has been interviewed by the Gruniad Morning Star on where he plans to go next with the Shelby clan (big shock, it seemingly involves ballet).

Neighbours has been very dropped by Channel Five, putting the long-running Australian soap opera's future under threat. Which is, obviously, a complete tragedy. The network announced on Sunday that it would stop showing the programme later this year, after broadcasting it for more than a decade. Former Neighbours star Jason Donovan said the soap 'changed the Australian television landscape.' Though he didn't say whether that was, necessarily, for the better. Australian broadcaster Network Ten said it would look for a new partner to work with in an effort to keep the soap on-air. Set and filmed in Melbourne, Neighbours was first broadcast in Australia in 1985 and launched on the BBC a year later. It became a huge hit in the UK and in Australia, and helped launch the career of numerous stars, including Kylie Minogue, Jason Donovan, Guy Pearce, Natalie Imbruglia and later Margot Robbie.

The filming of a new television drama threw a 'lifeline' to a village pub that had been forced to close during the pandemic. The Bell Inn, in Kersey, Suffolk, was used as one of the locations of the BritBox series, The Magpie Murders. Wendy Gray, its landlady at the time, said the film company hired the building and car park for two weeks. She said the timing was 'fortuitous' as, due to the restrictions, in May 2021, it could only open outside. The TV series is an adaptation of bestselling writer Anthony Horowitz's crime thriller which was partially set in the county.

The Lord Of The Rings fans - and there are, indeed, quite a few of them - have been given the first glimpse at footage from the new one billion dollar Amazon TV series. The Lord Of The Rings: The Rings Of Power is credited as being the most expensive TV show ever made. Set thousands of years before the books - and Peter Jackson's movies - it will bring author JRR Tolkien's Middle Earth to the small-screen from September. The sixty-second teaser trailer appears to show ancestors of the hobbits and a host of other mysterious characters.

Oscar-winning actress Viola Davis' portrayal of Michelle Obama is seen in the first trailer for a new TV drama. First Lady, which will be broadcast later this year, will explore the lives of the women married to three US presidents. The ten-part series will also star Michelle Pfeiffer as Betty Ford and From The North favourite Gillian Anderson as Eleanor Roosevelt.

In 2019, during the fifth series of the BBC's acclaimed police corruption drama, From The North reported some truly idiotic comments about the series made by (then) real-life copper, The Met's Cressida Dick - a classic example of 'the Peter Principle' if ever there was one. Someone who appeared to be the very definition of nominative determinism, Dick by name and dick by nature - who, seemingly, hadn't got enough to do in her actual job (whatever that entailed, besides incompetent attempts to cover-up the manslaughter of innocent Brazilians) without wanting a new gig as a whinging TV Critic. 'Leave that to the professionals, sweetheart and maybe try solving some of the reported fifty murders which occurred on your patch in 2018' this blogger noted at the time. 'God save us all, dear blog reader, from armchair critics (this blogger very much included). But, particularly those armed with their own truncheon.' Line Of Duty creator Jed Mercurio's spirited response to this abject nonsense - slapping down The Odious Dick into the gutter in a most satisfying way - was, of course, perfect. Therefore, dear blog reader, as you can probably imagine, The Dick's recent very public - and very funny - resignation after a series of spectacular incompetent blunders in office was greatly welcomed at the Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. This blogger had intended to write a lengthy - admittedly, somewhat sneering - 'Farewell, Then, Ms Dick & Try To Let The Door Hit Your Arse, Extremely Hard, On The Way Out' obituary to her career. But, he's not going to because From The North favourite Marina Hyde of the Gruniad has done it for him and, indeed, for all of us, Farewell, Cressida Dick, The Met Chief Only Interested In One Thing: Ignoring Bad Coppers. Allow this blogger to quote Marina's first couple of paragraphs, in full, because they're really very good. 'Cressida Dick absolutely despised Line Of Duty,' begins Marina, much as this blogger intended to. But, she's a much better writer than Keith Telly Topping so what follows was preferable. 'The endlessly promoted Metropolitan police chief really crossed the road to tip on the BBC smash hit - so tellingly incensed by a show about sidelined cops doing the painful and unpopular work of rooting out bad apples. As Dame Cressida finally resigns from the spoilt barrel of The Met, I couldn't help but recall a 2019 Radio Times interview in which she expanded on her issues. "I was absolutely outraged by the level of casual and extreme corruption that was being portrayed as the way the police is," Dick told the magazine. "It's so far from that. The standards and professionalism are so high." Mmm. It was left to the show's creator, Jed Mercurio, to offer a little background. "My inspiration for creating Line Of Duty was The Met Police shooting an innocent man and their dishonesty in the aftermath," he explained icily, "so thanks to Cressida Dick for reminding me of our connection." Dick, of course, ran the bungled counterterrorism operation that resulted in Met officers fatally shooting Jean Charles de Menezes, an entirely innocent twenty seven-year-old electrician. But oddly - indeed, bizarrely - that wasn't the only Mercurio creation The Met chief had issues with. Both in the Radio Times interview and in an earlier outing on GMB, she added that she'd had to switch off the BBC's Bodyguard - at the time, the most watched drama since current records began - because she couldn't handle the mere idea of the two protagonists beginning a sexual relationship. As she put it: "The moment when the Home Secretary made a pass at the protection officer was just beyond me, I'm afraid." And yet, beyond her how? Beyond her why? In recent memory, a police protection officer had been dismissed for allegedly having an affair with the wife of the then Home Secretary, Alan Johnson. At the time, the special operations directorate to which he reported was being run by ... Cressida Dick. Forgive me for beginning by focusing on Dick's outrage about entirely fictional events, when she appeared to experience only mild displeasure at so many hideously real situations involving her officers. But Dame Cressida's telly critiques unwittingly revealed her most deadly flaws: a total failure of imagination, even in the face of overwhelming evidence and a total loyalty to officers that superseded all else. The public came a very distant second and increasingly knew it.' Yeah. What she said, dear blog reader. To the very end, Dick by name ...

And, speaking of the Gruniad Morning Star - and proving that even a broken clock can be right twice a day - Benjie Goodhart's excellent piece 'At 6pm Every Evening The Screen Went Blank': The Outlandish Tale Of The UK's TV Blackout is, also, well worth a few moments of every dear blog reader's time. Especially for those with an interest in TV history (and, let's face it, that should be most of you).

Buck-toothed horrorshow (and drag) Rob Beckett has reportedly told ITV 'I'll see you in court' after the broadcaster allegedly 'replaced' him on a recent episode of The Masked Singer. The thirty six-year-old extremely unfunny 'comedian' (very popular with students, apparently) has been 'taking to social media' to insist he was The Traffic Cone on the bafflingly popular singing competition and feature in From The North's Worst TV Shows list of both 2020 and 2021. Slappably-unfunny plank Beckett continued to claim he was the character on the show even when it was revealed to be Aled Jones prompting a response from the broadcaster. The broadcaster replied with a laughing emoji to which Beckett replied: 'See you in court.' And, this utter self-publicising horseshit constitutes 'news' apparently.

If Bamber Gascoigne was ever irked by the fact that he was best known to the British public for the phrase: 'Fingers on buzzers, your starter for ten,' he never showed it. More than thirty years after his retirement as the quizmaster on University Challenge - a post he had held for a quarter of a century between 1962 and 1987 - the phrase still dogged him, despite everything else he did in a life well-lived. Gascoigne, who has died aged eighty seven, with his easy patrician manner, born of a family steeped in centuries of aristocratic connections, proved an inspired if incongruous choice to chair a television quiz show on a commercial channel, even in the early 1960s. He looked and spoke like a junior Oxbridge don, gradually evolving into an uncensorious professor. He did not, he noted, mind being parodied by Griff Rhys Jones in an episode of The Young Ones, or by Mark Gatiss in the movie Starter For Ten in 2006 and he even played himself in an episode of Jonathan Creek.

TV producer and From The North favourite Beryl Vertue, whose company created Coupling, Men Behaving Badly and Sherlock, has died aged ninety. The media executive, who rose to the top of the industry after starting as a secretary, 'passed away peacefully' on Saturday, her family said. Industry colleagues called her one of the most influential women in British TV. Daughters Sue and Debbie, producers at the company their mother founded, said: 'She meant so much to so many.' Beryl's career began when she was asked by the writers of Hancock's Half Hour and Steptoe & Son, Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, to type up their scripts. In the mid-1950s, Beryl become an agent, almost by accident, representing comedy writers Spike Milligan, Eric Sykes, Johnny Speight, Galton and Simpson, and Terry Nation (for whom she brilliantly negotiated to keep partial rights to his Dalek creation for Doctor Who). She also Hancock (until 1961) and Frankie Howerd. She also had success selling shows such as Til Death Us Do Part and Steptoe & Son to the US market. In 1979, she founded Hartswood films, producing a series of shows including the 1990s sitcom Men Behaving Badly. Her company was also behind the critically acclaimed drama Sherlock starring Benedict Cumberbatch, produced by Vertue and her daughter Sue, who is married to the series co-creator From The North favourite The Lord Thy God Steven Moffat (OBE).

Love Thy Neighbour star Jack Smethurst has died peacefully at home aged eighty nine, his family has confirmed. Smethurst played the bigoted factory worker Eddie Booth in the 1970s ITV sitcom.

The American humourist and From The North favourite PJ O'Rourke, who has died aged seventy four of lung cancer, was a writer of sharp wit which ranged from dry to lusciously over-the-top, but was always leavened by a measure of self-deprecation that stopped it from being cruel or harsh. In the political satire that dominated his later writing, he became that rarest of things, a funny conservative.

Film-maker Ivan Reitman, who directed blockbuster comedies including the original Ghostbusters, has died at the age of seventy five. After his family fled Communist oppression in post-war Czechoslovakia, Reitman grew up in Canada, where he trained in film-making. His big break came when he produced the 1978 frat-house comedy National Lampoon's Animal House. His other films as director included Twins and Kindergarten Cop. He died peacefully in his sleep at his home in California, his family said.

Sections of the fabric roof of London's O2 arena have been shredded by the strength of Storm Eunice's winds, causing the venue to temporarily close. Opened in 2000 - and formerly known as The Millennium Dome - the landmark in Greenwich has been damaged by gusts of up to eighty miles per hour. 'The safety of our visitors remains of paramount importance,' the O2 said in a statement.

A live YouTube stream of planes attempting to land at Heathrow during Storm Eunice has become an unexpected online hit. Aviation enthusiast Jerry Dyer has been streaming aircraft's attempts to land at the London airport in the strong winds on his Big Jet TV channel. His lively commentary - plus the footage as planes approach, sometimes having to abort - have been attracting more than two hundred thousand live viewers at times. Dyer told the BBC that the feed was 'the most exciting stuff you can get.' For several hours on Friday, Dyer has been running the live stream from the roof of a specially adapted van, shouting 'go on son,' 'nicely done' and 'fair play mate' at pilots who land successfully. For trickier landings, he advised pilots to 'go around again' and, as one pilot abandoned an attempt to touch down at the last second amid strong winds, Dyer exclaimed: 'Ooh, he did not like that.'

US actor Rockmond Dunbar is attempting to sue the makers of TV drama Nine-One-One, saying he was fired after claiming exemption from having a Covid vaccination. He says that he was denied 'medical and religious exemptions' and 'faced racial discrimination' when producers Twentieth Television stipulated that all actors had to be vaccinated. The Disney-owned company says it complied with its legal obligations and denied making decisions based on race. Dunbar, who has appeared on the drama since it began on the FOX network in 2018, requested exemptions based on his 'beliefs' as a member of The Church Of Universal Wisdom (no, me neither) and an undisclosed disability, according to his legal case. He claims that he was refused permission to remain unvaccinated while other cast and crew members - of whom 'none sought a religious exemption and none were Black' - were granted exemptions.

Production of the BBC's MasterChef will be moved to Birmingham from 2024, producers have announced. It will be the first time the show, one of the BBC's most popular franchises, will be made outside of London in more than twenty years. It is set to be made at the new Digbeth Loc Studios, run by Peaky Blinders creator Steven Knight. The BBC's Director General, Tim Davie, said that the decision was 'great news for Birmingham and the BBC. We said we would create jobs and investment, bringing decision-making and productions to the West Midlands as part of our Across the UK plans,' he added. 'Moving one of our biggest programme brands shows we are making that a reality.' In 2021, the BBC announced plans to shift its 'creative and journalistic centre' away from London to 'better reflect, represent and serve all parts of the country.' MasterChef is one of the corporation's biggest entertainment shows and a number of other spin-offs - including Celebrity MasterChef, MasterChef: The Professionals and Young MasterChef - will also be produced in Birmingham.

A statue of The Famous Be-Atles' famous manager famous Brian Epstein in his famous home city of Liverpool has been granted planning permission. Famously. The sculpture of the impresario, who also managed Cilla Black and Gerry & The Pacemakers, will be erected near to his family's former record shop, NEMS, in Whitechapel. Epstein managed The Famous Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) from November 1961 after watching them at The Famous Cavern Club until his death six years later. The Extremely Famous Sir Paul McCartney said that he was 'delighted' to hear of the plans. Jane Robbins, one of the statue's sculptors and Famous McCartney's somewhat less-famous cousin, said: 'He said a few rude words but we were at a family party and I had the photos of the final clay on my phone. I showed him the photograph and he said "bleep, bleep, bleep Janie, that's dead good, like." He spent several minutes looking at it and he was delighted. I don't know if there was an actual a tear in his eye but he was very moved to see the clay and that, I think, speaks volumes. When you get a likeness, people do often cry because that person isn't around anymore.'

A notebook containing hand-written lyrics to The Famous Be-Atles famous classic 'Hey Jude' is to go on display for the first time. The book, compiled between 1967 and 1968, features The Famous Sir Paul McCartney's draft of the famous song alongside poetry and doodles. Stephen Maycock, a specialist in The Famous Be-Atles memorabilia, said that the book provided 'a fascinating insight' into The Famous Be-Atles' 'creative process.' It will be exhibited at The Be-Atles Story in Liverpool from 22 February. The notebook also contains a part-lyric for 'Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band', recording notes by The Famous George Harrison (Scouser Of Distinction) for 'All You Need Is Love' as well as verses for other 1967-era songs including 'Being For The Benefit Of Mister Kite', 'Good Morning, Good Morning' and 'All Together Now'. The book belonged to The Famous Be-Atles famous tour manager, the late (and famous) Mal Evans.

From The North favourite Neil Young has continued to criticise Spotify, following his extremely impressive departure from the platform in protest over their support of podcaster Joe Rogan. In a message posted to his website, Young wrote: 'To the musicians and creators in the world, I say this: You must be able to find a better place than Spotify to be the home of your art. To the workers at Spotify, I say [co-founder and chief executive officer] Daniel Ek is your big problem - not Joe Rogan. Ek pulls the strings. Get out of that place before it eats up your soul. The only goals stated by Ek are about numbers - not art, not creativity.' Neil also encouraged readers to divest from four US banks - Chase, Citi, Bank of America and Wells Fargo - 'for their continued funding of the fossil fuel damage even as the global temperature keeps climbing.'

Meanwhile, From The North ... whatever the opposite of 'favourite' is, Sting, has reportedly sold his entire songwriting back catalogue, including solo work and material by The Police, to the Universal Music Group. For a shitload of coin, one imagines. No justice.

Dizzee Rascal (he is a rapper-type individual, very popular with young people, m'lud) pushed and injured his ex-fiancee during a row when he dropped off their children, a court has heard. The rapper, whose real name is Dylan Kwabena Mills, has been accused of attacking Cassandra Jones at a property in Streatham in June 2021. Wimbledon Magistrates' Court heard that the thirty six-year-old 'barged' his way into the house, put his forehead against Jones' and 'pushed her to the ground.' Really hard. Dizzee Rascal of Sevenoaks in Kent, denies 'assault by beating.' Jones and the grime artist, whose top hit tunes include 'Bonkers' and 'Dance Wiv Me', had two children before they split up in February 2021.

From The North's favourite headline of the week, by some distance, came from the Gruniad. Boris Johnson 'Not A Complete Clown', Says His New Press Chief. Which is, obviously, something of a relief to have confirmed.

Though, to be fair, Pine Martens To Be Used As 'Bouncers' To Keep Grey Squirrels Out Of Highlands, from the same media organ, pushed it jolly close to the award.

As, indeed, did the BBC News website's KitKat & Durex Makers Nestle And Reckitt Warn Of Price Rises. But, how will the human race survive this horrific discombobulation?

And, as if that's not bad enough, dear blog reader, Unilever, the firm behind brands such as Marmite and Dove Soap, has said it will also put up its prices as 'overheads continue to rise.' Chocolate, condoms and, now, Marmite are getting more expensive, dear blog reader. We might as well just give up and kill ourselves, clearly.

Protest is familiar in Westminster and always has been. It's an important part of our political tradition. But in 2022, very angry gatherings are increasingly common. Small bands of furious members of the public are often spotted on the corner of Parliament Square, or outside Portcullis House, where many MPs work and gather. They sometimes hold placards and are normally carrying camera phones to record and share their exploits, carefully watching who goes past. Last Monday such a group spotted the Labour leader Sir Keir Starmer. He became the latest, along with the Shadow Foreign Secretary and Labour's leader in the Lords, to be personally targeted and swarmed by wretched lowlife scum, before being bundled into the back of a police car for his own safety. The experience, inevitably filmed and posted online within minutes, was another ugly reminder of what many politicians encounter in the name of this modern form of protest - abusive, personal, edgy. But it's also reignited the considerable anger inside the Conservative Party at the Prime Minister's false claims in Parliament a week previously. Bashing Boris Johnson - who, remember, is 'not a complete clown', apparently - misleadingly suggested that the Labour leader had been involved in the decision not to prosecute serial sex offender Jimmy Savile, a political attack which attracted criticism from some Conservatives straight away. And, wasn't even true. It led later in the week to the resignation of one of Johnson's closest political confidants and was one of the reasons why concern was spreading in Conservative ranks about Johnson's leadership. His refusal to apologise - and, only partial retraction - made some MPs queasy and was the trigger for at least one of them to add their private letter to those already submitted in an effort to oust him.

A sushi restaurant, due to open for the first time last Friday, has grovellingly apologised after 'mistakenly' publishing a dress code which specified women had to wear 'sexy' clothing to gain entry. Beluga in Leatherhead, Surrey, said on its website that women could wear 'sexy black ankle-strap heels with a form-fitting top', or could opt for 'skinny jeans' or 'midi or bodycon dresses.' Men were told not to wear tracksuits. In a post on Instagram the restaurant offered its 'sincere apologies.' It said: 'The description was inappropriate, disrespectful and offensive and does not reflect the image we're seeking to promote. We wish to clarify that our policy is a smart dress code for men and women.'

Researchers believe there may be a planet which could sustain life, in the vicinity of a dying sun. If confirmed, this would be the first time that a potentially life-supporting planet has been found orbiting such a star, called a white dwarf. The planet was detected in the star's 'habitable zone' where it's neither too cold nor too hot to sustain life. The study is published in the monthly notices of the Royal Astronomical Society. Professor Jay Farihi of University College London, who led the study, said the observation was 'completely new' to astronomers. 'This is the first time that anything has been seen in the habitable zone of a white dwarf. And thus there is a possibility of life on another world orbiting it,' he told BBC News. The research team do not have direct evidence of the planet's existence - but the movements of sixty five Moon-sized structures orbiting the white dwarf's habitable zone, suggest it is there. The structures' distance in relation to each other does not change, suggesting that they are under the influence of the gravity of a planet in the vicinity. Or under the influence of anything else, come to that.

A new planet has been discovered around the star closest to the Sun that is within reach of 'future exploration.' Astronomers found evidence of the body orbiting the Proxima Centauri star using the European Southern Observatory’s Very Large Telescope in Chile. The planet is the third detected in the system and is just a quarter of Earth's mass, making it the lightest yet discovered orbiting the star - which is just over four light-years away from the Sun. Named Proxima D, the newly discovered world orbits Proxima Centauri at a distance of about four million kilometres - less than a tenth of Mercury's distance from the Sun. So, if you're thinking of going, dear blog reader, it might be an idea to pack the Factor Fifty. 

Astronomers say that a rocket section set to crash into the Moon in March did not come from Elon Musk's space exploration company as they first thought. Instead they believe it is probably a Chinese rocket stage launched for a lunar mission in 2014. The impact of the collision with the Moon will be minor, scientists say. Although, if it happens to land on Mooncase, that might be somewhat less 'minor' than anticipated. Astronomers first identified a piece of machinery on course to crash into the Moon on 4 March in January. Machinery left in space that doesn't return to the Earth's atmosphere after completing missions is known as space junk. Data analyst Bill Gray identified the object as a Falcon 9 booster from a 2015 launch by billionaire Elon Musk's space exploration programme SpaceX. It was subsequently reported by journalist Eric Berger. But now, Gray claims he 'made an error' and, instead, believes it is a rocket launched in October 2014 as part of China's Chang'e 5-T1 mission that sent a small spacecraft to the Moon.

With the Moon waxing into its First Quarter phase this week becomes less about pure dark sky stargazing and more about watching our satellite and the planets. This week, for example, gives us a rare chance to see Uranus - which, let's face it, is always nice - then Venus, though one will need to be up and about early to glimpse the latter.

Several Chinese streaming platforms have been accused of censoring LGBT-related plotlines from the hit US sitcom Friends. The show was re-released in China earlier last week on Tencent, Bilibili, Sohu, iQiyi and Alibaba's Youku. But Chinese fans have complained of scenes being deleted, including those that reference a lesbian character and another featuring a same-sex kiss. It is unclear why the scenes have been removed - apart from, you know, the obvious, sick and disgraceful homophobia - and none of the platforms have responded publicly to the accusations. Though, to paraphrase From The North favourite Mandy Rice-Davies, 'well, they wouldn't, would they?'

In news which will, one presumes, be less-than-welcome in the People's Republic of China, a new report has found LGBT representation on American TV is at an all-time high, with nearly twelve per cent of regular characters who are identifiably LGBT. The numbers come from a study by LGBT media advocacy group GLAAD.

Ukrainian singer Alina Pash says that she is ready to represent her country at this year's Eurovision Song Contest in May, after winning a TV competition on Saturday. Ukraine's national broadcaster UA:PBC has now suspended the signing of the agreement for her to be the country's representative at the song contest. There is, reportedly, an investigation into a 2015 trip she made to Crimea, an area Russia seized control of in 2014. It means her Eurovision journey is 'on hold' as she waits for the outcome.

An energy firm has snivellingly apologised after seventy four customers hit by power cuts during Storm Arwen 'accidentally' received compensation cheques for trillions of knicker. Northern Powergrid was supposed to be paying tens of thousands of pounds to customers hit by days of outages last November. But a number with Halifax and Newcastle postcodes received cheques made out for thirteen-figure sums. Northern Powergrid said 'a clerical error' was to blame. No shit? Pictures of the erroneous cheques have been circulating on social media days after the firm was criticised for taking months to process compensation claims. Incidentally, dear blog reader, if you're wondering, this blogger was not one of the recipients of this windfall. If he had been, he'd have cashed the bugger - as a lesson to the company not to be so error-bound in future.

The government is investigating after new reports of dead crabs and lobsters along the North East coast. This, presumably, being the same government which couldn't organise a piss-up (or several) in Downing Street under lockdown? The Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs is to 'undertake additional sampling' after fishermen reported further deaths. Tens of thousands of the crustaceans first washed up on shores from Seaton Carew down to Whitby in October. DEFRA previously claimed it had 'completed a thorough investigation' which found a natural 'algal bloom' was responsible.

On September day last year, Simon Hunt took his boat down to the Thames near Brentford and spotted something lurking in the shallows. Lying on the pebbles and rocks of the riverbed at low tide was a human femur, or upper leg bone. Carbon dating has since indicated it to be more than five thousand years old, meaning it had come from someone who lived in the late Neolithic period - the end of the Stone Age. Experts say it is dated between 3516 and 3365 BC and belonged to a person who was about five feet seven inches tall, but it's not been possible to tell if they were male or female.

The Grand Old Duke Of York, dear blog reader, he had ten million quid. That was, however, before he gave an unspecified - but, allegedly, huge - amount away to a woman whom, he claims, he has never met (despite photographic evidence existing which places him with her and convicted sex-offender Ghislaine Maxwell in 2001). Prince Andrew, just in case you hadn't heard, has settled a civil sexual assault case brought against him by Virginia Giuffre who had been suing The Grand Old Duke Of York (he used to have ten million quid), claiming he sexually assaulted her on three occasions when she was only seventeen. Allegations which - it is important to note - The Grand Old Duke Of York has, repeatedly, denied. One or two people even believed him. Quite a few media commentators have had quite a lot to say about the final outcome of this affair, including the BBC's Emily Maitlis whose notoriously direct interview with The Grand Old Duke Of York (he used to have ten million quid) on Newsnight did him more harm than good. And, the Gruniad Morning Star. And, indeed, just about every other newspaper in the UK (and far beyond). This blogger has little to add ... except to offer the thought that he does not give permission for a single penny of his taxes to be used to help pay off The Grand Old Duke Of York's, presumably massive, legal fees. Just in case the dear old mum of The Grand Old Duke Of York (he used to have ten million quid, used to being the operative words in this sentence) happens to be a secret - or, indeed, not so secret - reader of From The North. Not one single penny, ma'am. Incidentally, for anyone wondering exactly where The Grand Old Duke Of York (he had ten million quid) got his money from in the first place, this acticle provides a few - though, not all - of the answers. ' Royal finances are not always straightforward. When he was a "working royal," carrying out duties on behalf of The Royal Family, it was suggested that Prince Andrew received about two hundred and fifty thousand smackers per year, including the cost of running an office. But that would have ended when he stepped down from official royal duties in 2019, in the wake of his Newsnight interview. It hasn't been confirmed whether that was replaced by The Queen paying him from her private income.' Nice work if you can get it, dear blog reader.

A French modelling agent and a former associate of the late US financier, convicted and disgraced sex offender and close personal beast fiend of The Grand Old Duke Of York (he used to have ten million quid) Jeffrey Epstein has been found extremely dead in his prison cell in Paris. Jean-Luc Brunel was found hanged in La Santé prison on Saturday morning, French media reports. He has been in custody since being placed under formal investigation in 2020, accused of sexual harassment and the rape of minors aged between fifteen and eighteen in France. Brunel had denied any wrongdoing. As, indeed, had The Grand Old Duke Of York (he used to have ten million quid). Just, you know, for a bit of perspective, there.

Michael Masi has been extremely removed as F1 race director as part of a 'restructure' at governing body, the FIA, in the wake of last year's disastrous finish to the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. In the least-surprisingly news of the year so far this will, of course, give notoriously whinging faceache Lewis Hamilton one less thing to whinge about. FIA president Mohammed Ben Sulayem announced a series of changes as a result of the inquiry into the controversial end to last year's World Championship. Masi failed to correctly apply the rules in a late safety car period and it had a direct impact on the outcome of the title race. Two men will now alternate in the role, while extra help will be provided to officials. Presumably, working of the assumption that they both can't make as big a cock-up of The Rules as Masi, undeniably, did.

League One Sunderland will not be reappointing Roy Keane as their new manager, this blogger's former colleagues at BBC Newcastle have reported. The fifty-year-old permanently angry Irishman had two-year spell with The Mackem Filth between 2006 and 2008, during which he led them to the Premier League. The Scumchester United legend has been out of football management since leaving Ipswich Town in 2011 and has been appearing as a, frequently monosyllabic, pundit for ITV ever in their - not very good - football coverage ever since. Blunderland were second in the League One table after their most recent league win over Portsmouth on 22 January, but a six-nil pants-down hiding at Notlob Wanderings in their next game saw former boss Lee Johnson extremely sacked and they have subsequently lost against Doncaster, Cheltenham and, this weekend, the MK Dons and dropped to seventh. Shortly after Keane turned them down, Alex Neil (no, me neither) was announced as Sunderland's new head coach.

And then, of course, there was Kick-The-Pussy-Cat-Gate. Which, unbelievably, became an even bigger story in the UK than The Grand Old Duke Of York (he used to have ten million quid). As a cat-lover, this blogger was utterly horrified, appalled and disgusted by West Hamsters United's Kurt Zouma and his disgraceful actions in relation to his pets. And, indeed of West Hamsters United's failure to take anything even close to what appeared reasonable actions against the player to match the apparent seriousness of the offences he was filmed committing. What made this blogger slightly curious, however, was the reaction of the general public towards Zouma as compared to the reaction a couple of years ago when his manager, David Moyes, threatened this blogger's former BBC Newcastle colleague, Vicki Sparks, with 'a slap' when he was Blunderland manager and she asked him a question which, seemingly, he didn't like the tone of. About which this blogger wrote, extensively, at the time. The fact that the odious Moyes continues in regular employment in football management after that necessarily colours this blogger's opinion concerning the crass excuses which the odious Moyes has made about Zouma and his horrible cat-kicking ways. If nothing else, dear blog reader, the very negative public reaction to Zouma and the, seeming, lack of a similar censure for the odious Moyes from the wider football community - a thirty grand fine notwithstanding - says much. About Great Britain as a nation of animal-lovers but who, generally speaking, seem less bothered about crass misogyny and threats of violence made by men against women. Priorities, dear blog reader. Good word, that. And, again, this blogger says all of this as a life-long cat-lover who thinks Zouma hasn't been treated anywhere near harshly enough as yet by his club, The Fuzz or the RSPCA. Here endeth the latest From The North bloggerisationism lesson.