Ahoy-hoy, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, to the latest
From The North update - a somewhat untypical one for reasons which will become clear later on in this latest collection of the random and varied dribblings from yer actual Keith Telly Topping's brain. We're kicking off with this blogger's own, somewhat ham-fisted, way of reminding all dear blog readers that we, all of us, are inhabitants of a single, somewhat insignificant planet. One of nine a single, somewhat insignificant solar system. Circling a single, somewhat insignificant star. On the outskirts of a single, somewhat insignificant galaxy. One of an estimated two
trillion galaxies which (in the words of Eric Idle, probably) are part of 'an ever-expanding universe.' And yet, our single, somewhat insignificant, planet has one ething that, as far as we are currently aware, is unique in this ever-expanding universe. It contains
life. Us. You may have noticed. (Of course, as Brian Cox or Neil DeGrasse Tyson or any other number of people
far cleverer and more erudite and articulate than Keith Telly Topping will confirm, mathematically given that the universe is, as near as makes no difference,
infinite, then the probability that somewhere out there, other forms of existence far more - and, indeed, probably far less - advanced than we are is extraordinarily high. But, no one has made a convincing argument that, as yet, we've actually found it. Or, that it has actually found us.) All of which is a long-winded way of say that
From The North exists, in its own small way, to make a - small and insignificant - contribution to the sum-total of all of the works of literature, science and knowledge which constitutes the product of mankind's collective works. A terrifying thought, this blogger
is aware. But, whilst he's in here with Shakespeare, Einstein, Da Vinci, Aristotle, Peter Cook, Nikola Tesla, Marie Curie, Martin Luther King, Smokey Robinson, Alan Turing, Dorthy L Sayers, Stephen Hawking, Bob Marley, Rene Descartes, Epicurus, Ada Lovelace, Chuck Berry, Joanna Lumley, Lise Meitner, Picasso, Simone De Beauvoir, Kenneth Wolstenholme and Paul Weller, he's
also sharing shoulder-space with Hitler, Genghis Khan, Donald Trump, Jack The Ripper, Richard Nixon, Jeffrey Archer, Bill Oddie, Ivan The Terrible, Morrissey, Satan and
all of the members of Toto Coelo. Makes you think, doesn't it? John Kennedy once, famously,
spoke of that which unites humanity: 'In the final analysis, our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children's future. And we are all mortal.' And then, somebody
shot him.
C'est la vie. Or, in his case,
Après l'accouchement, c'est la mort.
Mai oui. So, the reason this particular bloggerisationism update is beginning with that, genuinely wondrous and spine-tingling, 1968 Apollo 8
Earthrise image is as a - necessary - reminder of this simple truism; we
are here and, until such times as we find a viable escape route, it's all we've got so we might as well make the best of it. NASA's
Pale Blue Dot photo, taken by Voyager II from a distance of four billion miles in 1990, reinforces the message; we're all in this together. If you're wondering, there
is a sort-of rationale behind all this vaguely rambling hippy-dippy nonsense, dearest blog readers and we will definitely return to that later in this update.
Let us, therefore, begin this latest bloggerisationism with a question for all of the good people of Rochdale, Lancashire. And, the qestion is what
were you thinking? What with
your recent by-erection and all that strange malarkey.
There being a 'y' in the day, somewhat inevitably, this week has seen another outing from many of those truly ludicrous gammon-face keyboard-warriors who crawl out from under a rock from time-to-time proudly stating they are products of the 'Everything I Don't Like Is "
Woke"' school. All of them getting a right Freddie Trueman-style 'it weren't like that in't
maaaa day' chimney-on about something which, frankly, doesn't concern them in the slightest. And, whinging 'it's political correctness
gone mad' about things whidch, in fact, aren't that or anything even remotely like it. Regular as clockwork, those guys.
The cause, this time around, was something of a storm in an egg cup; the BBFC - an organisation which this blogger has the upmost respect for -
reclassifying Mary Poppins from a U certificate to a PG certificate. The reason for this is that it was recently pointed out to them the 1964 Disney classic includes two utterances of a, somewhat mild and certainly archaic but, nevertheless, still derogetary term for black people.
If you haven't been following this story, the reclassification affects only the cinema version of the film, with home entertainment versions still rated U, according to the BBFC. The word in question is 'Hottentot', a name used to described the Khoikhoi peoples of South Africa in the late Nineteenth Century by Dutch settlers, thought to imitate their language, which is now, rightly, considered offensive. It would later be used as a generic - and rather nasty - descriptor for all black peoples. And, bearing in mind that the individuals who coined the phrase in the first place were the direct ancestors of the people who thought that Apartheid was a good idea, then that's probably a good enough reason on its own to keep anything
they came up with at arms length. Classifiers at the BBFC picked up on the term, used twice in the film by the character Admiral Boom (played by the late Reginald Owen) - firstly as a reference to people not seen onscreen, then later alluding to the film's child acotrs when their faces have been blackened by soot. This blogger will be completely honest with you all, dear blog reader, he only knew the word
at all because it was used by Dame Edith Sitwell in a very famous 1887 poem, '
Hornpipe' which he, many years ago,
studied for English Lit O Level and had no idea of its origin until this week. ('Queen Victoria sitting shocked upon the rocking horse/of a wave said to the Laureate, "This minx of course, is as sharp as any lynx/and blacker-deeper than the drinks/and quite as hot as any hottentot, without remorse/for the minx," said she, "And the drinks, you can see/are hot as any hottentot/and not the goods for me!"') And even then, he would have probably forgotten it except that Shakespeare's Sister used that portion of the poem as a spoken-word section in their 1994 hit single '
I Don't Care' which this blogger has always rather liked.
In a typically balanced and thoughtful analysis of the reclassification, this blogger's favourite film critic Mark Kermode, in the most recent episode of this blogger's favourite film podcast (
Kermode & Mayo's Take) pointed out what should have been blindingly obvious to even the most brainless gammon-face
GB News-watching,
Daily Scum Mail-reading numbskull about to go off on one about 'political correctness
gone mad.' (And, of course, as you can probably imagine, both of those odious scumbag organs of the media had something of a field-day with this particular story. See
here and
here. Or, if you want to keep your blood-pressure under control, maybe
don't.) Mark noted that the reason why the BBFC have done this is not because anyone has actually complained about
Mary Poppins but in case anyone
does so in the future. The BBFC
website now notes that the film includes some - not much, but some - discriminatory language (but not enough to take any it higher than a PG). As Mark points out, the change of rating is highly unlikely to stop any single person who wishes to watch
Mary Poppins or to show it to their kids, from doing so. But, in the event that a professional offence-taker (and, sadly, there are just as many of those around as there are gammon-faced keyboard-warriors who believe 'everything I don't like is "
woke"') does decide to try and make an issue out of the usage of That Word in future, the BBFC can now point to their website and say 'well, we
did warn you.'
So, after all those shenanigans, in an effort to calm everybody down at this juncture, here is a picture of some fluffy kittens. Don't ever say this blogger doesn't try his very best to bring a little bit of peace and quiet to an often unpeaceful and jolly unquiet world. It's a dirty job, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, but someone['s got to do it.
There is a brief, but interesting, piece in the latest issue of
Variety on
From The North favourite The Lord Thy God Steven Moffat (OBE)'s forthcoming return to telly,
Douglas Is Cancelled - starring Huge Bonneville and The Goddess That Is Karen Gillan. It's entitled
How Steven Moffat's Douglas Is Cancelled Tackles The 'Heated Topic' Of 'Cancel Culture' With Dark Humor [sic]: 'It's Almost Like A Sport'. Which, should you so choose, you can have a gander at
here. It's probably worth a few moments of your time.
Meanwhile, The Lad Himself was recently spotted at a works reunion hanging out with a couple of former colleagues. Nice work if you can get it.
This month's issue of the
Doctor Who Magazine reveals that Amanda Brotchie and Makalla McPherson will both be directing upcoming episodes of the BBC's popular, long-running family SF drama. And, this news was then, somewhat inevitably,
repeated in an 'article' (and this blogger uses that word
quite wrongly) in the
Radio Times (which used to be run by adults), written in that very typical 'here are a load of non-sequiturs thrown together at random because the author is being paid by-the-word'
Radio Times way that we all and shudder at.
Which, as it happens, bring us nicely to our semi-regular
From The North featurette, When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Thirty Four. 'Aged and toothless and bent old crone.' 'How'd you know me name?' 'We wish to engage you as ship's cook and concubine.' 'What's a concubine, then?' 'It's a small, spiky mammal.' 'Nah, that's a hedgehog!' 'In that case, we wish to engage you as ships cook and hedgehog.'
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Thirty Five. 'Gentlemen, count to ten and come out squirting.'
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Thirty Six. 'One day, we'll all look back on this and laugh.' More of them would've been there, it is rumoured, but Colin Baker had
eaten them. Allegedly.
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Thirty Seven. This blogger not sure which of the many and various all creatures (both great and, indeed, small) that was living on The Sainted Patrick's chin at the time but, whatever it was, it's big and it's hairy and I be a'feared of it. And so, by the look on his mush, did Peter Davison.
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Thirty Eight. Okay, so exactly whose bright idea was it to photoshop these three chaps together? They look about as happy at the prospect as a slap in the kisser with a wet haddock.
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Thirty Nine. 'Hey, I know you. Aren't you that highly-respected character actor with a speciality of playing shouty Sergeant Majors?' 'Yes, I am. And, aren't you that radio comedian, "The Man Of A Thousand Voices ... all of them pretty much the same"?' 'Yeth.'
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Forty. 'Two Scotsmen walk into a play ...'
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Forty One. '
Belgium‽'
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Forty Two. 'So, you've
known me, him, his son and his son's flatmate? Is there anyone you haven't
known?' 'Yes, William Hartnell.' 'Oh, well, that's all right, he'll be up on that screen any minute, you can
know him here.'
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Forty Three. 'We must act at once.' 'Good idea, Peter. You go first, I'll try to follow. Can't make any promises, mind, I'm not very good at that sort of thing.'
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Forty Four. 'I'd recognise that bottom anywhere ...'
When Doctors Meet It Is A Humbling Experience: Number Forty Five. So, just to repeat this one last time before hopefully, someone, somewhere updates it to include Ncuti (and Jo Martin for that matter).
According to the
Independent (if not a source a shade more reliable),
Adam Sandler Says Taylor Swift Is As Big As The Be-Atles. Hang on, last time someone claimed someone was 'bigger' than someone else and The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) were a part of the equation, didn't The Pope end up getting involved? Or did this blogger merely
dream that?
On Sunday, for Us Dinner at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House, it was, clearly, time for Grilled Pork & Chestnut Mushrooms in Spring Onion & Hoisin Sauce with Apple, Lemon & Lime, Honey & Mixed Spices in Rice and soft noodles. Skill!
'Rice
and noodles? I say, steady on' this blogger's good fiend Nick exclaimed, expressing how shocked - and stunned - he was at such a happenstance. 'Don't knock it till you've tried it,' this blogger replied before adding that, truthfully, the noodles had been prepared on a previous day for a different meal entirely and just needed using up which is why they were thrown in there. Yet, somehow, it worked. 'Call it a "fusion" and you're, instantly, Middle Class, yah?' Nick suggested. Which, actually,
is a fair cop, guv.
Ooo, but yer actual Keith Telly Toping was pure-dead vexed on Tuesday, dearest bloggerisationism fiends. He was, in fact,
reet stroppy and discombobulated in his considerable vexation and temper. He was aal of a kerfuffle, incandescent in his Goddamn righteous fury and he had his mad right up (as Keith Telly Topping's dad always used to say when
he had cause to have
his mad right up, which wasn't infrequently). Because, whilst preparing that particular day's Us Dinner at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House, this blogger accidentally dropped a small plate onto a larger plate and the larger plate promptly smashed into smithereens. Which was
particularly annoying to this blogger. Firstly because it meant that The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House kitchen sink was full of nasty sharp fragments of glass (well, Pyrex, actually) that all needed to be gotten rid of - ideally without this blogger cutting his fingers to bloodied ribbons (which, you will hopefully be happy to learn, he managed). But, far more importantly, it was because that particular Pyrex dish had a great deal of sentimental value to this blogger, seeing as how it used to belong to his late mother. This blogger has had it since Mama Telly Topping died in 2013 and it was hardly new even
then. So, yer actual was cross.
Very cross. Enclosed is a picture of said Pyrex dish in somewhat happier times, containing what looks to have been a jolly tasty Beef & King Prawn Chow Mein which, this blogger guesses, he must've bought from the
recently closed Royal Sky takeaway. It
will be missed (the Pyrex dish, that is, not the Chow Mein. Although, a decent argument could be made for
that - and the place it came from - being sadly missed, too). This blogger can get another one (again, a Pyrex dish not a Chow Mein, although there
are still one or two places round here that specifically cater for that sort of thing) similar-sized Pyrex dishes are available at Morrisons for but a fiver (and, he has to go there tomorrow to get the weekly shopping in). But, still, this blogger and that old dish, we'd been through a lot together.
This blogger, incidentally, is indebted to his excellent
Facebook fiend Amanda who recognised said Pyrex dish as almost exactly identical to one she, herself has (and, to which she has a similar sentimental attachment). In fact, this blogger has a feeling it may have, originally, been a lid for a Pyrex cooking pot, it certainly looks very lid-like! This blogger's own attachment to
his Pyrex dish began because that was always what he used whenever calling into his mam's gaff on the way home from work (so, therefore, she must've had it pre-2000 - probably for a decade, at least) and she would whip up some chunky chicken and rice or something similar for US Tea at The (Old) Stately Telly Topping Manor. Hence, this blogger nabbed it when she left us for his own personal usage. Ah well, them's the breaks. I mean, quite literally, in this case.
But, this blogger hears you all bellow, gruffy, at your laptop screens, smartphones and other Interweb-style receiving devices, 'Keith Telly Topping, what was
for Us Dinner at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House on that particular day, then?' Or, in other words, '
what's the recipe today, Jim?' (one for all people of a certain age who used to listen to Radio 1 in the 1970s and cringe at the very memory, thereof).
This blogger shall, therefore, tell you dearest blog readers. It was Oyster & Spring Onion Chicken & Berlinki With Rice, Noodles, Mushrooms ... and lots of other stuff. And how does one make it, Keith Telly Topping? Well, one makes it exactly like
this. Firstly, chop a large organic onion (or, non-organic onion if you're not particularly bothered about all that 'saving the planet' malarkey. This blogger feels it necessary to note that he is most definitely
not a Middle Class hippy Communist
Gruniad Morning Star reader and only happened to buy a packet of organic onions because that was all his local supermarket had in when he was last shopping. It was most
not a lifestyle choice). Also, one small shallot, one small (peeled) apple and three (peeled) chestnut mushrooms with a little salt and some olive oil and lightly fry in your frying pan until they are all turning golden brown, texture like sun.
When that is almost-but-not-quite completed, begin boiling some 'Boil In The Bag' Basmati Rice in water (with a large pinch of table salt added) for approximately twenty five minutes.
Whilst all of that malarkey is on-going, begin to prepare the main body of the meal (it was at
this point, incidentally, that the much-loved Pyrex dish bought it, big-style and went to the great broken crockery factory in the sky for those taking notes; although, to be honest, that isn't really essential to the recipe, this blogger merely mentions is as scene setting ... and to convey, once again, how God-damned pissed-off he was by this right-shite state of affairs). Then, chop up one (or two if you prefer)
Classic Berlinki's - they're a sort a smoked sausage, like a cross between a hot dog and charizo, you get them in a packets of five and they're really rather tasty - and also some fresh chicken (you can use beef if you've got any, which this blogger did, but he went down the chicken route cos that was the sort of mood he was in at the time). Add to this, ground black pepper, a little olive oil, some sesame seeds, both flaked and ground coriander, a sprinkling of parsley flakes (or, again, if you're flash and you've got
actual green stuff in yer fridge, that would do instead), a splash of light soy sauce, a sachet of Blue Dragon Oyster & Spring Onion stir fry sauce (lots of other kinds of cook-in sauces
are available, but this blogger likes Blue Dragon because it tastes nice), a pinch of onion salt, two cloves of finely chopped garlic - you can, if you prefer use a couple of squirts from a tube of crushed garlic paste or, if you're like this blogger, use both of them just to ram home the point that this is supposed to be potent and
well-garlicky). Further add, sprinklings of ground cumin, paprika, oregano and ginger (seriously, be careful with the gigner, too much and it can completely overpower
everything else in the dish), one chopped red chilli - again, you can used ground chilli flakes if you prefer or, if you fancy being able to see
through time when eating this, use both - a splash of lime juice, lemon (again, this blogger uses a tablespoon of lemon curd but lemon juice or, indeed, a couple of squeezes from an
actual lemon will suffice depending on what's in your cupboard) and a spoonful of honey. Then, some mixed herbs, a couple of chopped springs onions, some chopped chives and, if like this blogger, you still have some left over from a previous meal, a handful of soft noodles lightly fried in oil. Take this blogger's fiend Nick's advice and call it 'fusion',
MasterChef will love that the mostest, baby. Leave all of this to marinate in a sturdy pan like what this blogger has for about twenty minutes of so.
Once the onion, shallot, apple and mushrooms are golden brown (texture like sun) add them to the sturdy pan and its contents and start heating that - on a medium heat, stirring constantly using a wooden spoon (even if it's not a non-stick pan, the olive oil should make sure that it
doesn't stick but you can't be too careful). Then, when the concoction reaches bubbling-point turn the heat right down, cover it with a lid and just leave that to simmer away gently for about another twenty minutes or thereabouts. By this time, the rice will be well-cooked and soft as a Cockney's knackers so, take that off the heat, drain and then place in a covered dish and let it settle whilst you're finishing off the main body of the meal. If you're cooking for four, that'll be yer whack, chum. But if, like Keith Telly Topping, you're a Billy No-Mates and are cooking just for yourself, then that'll not only Us Dinner, but also Us Tea, Us Supper and tomorrow's Us Dinner at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. And all this, dearest blog fiends, because yer actual's local takeaway closed down and he was left with no option but to rediscover that he could, actually, survive and prosper without it.
Serve in a bowl. But,
not the Pyrex one which had
a lot of sentimental value to this blogger because, like a clumsy clot, he only went and smashed that one earlier and now he has to source a replacement for it. Yer actual
has mentioned just how monumentally vexed he was about that, yes? Anyway, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, all of this was a public service announcement from The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. With many ingredients. Yours The Galloping Gourmet. Yer actual Keith Telly Topping was, incidentally, shocked - and, indeed,
stunned - to discover that
The Godlike Graham Kerr is still alive and kicking, at ninety. And, one hopes, still whipping up jolly tasty dishes and then inviting a good-looking lady in the audience to share it with him on his candlelit kitchen-set just like he used to back in the day on telly. Ah
another 1970s flashback, there!
Thursday, for Us Dinner at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House, this blogger had a go - for the first time in a good long while - at making an old standard, Toad In The Hole With Geet Thick Lamb Gravy. The method is pure dead straightforward and anyone even with absolutely
no cooking skills whatsoever can manage a half-way decent version of it or something approximating it; mix some flour (or, in this particular case cos this blogger is lazy, a packet of ASDA Yorkshire Pudding batter mix) into a bowl with three eggs, one hundred and fifty fluid milligrams of water and some salt, then whisk the ensuing gloopy mush for few minutes until it
stops being a gloopy mush and begins to run reasonably smoothly, at which point add approximately one to two hundred fluid milligrams of milk, plus any desired additions (this blogger chopped up some chives, added ground black pepper, sesame seeds and a pinch of parsley flakes). Then put the, hopefully now-smooth, mixture into ones fridge for thirty minutes. (You can, if you're even lazier, use a blender as Keith Telly Topping often has in the past. But you have to be extremely careful with regard to adding the flour or batter mix in drabs and drabs rather than the whole lot at once, or you are likely to end up with a layer of that, then a layer of eggs, then a layer of water,
et cetera. It's probably safer in the long run to hand-mix.)
Meanwhile, heat your Yorkshire Pudding tin with oil at two hundred and twenty degrees (or, gas mark seven if you're old-school) for fifteen minutes. Chop up a sausage and/or hot dog (Keith Telly Topping used a Berlinki because he already had a packet opened from the previous meal - see above). Add those into the hot oil and allow to sizzle for a minute before adding the batter mix and returning to the oven for twenty to twenty five minutes or until risen and golden brown (texture like sun). Mix Bisto gravy granules (this blogger prefers the lamb gravy variant but, to be honest, they're
all lush) with hot water in a mug or - if you're dead flash (like wot this blogger is) a gravy boat that gets taken out of the cupboard maybe four times a year, maximum. Serve with any leftover meat that you happen to have hiding in the fridge that needs using up (this blogger had a bit of chicken so, that was ideal for the job in hand). You should, also, have at least a quarter of a bowl of batter mix left over, so stick that back in the fridge and then, for Us Tea and/or Us Supper at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House do yourself a couple of quick savoury pancakes; dead tasty with mushrooms or, indeed, anything else you fancy having on a savoury pancake. A tin of Heinz Spaghetti makes a
fine accompanying topping, for example. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Meanwhile, things that yer actual Keith Telly Topping learned from the Interweb this week that he never knew previously. For the last Century we, in Britain, have been
assured that Americans don't 'get' Yorkshire Pudding and wouldn't know what the funk to do with one if it was presented to them, on a plate, looking all fluffy and lovely with roast tetties, beef and veg. Then, this blogger
found out about the existence of so-called 'Popovers', served in some (though, seemingly, not all) parts of the US, usually at Thanksgiving. Which is, basically
a sodding Yorkshire Pudding masquerading under a - punchable - alternate title. 'Very similar to Yorkshire Puddings, popovers are an American favourite'
according to the
BBC Good Food website. 'Very similar'? They're
bloody identical. It's a cover version in other words. A
note-for-note cover version at that. A bit like David Parton's 1977 hit version of '
Isn't She Lovely' that is, in essence, an identikit remake of Stevie Wonder's recording. Not bad. Not at all offensive or unlikable. But, by God, it doesn't half make you long to experience
the original!
It was also wash-day at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House and, here, we can observe the debut of Dave, the new Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House DRI-Buddi®™, recently purchased online. Because yer actual Keith Telly Topping was getting a bit fed up with doing all of his washing and then having to wait for three days whilst his gear, bedding, towels and other assorted stuff that goes in Wally The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House washing machine dries itself on Clarence The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House clothes-horse. Let's see how long it is until the novelty of Dave's arrival wears off (probably the next Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House electricity bill, this blogger is guessing). To be fair, it does appear to be quite user-friendly and this blogger worked out how it operates reasonably quickly. This was really just a test run with quite a small wash (at that stage this blogger hadn't bought any plastic clothes hangers for the interior arms so he just had to drape stuff over them, but it still worked). The main problem Keith Telly Topping had, initially, was that he thought the timer was a heat control and couldn't work out why Dave kept shutting down after thirty minutes. Then, he re-read the instructions and said 'oh,
now I get it!' And, as this blogger usually only does a fortnightly wash Dave's not going to get too regular a bashing anyway.
Since
last we blogged here at
From The North, dearest bloggerisatioinism fiends, a whole slew of people whom this blogger greatly admired - in a variety of different fields - have left us and gone to join the choir invisible. The actress
Pamela Salem, broadcasting legend
Steve Wright, TV chef
Davey Myers, one of this blogger's earliest cricketing heroes the great
Mike Proctor, Queens Park Rangers (and, briefly, England) icon, maverick and enigma
Stan Bowles, another gifted actor
Michael Jayston, Wales and British Lion's fly-half and genius
Barry John, MC5 guitarist
Wayne Kramer and the last surviving member of the
Dad's Army cast, the great
Ian Lavender. All of them, in their own way, influential on a part of this blogger's life, likes and fancies. Space (and time) precludes a detailed obituary for each of them - although, all nine thoroughly deserve one - so, the
Gruniad Morning Star's efforts will have to do instead (links provided). But, yet again, a fortnight like this is a necessary remindee to all of us 'of a certain age' that the people we grew up watching, listening to and admiring on the sports field(s) are just as mortal, frail and human as we are (and, a few years older than us, too).
All of which leads us, with the inevitability of the inevitable, to this week's nominees for the
From The North Headline(s) of The Week awards. Starting with the
BBC News website and
Cambridge Academic Escapes Toilet Using Eyeliner & Cotton.
So many questions present themselves.
Next, one from the
Daily Mirra's 'we couldn't be bothered to report any actually
news today' pile,
Mum In Hysterics After Noticing X-Rated Design On Sainsbury's Baby Pyjamas. To be fair, though, it's almost certainly the only time you'll see a trio of three-syllable words in a tabloid headline. Well done, Paige Holland (Showbiz Audience Writer) and Christine Younan (Deputy Lifestyle Editor). One is sure your family and fiends are all jolly proud of you even being able to
spell hysterics.
Then there's the sort of brilliant, incisive, cutting-edge, socially-concerned, award-winning journalism for which the Middle Class hippy Communists at the
Gruniad Morning Star are, so rightly, acclaimed. No, sorry, what's the
opposite of acclaimed? Ridiculed. Yes, that's the ticket.
Get Your Claws Out: Online Dating For Cats.
Top marks go to the
Bristol Post for the potentially Earth-shattering importance of
Mum Finds Oven Chip So Big It Has Scared Her Children. This blogger believes it's the sub-heading,
I just pulled it out of the bag and I saw everyone's faces like 'woah' that makes it
art. And, if your faces are currently, like, 'woah', dear blog reader then, clearly, you feel the same as the mum in Bristol's kids did.
Next, a first ever entry from
Burnham-on-Sea.com who have arrived, as t'were, with a bang. Or, with a rusty clang, anyway.
Burnham Coastguards Say 'Ordnance' Found On Beach Was, In Fact, A Harmless Bin Lid. That's a debut cracker if ever there was one.
Meanwhile,
Whitehaven News informs us that
Alien Figure Making Rude Gesture In Haven Artisan Window Causes A Stir. 'A stir' in Whitehaven, dear blog reader. Truly,
that must've been a sight to see.
But the clear winner, by a Humberside mile, comes from the
Swanage News.
Happy Hour Again As House Martins Get New Nests In Purbeck. Where the haircuts smile, clearly.
From that, dear blog readers, to a beauty from the 'you only had
one job' column.
And finally, we end more-or-less where we began. This is an important and vitally up-to-date map showing
From The North's entire global reach since records began. The fact that
From The North (with its eclectic range of subject matter with only occasional relevance to anyone other than its author) gets
any traffic at all - much less the four-to-five thousand daily pages-views which it regularly attracts - is a source of constant surprise to this blogger. So,
this amount of worldwide coverage is genuinely not bad, all things considered. But, there are, clearly, still a few areas of the globe where some improvement could be achieved.
For example, we've had no contact whatsoever from anyone in Greenland. Come on, guys, this blogger
is aware that it's bloody freezing cold up there but, surely you've got wireless access by now? Nothing, either, from Liechtenstein. Now that is
seriously poor - this blog has even had two visits from The Vatican City for goodness sake and they're
even smaller than you are. What's the problem? And, the same goes for, you, San Marino. Also, nothing from Cyprus. Nowhere
near good enough - if your Mediterranean near-neighbours in Malta can find us, surely
you can, too? Nothing from The Falkland Islands. Didn't we
fight a war for you? Time to show some gratitude, possibly? Not one single hit from the British Overseas Territory of Saint Helena, Ascension and Tristan da Cunha. We're
on the same side, people,
we've got to put up with The King, just like you have. Nothing from Madeira. This blogger has been there on holiday.
Twice. Nothing from large chunks of West and Central Africa (Mauritania, Gambia, Guinea-Bissau, Sierra Leone, Niger, Togo, São Tomé & Príncipe, Chad, Sudan, Eritrea, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Zaire, Rwanda, Burundi, Mozambique, Djibouti,
et cetera). Listen, this blogger once bought a 'Cancel Third World Debt' tee-shirt (some of you guys may have even
made it) so, do him a favour in return, eh? Just one little visit to the site. Not even so much as a single, solitary
sniff from Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan. Attention, former comrades, if some people in
Kazakhstan can manage to figure out the website address,
you should be able to. If in doubt, just do a
Google search. And, nothing from Bhutan either - who, despite sitting around being happy and chanting '
Om' all day,
do have Internet access. This blogger
has checked. If
From The North can manage to have a regular visitor from the British Virgin Islands, then the inhabitants of all of these countries have
no excuses for missing out on all of the 'inform, educate and entertain' malarkey that this blog provides on an irregular basis (especially considering how difficult it is to even
find a British virgin these days).
There is also, perhaps unsurprisingly, no record of anyone from North Korea managing to access us; which, this blogger feels is a shame. Mind you, several other countries with, it is claimed (by
the Independent if not anyone more reliable), similarly highly restrictive access to the Interweb beyond their own borders for its citizens contain a least a handful of semi-regular
From The North visitors (China, Syria, Iran, Russia) which, this blogger would suggest. proves that
nothing is impossible. Except the twenty one things mentioned in the book
Twenty One Impossible Things, obviously. Twenty two if you include this blogger's beloved (and now, thankfully, sold) Magpies actually winning a trophy any time before this blogger dies.
Then, there's the whole fiasco that is Oceania. Just what the blinking-flip is
going on down there, guys? Nowt from Samoa (American
or non-American for that matter), Palau, Papua New Guinea, Tonga, Vanuatu, Tuvalu, Kiribati, Narau, the Cook Islands, Niue or Pitcairn (this blogger knows there's only forty seven of you but you
do have a government website). Nothing from either Christmas or Easter Islands (and, if there was a Bank Holiday Monday Island we'd've probably had nothing from
them, either). And, despite
frequent previous requests, not a sausage from The Federated States of Micronesia. Any of them. Just
one little visit from someone in Yap, that's all Keith Telly Topping is waiting for. Is
that too much to ask? This blogger has been told that the trick is to keep banging the rocks together and, then, take it from there. As for the entire continent of Antarctica ...
shame on you. Leave them penguins alone and get trawling the Interweb, you
know you want to. It's, at least, something for you all to do during the endless nights.
An aggressive advertising campaign in those particular territories is, clearly, necessary. So,
here it is. If this doesn't have The Peoples Of The World flocking in here like a ... you know, big ... flocking thing, then
nothing will.
