So, dear blog reader, for the past fortnight, Great Britain (a small fishing village in the mid-Atlantic, you may have heard of it) has been, as t'were, collectively shivering in its own Vicious Arctic Snap. It has, in short, been pretty damned cold, dear blog reader. You may have even noticed if you've been outside.
How cold? Well, in the vacinity of The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House, this cold.
Or, to put it another way.
In an interview with AP News promoting his upcoming series Litvinenko, national heartthrob David Tennant took some time to reflect on his Doctor Who return. 'There's a slight precedent for that, old doctors showing up for five minutes here and there. But to get a proper old run around in the Converse again was more than I ever dared imagine. So, it was a treat from start to finish.'
A piece on Inverse (no, me neither) suggests that 'the future of the time-traveling franchise [that's Doctor Who if you were wondering] seems to be reaching back to incorporate popular elements of its recent past. With one confirmation about 2024 and some leaked concept art about a new TARDIS, here's how the new Who will probably remind some fans of the old Who.' Can this blogger, once again, issue a necessary reminder to all dear blog readers just how much this old-Who and new-Who shite really gets on Keith Telly Topping's effing tripe. Doctor Who is a TV show that the BBC started making in 1963 and is still making now. Yes, there was a period in the middle when they weren't making it but then, after a while, they were. It's all Doctor Who and anyone who differentiates between the various eras of it is, in this blogger's considered opinion, an arsehole who needs a damned good, hard slap. Ideally, with a brick. And this blogger shall not be havin' with it.
There's a very odd article from Variety giving some of the background for the lengthy 'renewal journey' for From The North favourite The Sandman. Firstly, it wasn't that lengthy (three months is a long time to hang by your neck, admittedly, but in the great scheme of things it's no more than a handful of heartbeats to a member of The Eternals). The article, by Jennifer Maas, is quite well written but parts of it are just plain weird; like, for instance, their obsession over the fact that Netflix didn't use the words 'season' and 'two' in their renewal announcement. 'When The Sandman was finally renewed on 2 November, Netflix was careful to word the announcement in such a way as to not actually call it a second season, but rather "a continuation of The Sandman world” with both an episode count and story details being kept under wraps. But why is it not called Season two?' And, if you look up 'bollocks that, literally, no one cares about' on a Google search, dear blog reader, you'll find that question pretty close to the top of t5he list. The article does, at least, include a fine quote from Netflix's head of UCAN scripted TV, Peter Friedlander: 'We wanted to spend the time to get creatively aligned around what would be the next, best experience with The Sandman. And because of that, we wanted to spend the time with [showrunner Allan Heinberg] and Neil and really talk through and be thoughtful about what the approach should be - because season one is also very thoughtful and intentional. So that was really what took the extra time, is to get our ducks in a row ... I'm very excited about what we have in store and we have made some great decisions around where this will go,' Friedlander added, assuring viewers a renewal was always in the cards - it was just a matter of when. 'So it's a stay-tuned and watch. Like you, I am a major Sandman fan and to be able to watch Neil and Allan do what they do is extraordinary. I think what they did with season one - it's refreshing, it's breathtaking, it's iconic. It's all of those descriptions and to know that it connected with audiences is just so rewarding.' When asked about potentially more surprise episodes, like the A Dream Of A Thousand Cats/Calliope, Friedlander said: 'The Sandman always follows his own path ... The show, I think, was so popular because it was such a discovery and it was such an invention. That's what we're trying to honour as we continue to tell this story and it shouldn't follow any path other than its own ... So part of that is also just keeping it secret till we know more!' The Comic Book Movie website also has a view on this story which suggests Netflix Considering Changing-Up Traditional "Binge Model" For Future Installments when Netflix, in fact, haven't said that or anything even remotely like it. And let us, dear blog reader, once again stand up and salute the utter shite that some people choose to care about.
Sandman fandom really does seem to be going out of its way to over take Doctor Who fandom as the most conspiracy theory-obsessed and Game Of Thrones fandom as the most self-entitled of late. According to Startefacts (no, me neither), less than a month after Netflix had announced the renewal of the adaptation, '[Sandman] fans have definitely went full drama queen mode when they read a Deadline article on a "brewing new streaming war" between Warner Brothers CEO David Zaslav and Netflix. The article breaks down the skirmish between Warner Brother and Netflix over payment terms, which could potentially affect Sandman, as Morpheus is technically a DC character.' Well, there's no technically about it, he is a DC character. 'According to Deadline, Zaslav is "not particularly happy" with "the way that Netflix deals are structured, paying producers over the course of eighteen to twenty four months."' There were no comments even hinting at the possibility of a cancellation of The Sandman series two in the Deadline article, but inevitably, some fans immediately 'voiced concerns' that this was something that could happen in the wake of the possible misunderstanding between Warner Brothers and Netflix. Thankfully, Neil Gaiman was quick to set the record straight on Twitter. 'Sandman season two has been commissioned by Netflix and is real. Whatever behind the scenes wrangling and negotiating needed to happen to make this a reality has already occurred.' With exactly that same sort of weary, 'oh, what is it now?' look that Neil once gave yer actual Keith Telly Topping when this blogger asked Neil if he wouldn't mind awfully, signing a dozen random issues of The Sandman comic that this blogger just happened to have dragged six thousand miles across the mighty blue ocean. You pester Gaiman at your peril, dear blog readers.
Memorably Daft Double-Entendres In Episodes Of Doctor Whom (1963-2022). Number Twenty Seven: The Ice Warriors.
Memorably Daft Double-Entendres In Episodes Of Doctor Whom (1963-2022). Number Twenty Eight: An Unearthly Child. Filthy from Day One, dear blogggerisationism readers.
Memorably Daft Double-Entendres In Episodes Of Doctor Whom (1963-2022). Number Twenty Nine: The Mutants. How jolly apt.
Memorably Daft Double-Entendres In Episodes Of Doctor Whom (1963-2022). Number Thirty: It's a really piss-poor episode, David - one of the few that Keith Telly Topping didn't think was great - and this blogger very much claims his Five Pounds. Fear Her.
Memorably Daft Double-Entendres In Episodes Of Doctor Whom (1963-2022). Number Thirty One: An entirely appropriate bit of magic from the late Chris Boucher (daft magic, at that) from Image Of The Fendahl. (Plus, Wanda Ventham apparently Sieg Heiling. Which is, you know, different. It's either that or she's waving to someone at the back.)
Memorably Daft Double-Entendres In Episodes Of Doctor Whom (1963-2022). Number Thirty Two: The Eleventh Hour. One of this blogger's favourite bits of Doctor Whom ever.
Memorably Daft Double-Entendres In Episodes Of Doctor Whom (1963-2022). Number Thirty Three: The Edge Of Destruction.
Memorably Daft Double-Entendres In Episodes Of Doctor Whom (1963-2022). Number Thirty Four: Nyssa sums up the script of Earthshock.
Followed, of course, by Memorably Daft Lines from Blockbuster War & Espionage Movies of the 1960s and 70s (or, In This Case, 1942): Number Ninety Two: Thora Hird: 'What's up?' Elizabeth Allen: 'I shot one!' Thora Hird: 'Good girl. You know, we ought to keep score. That's one to you. Half a minute now, I'll have a go ... Missed him. Can't even hit a sitting Jerry!' Went The Day Well.
Memorably Daft Lines from Memorably So-Bad-It's-Brilliant War & Espionage Movies of the 1960s and 70s: Number Ninety Three: Nicky Henson: 'Well, at least he had guts.' Richard Todd: 'Yes. And there, all over the deck!' Number One Of The Secret Service.
Memorably Daft Lines from Blockbuster War & Espionage Movies of the 1960s and 70s: Number Ninety Four: Laurence Harvey: 'I hope they carve your brother up!' The Long & The Short & The Tall.
Memorably Daft Lines from Blockbuster War & Espionage Movies of the 1960s and 70s (or, in this case, 1953): Number Ninety Five: Donald Sinden: 'Sir, reports from HQ say that there are five U-boats in this area.' Jack Hawkins: 'Five? It was good of them to tell us!' Donald Sinden: 'Now they say there are nine U-boats operating around this area!' Jack Hawkins: 'Good grief, we must be very popular this evening!' The Cruel Sea.
Memorably Daft Lines from Blockbuster War & Espionage Movies of the 1960s and 70s (or, in this case, 1947): Number Ninety Six: Robert Mitchum: 'Hating is always the same, always senseless. One day it kills Irish Catholics, the next day Jews, the next day Protestants, the next day Quakers. It's hard to stop. It can end up killing men who wear striped neckties. Or people from Tennessee!' Crossfire.
Memorably Daft Lines from Blockbuster War & Espionage Movies of the 1960s and 70s (or, in this case 1957): Number Ninety Seven: Sessue Hayakawa: 'I hate the British! You are defeated but you have no shame. You are stubborn but you have no pride. You endure but you have no courage. I hate the British!' The Bridge On The River Kwai.
Memorably Daft Lines from Blockbuster War & Espionage Movies of the 1960s and 70s (or, in this case 1981): Number Ninety Eight: Harold Baigent: 'How did it start?' Mark Lee: 'Don't know exactly. But, it was the Germans' fault!' Gallipoli. A marvellous reminder of how good Mel Gibson used to be. Before he went mad.
Then, dear blog reader, there's this.
Battle For The V-1 (Vernon Sewell, 1958).
The Eyes (Ken Hughes, 1960).
Tales That Witness Madness (Freddie Francis, 1972).
Dead Man's Evidence (Francis Searle, 1962).
The Share Out (Gerald Glaister, 1962).
Q Planes (Tim Whelan and Arthur B Woods, 1939).
House Of Whipcord (Pete Walker, 1974). Masterpiece.
Inner Sanctum (Lew Landers, 1948).
The Strange World Of Planet X (Gilbert Gunn, 1958).
Goalbreak (Francis Searle, 1962). As the late Phil Lynott once said, 'Tonite there's gonna be a gaolbreak/somewhere in this town'. The gaol, possibly, Phil? Just a guess, y'understand.
Invasion Of The Bee Girls (Denis Sanders, 1973).
The Phantom Planet (William Marshall, 1961).
A Question Of Suspense (Max Varnel, 1961).
As you may be aware, dear blog reader, via Keith Telly Topping's essays on British post-war B-movies, The Corpse, The Yellow Teddy Bears, Saturday Night Out and The Black Torment, The Pleasure Girls, Hell Is A City, Cup Fever, Face Of A Stranger and Yield To The Night, Hell Drivers, The Day The Earth Caught Fire and Game For Three Losers, Hammer Films, Blood Of The Vampire and Good-Time Girl, Beat Girl, The Earth Dies Screaming, Radio-Cab Murder, Seven Days Till Noon, Murder In Reverse, The Gelignite Gang and Dead Man's Chest, The Narrowing Circle, Danger By My Side, Night Of The Prowler, Impact, Smokescreen and Girl In The Headlines, From The North has started seeming like a film blog which, sometimes, discusses TV. Rather than the other way around which is, in theory, this blog's raison d'être. C'est la vie, chers lecteurs du blog. This blogger remains happy to report that there still seems little reason to stop such movie-related malarkey.
'You sometimes reveal a revoltingly servile streak. Very vulgar. Something to do with being a foreigner, I suppose!' As mentioned on a couple of previous occasions, one of this blogger's most treasured movies is Peter Hall's 1970 London heist-caper Perfect Friday. And, happily, this week saw a very welcome (and, these days, rather rare) showing of the film on From The North's favourite TV channel, Talking Pictures TV. Which was jolly nice.
'I'd like to escape, I imagine we both would.' 'I'm perfectly fine.' 'You have no money.' 'Have you?' 'I intend getting some!' The story revolves around three people - the bone-idle Lord Nicholas Dorset (the late David Warner on magnificent form) and his wife, Britt (From The North favourite Urusla Andress), for both of whom luxury is a necessity - and sex is something they have not only with each other but, also, with anyone else they fancy. And their bank's deputy manager Mister Graham (another From The North favourite, the excellent Stanley Baker).
Over his many years of service without gratitude to the National Metropolitan, Graham has devised an intricate, complex and, hopefully, foolproof plan to rob his own bank without him being suspected of the naughty crime. The only problem is, he needs a couple of willing - and, completely immoral - criminal accomplices. His clients', the Dorsets, with their desperate financial straits, make them ideal candidates in his eyes. But, to ensure their loyalty Graham has to become Britt's lover (no great chore as it turns out) whilst constantly sending her husband away on minor errands. He also bribes Nick with a weekly retainer. But, who can trust whom in this game of three compulsive liars?
'What I need is an attentive lover, very rich who adores me, who will not be cross if I'm a little unfaithful sometimes.' As impoverished members of the peerage (Nick attends the House Of Lords most days. It bores him rigid but he's guaranteed a daily fee of four guineas for doing so!), the Dorsets are keeping themselves expensively afloat with over-extended credit from Graham's bank. On a Friday when the golf-obsessed manager has taken a sickie to attend a tournament, the coast will be clear and Graham will give the Dorsets a telephone signal that their heist is g-for-go. Hence, the movie's title. Whilst waiting, Nick and Graham are both consumed with cunning schemes to double-cross the other and take the entire haul (and Britt, obviously) for themselves. Meanwhile, Lady Dorset herself - while appearing to keep very busy in bed with either Graham or her husband - is giving equally strenuous mental effort to her own (triple-cross) plans to acquire the swag.
'I must be absolutely your most troublesome customer, Mister Graham.' The robbery scheme is dependent on intricate timing and must be carried out on a Perfect Friday when all of the elements come together. With careful planning, the simple, neat crime is eventually accomplished (on a Monday, though, that's another story entirely). But each of the trio mistrust the other and, with three hundred thousand knicker at stake, the three robbers have a lot to lose. Peter Hall's clever non-linear narrative makes parts of the story confusing at times but - and this is important - this is more than made up for by the interaction between the three stars.
Warner's flamboyantly over-the-top character steals the entire film. With his fedora and long black coat, this was the movie which made this blogger consider David the greatest Doctor that we never had. In a large part, however, Warner running away with the picture is because Baker - in an example of how good acting can sometimes mean consciously stepping aside - helps him to do it.
'I want you, my Lord, to grow a moustache.' 'That's a joke in extremely bad taste!' Andress is terrific as well; sexy as Hell and with a sharp comic timing that bounces off both of her co-stars with practiced ease. Most of the movie, in fact, is essentially a comic farce romp around the odd ménage à trois. However, the heist sceness are cleverly thought out and very entertaining and the final sequences - a three-way chase to Heathrow - are the cherry on top of the cake. The script by Anthony Greville-Bell and Scott Forbes (from the latter's original story) is witty and intentionally salacious and was handled by director Hall with considerable aplomb. Including some splendidly evocative Central London location work. The film's improbability and its Swinging London sensibility are all part of the fun.
'I don't know why I can't use my own tailor in London.' 'One can't be too careful.' 'You can't possibly understand what an ordeal it is to wear clothes made by a stranger!' In 1969 Dimitri de Grunwald had set up a new production and distribution outlet, the International Film Consortium, a co-op of independent film distributors throughout the world. They raised finance for a series of films produced by London Screenplays - besides Perfect Friday, they also funded The McMasters, The Virgin & The Gypsy, The Last Grenade and Connecting Rooms. De Grunwald described Perfect Friday's commercial prospects as 'safe-ish' given the presence of Baker and (especially) Andress. The movie was produced by Baker who later said of it: 'I think [Peter Hall] will produce film work as interesting as what he's done on the stage. What I like about Perfect Friday is that everybody lies to each other and everybody believes each other's lies. I don't know if the audience realises it, but every time the characters speak to each other, they're lying.' Hall observed that the sex scenes were 'meant to make fun of all those sex films that steam up the West End.'
'You see all my boyfriends have been super-attractive but absolute bastards. I don't think a man can keep me if I'm very sure of him.' 'The children of broken marriages are often unsettled, maybe that's your problem.' 'My parents are devoted.' 'This morning you told me they were divorced, or is that only when you need an overdraft?' With a supporting cast that included Patience Collier, TP McKenna, Joan Benham, Johnny Briggs, Carleton Hobbs, Howard Lang and Garfield Morgan and a rather nice jazz score by Johnny Dankworth, Perfect Friday opened in the UK in November 1970 and a month later in America. Its contemporary reviews were mostly positive and the film did decent business before it eventually moved into the world of TV showings which is where this blogger first encountered it (almost certainly a broadcast on ITV in 1980).
Oh look, dearest bloggerisationisms readers, it's Nanook Of (From) The North. It was absolutely flippin' perishin' outside on the day that this image was captured and yer actual Keith Telly Topping had found it necessary to make a trip to ALDI to pick up some essential supplies (plus a non-essential tin of spaghetti, admittedly).
That was, this blogger pledged to his dear Facebook fiends on the day in question, the last time this blogger intended to leave the - relative - warmth (well, less cold, anyway) of The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House until, ooo, March ...
Of course, such stoic intent lasted all of a couple of days till an evening when this blogger couldn't be bothered to cook anything so he decided to have a brief slip n' a-slide around the corner to the local takeaway, The Royal Sky. Keith Telly Topping got there at the same time as a chap this blogger - vaguely - knows by sight, and is on sort-of 'nodding terms' with. We arrived at the door at exactly the same moment and both then spent about thirty seconds doing that 'after you, mate', 'no, after you' dance. Until this blogger took the initiative and decided to go first and put in his order (King Prawn and Chinese Mushrooms with Yung Chow Rice for those taking notes). The other chap put in his order (he must have been having a dinner party by the sound of it cos it took a long time). He sat down next to this blogger and we fell into a casual conversation about the previous night's England versus France World Cup quarter-final ('my Granny could've scored that penalty and she's been dead since 1973!' et cetera). As we were talking, an oldish gentleman (older than this blogger, anyway) entered. We paid him little notice as we'd got onto how corrupt FIFA are by this stage. 'Can I get Special Fried Rice and a portion of Curry Sauce. And a bag of chips and a portion of Curry Sauce. And a Beef Chow Mein and a portion of Curry Sauce?' said the Older Gentleman. Johnny on the counter (that's his actual name, not a generic descriptor of all chaps from Hong Kong just in case anyone thinks this blogger is being inappropriate) said 'so, that's three portions of Curry Sauce, then?' 'Nah, nah, nah, nah' replies Oldish Chappie, 'I said ...' and he then repeated the order exactly as he had first time. Johnny, this blogger imagines, thought for a moment about saying, again, 'so, you're wanting three Curry Sauces and three meals.' Then, he seemingly thought better of it, decided that life's too short for this crap and said 'got it!' As the chap turned away from the counter having paid his due, Johnny looked across to this blogger and the bloke sitting next to this blogger, rolled his eyes and mouthed something that looked like 'we've got a right one here!' A few minutes went by whilst this blogger's new best mate and Keith Telly Topping discussed the inadequacies of Brazilians in general. Then this blogger got the nod that his order was ready. Cush. Keith Telly Topping collected it, stuck it in his bag and headed for the door just as he heard behind him 'Special Fried Rice, chips, Beef Chow Mein and three Curry Sauces.' 'Nah, nah, nah, nah. I said ...' This blogger hurriedly left at that point just as, he suspects, the United Nations were about to receive a call asking for a delegate to resolve this tricky diplomatic impasse.
Which leads us, of course, with the tragic inevitability of the tragically inevitable, to that part of From The North dedicated to this blogger's on-going medical malarkey. Or, strictly speaking, malarkeys. For those dear blog readers who haven't been following this on-going fiasco which appears to have been on-going longer than a very long piece of string, it goes like this: Keith Telly Topping spent some weeks around New Year feeling rotten; experienced five days in hospital; was discharged; received B12 injections; then more injections; somewhat recovered his missing appetite; got an initial diagnosis; had a consultant's meeting; continued to suffer fatigue and insomnia; endured a second endoscopy; had another consultation; got (unrelated) toothache; had an extraction; which took ages to heal; had another consultation; spent a week where nothing remotely health-related occurred; was given further B-12 injections; had an echocardiogram; received more blood extractions; made another hospital visit; saw the insomnia and torpor continue; received yet more blood tests; had a rearranged appointment for his sick note; suffered his worst period yet with the fatigue. Until the following week. And, then the week after that. Oh, the fatigue, dear blog reader. The depressing, ceaseless fatigue. He had a go on the Blood-Letting Machine; got another sickie; had an assessment; was given his fourth COVID jab; got some surprising news related to his assessment; had the results of his annual diabetes check-up; had another really bad week with the fatigue; followed by one with the sciatica; then one with the chronic insomnia; and, most recently, one with a plethora of general cold-related grottiness.
This week, dear blog reader? Yeah. More of the same, really. Full of snot, headache, shivers, feeling tired and irritable all the time.
The Interweb was alerted to the fact, this week, that the English Heritage site Housesteads Roman Fort in Northumberland has been 'transformed into a winter wonderland.' Or transfigurat se in hiberna gloria if you prefer. This blogger's been there, dear blog reader. It was very nice but considerably less wintery at the time. Mind you, that was in August.
Following the Setting Sons anniversary in November, this blogger suffered yet another one of those nasty 'it was forty three years ago, today; where the blithering fek has my life gone?' moments on Wednesday. For, on that very day in 1979, The Clash released their third studio LP London Calling. This blogger received it as a Christmas present a couple of weeks later and virtually bled the grooves white over the next couple of years. At the time, this blogger thought twenty five was the end of the world. God, Keith Telly Topping is really depressed now.
According to a video posted on You Tube by that bastion of truthful and accurate reportage the Scottish Sun, Sir Paul McCartney (MBE) and Sir Ringo Starr (MBE) - two former members of The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) - have been filmed chatting at the premiere of the Abbey Road Studios documentary, directed by Macca's daughter, Mary. And, whilst Ringo was saying some nice things about the late Sir George Martin, George's son Giles could be observed loitering in the background. A rather startled Sir Elton John was also present. Seemingly, having his photo taken - with Sir Paul;, Sir Ringo and Miss Mary - just as a hamster ran up his trouser leg. Don't you just hate it when that happens.
UEFA and well-known appeasers of fascists and dictators FIFA have received significant backing in their battle to block the creation of a European Super League. In a report released by the European Court of Justice, its advocate general said the rules of football's European and world governing bodies were 'compatible with EU competition law.' Athanasios Rantos gave his observations after a court case earlier this year brought by ESL and its backers A22. A final ruling will be made by a fifteen-member Grand Chamber next spring. It had been claimed that UEFA and FIFA were breaking competition law by threatening to sanction clubs and players who joined a breakaway league. Plans for a European Super League caused a fallout across the football world when they were announced in April 2021. The six Premier League sides that signed up to the project - The Scum, Shiekh Yer Man City, Liverpool Alabama Yee-Haws, The Club Formerly Known As Moscow Chelski FC, Stottingtot Hotshots and The Arse - quickly shat in their own pants and withdrew their support after a backlash from football fans across the country (including many of their own), football governing bodies and even government. However, the plans have not been scrapped completely, with greedy bastards Real Madrid, Barcelona and Juventus still pushing the Super League idea. In a statement on Thursday, European football's governing body UEFA said it 'warmly welcomed' the observations from Rantos which it said supported 'our central mission to govern European football, protect the pyramid and develop the game across Europe. [It] is an encouraging step towards preserving the existing dynamic and democratic governance structure of the European football pyramid,' UEFA added. 'It reinforces the central role of federations in protecting the sport, upholding fundamental principles of sporting merit and open access across our members, as well as uniting football with shared responsibility and solidarity. Football in Europe remains united and steadfastly opposed to the ESL, or any such breakaway proposals, which would threaten the entire European sports ecosystem.' FIFA added it welcomed 'the recognition by the Advocate General of the special nature of sport, including the pyramid structure, which preserves the nature of sporting merit and open competitions accessible to all, as well as the principles of promotion and relegation, competitive balance, and financial solidarity.' The Premier League also welcomed the decision and said that the 'fans' voice regarding the essential nature of sporting integrity has been heard.' Their statement read: 'The focus of Premier League clubs is on improving the collective strength and competitiveness of the League in the best interests of the wider game. The Premier League will continue to engage in an open dialogue, with all relevant stakeholders, about how best to protect the complementary balance between domestic and European club football.' The report is Rantos' written opinion on the case and is non-binding, but it could influence the final decision by the court's Grand Chamber. 'Whilst ESLC is free to set up its own independent football competition outside the UEFA and FIFA ecosystem, it cannot however, in parallel with the creation of such a competition, continue to participate in the football competitions organised by FIFA and UEFA without the prior authorisation of those federations' Thanos said. He added: 'It would appear that ESL's founding clubs want, on the one hand, to benefit from the rights and advantages linked to membership of UEFA, without however being bound by UEFA's rules and obligations.' After the Super League plans were announced, nine of the clubs involved were fined by UEFA. A shitload of coin. But action against the remaining three - Real Madrid, Barcelona and Juventus - was halted following this legal process. In response to the announcement, A22 chief executive Bernd Reichart said: 'The opinion of the Advocate General is one step in an ongoing case and we are pleased with the recognition of the right of third parties to organise pan-European club competitions. The Advocate General made clear that UEFA has a monopolistic position which comes with important responsibilities for enabling third parties to act freely in the market. However, we believe the fifteen judges of the Grand Chamber who are entrusted with the responsibility to examine this case, will go substantially further and provide the opportunity for clubs to manage their own destiny in Europe.' A statement from the European Clubs Association said: 'Rantos proposes a clear rejection of the efforts of a few to undermine the foundations and historical heritage of European football for the many. As the body representing nearly two hundred and fifty of Europe's top football clubs, ECA is explicit in its strong opposition towards those self-interested few seeking to disrupt European club football and undermine the values that underpin it.'
It takes a very special kind of genius for one of the tabloids to find an entirely unexpected new angle of the current postal strike (From The North supports Keith Telly Topping's brothers and sisters on the picket lines; up the workers and all that). One that, seemingly, has been specifically targeted at a section of their own readership. Congratulations, therefore, are due to the Daily Lies for this.
And finally, dear blog reader, From The North's Headline Of The Week award which, of course, goes to Wales Online for their prize-winning journalism in Ryan Giggs' Father: 'I Was Attacked By A Pack Of Angry Baboons At Safari Park'.
Also nominated, the Express & Star with a worthy effort, Villagers Throw Eggs At Penis-Headed Statue Of Putin Erected In Bell End.
Also, Worcester News with Cranham Court - First Randy Couple, Now Wheelchair Joyriders.
And, Christmas 2022 has been cancelled, apparently. Santa seemingly got into a 'discussion' with Plod and ended up with the handcuffs on, charged and banged up on remand waiting for his day in court. The Home Secretary was said to have 'laughed until she stopped. And then, laughed some more.'
