So, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, since the last From The North update, back in July, Keith Telly Topping has been busy working on something truly horrible. Two hundred thousand, seven hundred and eighty seven words; fifty eight extensive movie reviews; one hundred and fifty six footnotes; a dedication; full and extensive acknowledgments; an explanatory introduction; three short essays on the major film studios featured; an end piece on The Wilderness Years; an 'uge bibliography and an extremely self-indulgent About the Author section which makes Keith Telly Topping sound more than a bit like Edgar Lustgarten. All now completed. What was, at one point, going to be Another Vault of Horror but is, now, Return to the Vault of Horror has been delivered to those marvellously lovely people at Telos Publishing. To be honest, this blogger could've easily kept fiddling with it for another month at least but he's now got to the point where if he faffs around with it any longer than he already has, he's in danger of cutting something that he doesn't want to. So, for better or worse, it is done. Finished. Complete. Sorted. Brought home. And, thoroughly available for pre-order from the publishers website. Here, in fact. Please buy one, several or lots, dear bloggerisationism fiends, yer actual Keith Telly Topping has a - really deserved - King Prawn curry and fried rice habit and one hundred and ninety four illegitimate Blu-Rays to support. Thank you for allowing him into your homes.
Ultimately, the question before the house today is 'do you, dear blog reader, wish to read Keith Telly Topping's considered and forthright opinions on fifty eight great* British horror movies made between 1956 and 1978?' (* ... and not so great). Specifically these ones: X - The Unknown, The Snorkel, Blood of the Vampire, The Revenge of Frankenstein, Horrors of The Black Museum, The Man Who Could Cheat Death, The Brides of Dracula, The Shadow of the Cat, The Man in the Back Seat, The Damned , Captain Clegg, The Phantom of the Opera, Paranoiac, Nightmare, Unearthly Stranger, The Gorgon, Witchcraft, Repulsion, Eye of the Devil, The Reptile, Revenge of The Blood Beast, Carry On Screaming!, Dance of the Vampires, Berserk!, Torture Garden, Corruption, Performance, Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed, I Start Counting, Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny & Girly, The Man Who Haunted Himself, Cry of the Banshee, Goodbye Gemini, Scars of Dracula, Die Screaming, Marianne, Countess Dracula, A Clockwork Orange, The Fiend, The Abominable Dr Phibes, Fright, What Became of Jack & Jill?, Endless Night, Tales from the Crypt, Straight on Till Morning, Fear in the Night, Horror Express, Neither the Sea Nor the Sand, The Asphyx, Horror Hospital, The Mutations, Don’t Look Now, Ghost Story, Symptoms, The Ghoul, Frightmare, House of Mortal Sin, To the Devil A Daughter and Terror. That is what you all have to ask yourselves ... before, obviously, answering 'yes. Yes I really do' and then ordering one. Here.
As a consequence of all this malarkey and shenanigans, of course, this blogger's current physical state is, roughly, thus. To help alleviate this, should you be of a mind, you can, simply, order the book here.
Please note, your author shall now be lying down for about a fortnight in a darkened room, only getting up for two necessary hospital appointments next week, the odd trip to the lavatory and an evening of rock and/or roll jiggery-pokery on 2 October with a close personal fiend. It's been emotional. Oh, that ordering address again. Here.
It's nice to know, by the way, that the New Testament is only one hundred and eighty thousand words long - Keith Telly Topping is, therefore, officially, more verbose than God. He'd suspected as much for a long time, to be fair, but it's very nice to have it actually confirmed.
Mind you, it hasn't all been nose-to-the-grindstone for the last couple of months. Only most of it. Five days into the largest solo book edit this blogger had ever undertaken, he did take a few hours off last week for a necessary happenstance diversion with his close personal fiend, Young Malcolm. Because he really deserved this. How much did he really deserve this, you are no doubt asking yourselves? This blogger will tell you. This is how much he really deserved this. On a scale of one-to-ten in terms of just how much he really deserved this, with one being he really deserved this and ten being he really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really deserved this, eleven was how much he really deserved this. How much more could he have really deserved this? None more, that's how much.
Just to tease you all with one of this blogger's favourite footnotes from the book. Did you know: One term occasionally used for a bum-double in the UK film and TV industry is 'a stunt arse'. This, allegedly, goes back to the 1972 Dick Emery vehicle Ooh .. You Are Awful in which the (rather contrived) plot involved a conman who gets out of jail to discover that his, now-dead, partner has tattooed the Swiss Bank Account number in which their ill-gotten gains are stashed, on the bottoms of four of his girlfriends. The first of these, played by the delightful Cheryl Kennedy, was required to kneel in a train station photobooth and bare all, but had a last minute change of heart due to embarrassment and couldn't go through with the scene. The director, the late Cliff Owen (1919-93), sympathetically told her 'don't worry, we can get a stunt arse in!' True story.
And now, to quote from a previous book, written long, long ago in a land far, far away (although, actually, in this very Stately Telly Topping gaff right here), 'The opening images of a kinky orgy feature a goat, an overweight man in leather y-fronts with antlers on his head, a dazed-looking geezer in a suit and a couple of young women in a state of undress, one with leather nipple-patches and brandishing a vicious-looking whip ... So, just like an average Saturday night round my place.'
This is only a very, very, very brief bloggerisationism update, as you'll no doubt notice cos you're all really perceptive like that, bloggerisationism fiends. Mainly to remind you all that this blogger isn't, actually, dead yet. Merely resting (deservedly). However, this blogger isn't able to close this particular update without acknowledging the recent, sad, news of the death of one of his favourite actors, the very, very great Kenneth Cope. Just about the last piece of writing this blogger did for Return to the Vault of Horror before the editing process began, in fact, was to add five (very unwelcome) words to the actor's biographical piece in the X - The Unknown entry. To wit: 'He died in September 2024.' Kenny Cope was one of Keith Telly Topping's first TV heroes, a man who appeared in more better-than-average films and TV series than any one person has a right to in a fair and just society. And he looked great in a dress.
This blogger will tell you all one thing he loves the mostest, baby, about the Interweb. How full it is of people who can't wait to tell you how disinterested they are in something that's happening which other people are being very enthusiastic about. This occurs every time there's a World Cup, an Olympics or some other major sporting event taking place ('I hate sport, me, I won't be watching a single second'). Or when there's a Royal event in the offing ('I'm a Republican, I won't be watching a single second of it'). Or a new series of Strictly or Britain's Got Toilets or Doctor Who about to begin ('can't stand that rubbish, I won't be watching a single second'). They're quite a sight. Recently, it's been happening again, in some abundance, following the news of the forthcoming Oasis reunion tour ('never could stand them, I won't be buying a ticket'). Do you want a fucking medal for your glorious self-sacrifice or what?
Wouldn't it be better instead to talk about something you are interested in or is that to much like hard work? Jesus, some people are just in awe of their own magnificent self-importance.
In actual fact, this blogger has been asked by several close personal fiends to comment upon the forthcoming 'Sis reunion thing. Often. He shall make only but one comment. And it is this - 'where were you while we were getting high?' This blogger will tell you exactly where he was, dearest bloggerisationism fiends. Here was there. You could always spot yer actual Keith Telly Topping at a 'Sis gig; there'd be a big white arrow stickin' out of the top of his heed.
On to stuff, now, that genuinely gets right on this blogger's tit-end. Massively. If there is one thing which irritates this blogger more than just about anything else in the whole wide world (except, possibly, Nazis and Hippies) it's seeing someone casually mention they have some really mild medical complaint (like a tickly cough) online. And then some, no doubt well-meaning but ultimately clueless, prick pipe-up with something along the lines of 'you wanna be careful with that, it might be cancer of the arsehole.' Well yes, it may be ... but chances are, it isn't. Such people, of course, seldom have any actual medical knowledge themselves but will use the crass excuse that, say, their partner is a doctor. So what? This blogger's dad was a welder, that doesn't mean Keith Telly Topping has the ability to knock up a battleship in the Stately Telly Topping Manor back yard.
Meanwhile, this blogger is idly wondering if the missing word in this classic 1970s advert is 'anything'? It would certainly make a great deal of sense.
So, as noted, this has been a much shorter-than-usual From The North bloggerisationism update, dearest fiends. The next one will be longer as there's much - non-horror-related - malarkey to be a-catchin' up with. Remember, that link address again so you can order the book should you wish to do so. Here. Go on, you know you want to. It's been emotional.
And finally ...
