It Is Done

Wise words, Nelson baby. For it is, indeed, finished. Status Report: supplemental.

That ladies, gentleman, those of binary-persuasion, aliens ... and anyone else who knows this blogger, is how we do that. Because, in case y'all hadn't worked it out just yet, the first draft of Island of Terror: 60 Great(*) British Science-Fiction and Fantasy Movies 1936-1984 ... (* and not so great) by yer actual that there Keith Telly Topping his very self has been extremely completed, In but two months at slightly (and only slightly) more than one-film-a-day. God, this blogger is good when he puts his mind to it, dearest bloggerisationism fiends. An eye-watering, bowel-shattering three hundred and twenty five thousand, six hundred and sixty seven of yer actual words, two hundred and thirty eight of yer actual footnotes, extensive Acknowledgements, an even more-extensive Bibliography, an (even if this blogger does say so his very self) work-of-art of an Introduction (Invasion: Albion), a lovably forthright Essay on the early years of British SF-TV, sixty films covered in an 'everything you never knew you needed to know ... and quite a bit you probably didn't want to know' detail, a Dedication and an About the Author piece. You know, all the usual rubbish. And, it is done.

All done.

Your tried-and-emotional author shall now be finishing off tidying up the Lifeforce piece as it only got completed to first-draft level in the middle of Match of the Day on Saturday evening. And then, he'll be lying in a darkened room for a week-or-so to 'think about what he's done' before starting the unenviable editing process. Which should take, dunno, a month. Six weeks maybe, tops. It's the job yer actual Keith Telly Topping wanted ...

In celebration of this significant achievement in the history of Western Civilisation, actual live living-things are actually alive-and-actually-living at The Stately Telly Topping Manor just in time for 2025.

So, going back to when last we spoke, dear blog fiends; Christmas Eve at the Stately Telly Topping Manor, Keith Telly Topping blogged (you may have noticed); recorded his appearance the previous evening on BBC Newcastle to discuss the Doctor Who Gary Chrimble special for posterity; did The Stately Telly Topping Manor weekly washing (which, thence, dried in The Stately Telly Topping Manor dryer); had The Stately Telly Topping Manor breakfast; did the majority of (but not all of) the notes and prep-work for the next Island of Terror victim, sorry, lucky recipient of yer actual Keith Telly Topping's own brand of reviewing magic (it says here) and then had a rest. Which safely bugger'd right-up his silent night, that's for damned sure.

For those what reckon yer actual Keith Telly Topping can't do Christmas - and, there were probably many of you of that particular belief - whaddya think about this Blood on Santa's Claw-style malarkey, then? The Stately Telly Topping Manor decorations were well-and-truly up on Christmas Eve shortly after the last From The North bloggerisationism update of 2024. And, they were down again about five minutes later, if this blogger is being totally honest.

Christmas, dearest blog fiends? Don't talk to yer actual Keith Telly Topping about that there Christmas.

Here, for example, is a pretty decent representation of the general attitude at The Stately Telly Topping on that particular day.

Not helped, admittedly, by the general attitude at The Stately Telly Topping on the follow day (and, indeed, most of the days over the Gary Crimble period and beyond). A quotation from the legends that were The Toy Dolls is probably appropriate at this juncture. 

That said, though, there was a really jolly-very-nice thing which rocked-up in The Stately Telly Topping Manor's post-flap a mere but hours before the end of 2024. Don't Amazon Prime drivers have parties to go to on New Year's Eve or somesuch?

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes ... Pour the tea and get the toast on. (Thanks, muchly, to editor Chris Kocher, for allowing this blogger into purchaser's homes.)

And, at least Christmas Day's Doctor Who was a right good laugh.

Otherwise, though, it wasn't exactly a bright-and-cheerful-end-to-2024 and start-to-2025 (work progressing steadily on the book, notwithstanding).

For some of us, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, actually turning the Stately Telly Topping Manor heating on is a 'once a year'-type situation.

Lordy, mama, but it effin' perishin' that particular week. What with the darkness and the howling wind. Would the snows never cease?

Plus, this blogger only went and nar-nigh cut his own thumb off when slicing-up ingredients for a nice lamb, mushroom and onion curry with garlic on another day. More than a bit of blood ended up in the damn thing.

So, anyway dearest bloggerisationism fiends, this here photo of Julian Lennon, Sean Ono Lennon and Stella McCartney popped up on this blogger's Facebook feed sometime last October. Keith Telly Topping posted what he thought was quite a pithy and sarky little reply to it: 'Zak Starkey would have joined them but he has an actual job rather than just being famous "cos his dad was."' Which yer actual thought was moderately amusing (albeit, more than a bit harsh in Stella's case). Yesterday, the comment got 'loved' by someone on Facebook calling themselves Julian Lennon. Of course it could have been and probably was either 'Julian Lennon (no relation)' or 'Julian Lennon (not my actual name)'. But this blogger hopes it was 'the Julian Lennon (yes, really)' - mainly because it'd be concrete proof that the guy does have a sense of humour which Keith Telly Topping would probably struggle to have in similar circumstances! Dhani Harrison, meanwhile, is wondering why he didn't get an invite to this particular 'my dad's really famous. Me? Not so much' party.

'Who's the fookin' daddy?'

And don't you forget it.

Island of Terror, footnote number one hundred and twenty seven: 'Just to be clear about this, in this book whenever discussing the character that appears in the films he is "Dr Who" (his name, seemingly) whereas in the TV series, the character is known as The Doctor. Similarly, it's Tardis (singular, small-case) in the films and The TARDIS in the series. Two productions separated by The Definite Article as it were.' Clear?

Around the turn of the year, Keith Telly Topping posted the following on his Facebook page: 'Bit of help needed for the book from the three-or-four people who might know. Re: The Final Programme. I know that Hawkwind (a popular beat combo of the 1970s-and-beyond, you might've heard of them) are in a (blink-and-you'll-miss 'em) cameo during the pinball/rollerskating/nuns/napalm-buying sequence; there is a famous photo taken on-set (circa January 1973) of Jon Finch and Michael Moorcock standing in front of the Space Ritual-era band performing (I'd love to know what the were performing). I'm currently trying to identify who's who (to think, a couple of decades back I wouldn't have known one Hawkwind-hippy from another). I think - and this is where you guys come in - that it's: r-to-l - Dave Brock (sitting), Del Dettmar (also sitting), Lemmy, Stacia's shapely-thigh (emerging from behind Finch and Moorcock), then I presume, Simon King is sitting behind her and the drum-kit, Nik Turner and his sax and Dik Mik far-left sitting at his oscillator. Question is, who's the one between Mik and Turner playing tambourine and wearing a natty scarf (the one with a big white arrow stickin' out the top of his heed)? I've tried blowing the photo up but I can't make the face out. Is it Saint Bob Calvert? I can't think who else it could possibly be given the band's line-up at the time; it was a few months before Simon House joined. Any help would be greatly appreciated from the couple of disreputable hippies I know(!)'

Ultimately, the hive-mind (well, Hawkwind biographer and one of this blogger's oldest mates, the legend that is Ian Abrahams) concluded that it is, indeed, Saint Robert Calvert with the white arrow stickin' oot of his heed; that the bloke this blogger believed was Dik-Mik is, in fact, Liquid Len (Jonathan Smeaton) and that Dave Brock is where I thought Lemmy was and Lemmy himself is definitely in there somewhere, probably hidden by Brockie's massive ego(!) This blogger wouldn't care, this was for, literally, a footnote in the book.

So, for all those who contributed to the 'Final Programme/Hawkwind/Who's the man with white arrow stickin' oot his heed?' thread, a week later this blogger was able to come up with documentary proof that they do, actually, appear in the film (for all of three seconds). Well, Brock, Dettmar, the bloke who might be Liquid Len or might not and Stacia's cape do, anyway. Oh and you can just about see Turner between rollerskaters. Lemmy's still hidden, seemingly.

The Moon and Venus were particularly bright in the sky one night in early January. This blogger tried taking a photo with his own camera but it came out rubbish, soi he's delighted to report that someone else has professional equipment and knows what they're doing.

Such a pretty sight when photographed by someone who actually knows what they're doing. Unlike this blogger his-very-self. 

Moving on swiftly. This blogger finally got around to picking up the awesome Death Line on Blu-ray earlier this month (having only, previously had it on video, for God's sake). If nothing else, purely as a reminder of just how awesomely sleazy and early-70s Wil Malone's opening music was/is. And how it really should have Terry Jones as the Secretary of State for Commonwealth Affairs doing a striptease to camera instead of merely James Cossins' character wandering around Soho like a dirty old perv.

This blogger also picked up, via his most excellent fiend Paul Simpson, this here brand spanking-new restoration of Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter. Because, you know, why not?

The Little Asia was closed (possibly for Chinese New Year) when this blogger and his fiend Young Malcolm met up for our monthly meal in the third week of January. So, the King Neptune a bit further along Stowell Street (which this blogger hadn't frequented for years) became a more-than-adequate alternative! Evidence? Starter.

Main.

Puddin'.

And a nice cup of steamin'-hot Joe. We really deserved this.

A thought, dearest bloggerisationism fiends. If whinging, slappable cry-baby Mikel Arteta was to sign Michael Cheek from Bromley and Ruben Loftus-Cheek from AC Milan would would that mean he'd have two Cheeks in the same Arsenal? Answers on a postcard.

Island of Terror: Day Sixty. 'Miss Geeson, are those alien twins coming out of your vagina or are you just pleased to see me?'

Meanwhile, there's this. They're planning on landing at night, obviously.

Then, dear blog fiends, we have to report this. If only the chap who buried it knew that two hundred years later his, quite literal, 'taking the piss (and burying it)' would become a featured story on the BBC News website, one is absolutely certain that his reaction would've been '... what's a website?'

Next ... Tweet deleted? One wonders why, exactly?

You how, dear blog reader, some questions don't need a lot of thought, they merely require a one-word answer?

All of which brings us to the latest From The North Headline Of The Week awards. Starting with our old fiends at the Metro - so, not a real newspaper, then. Is the reaction of anyone to this claimed allegation anything other than oh, chinny reck-on? Nah, thought not.

Next; gotta admit, dear blog fiends, if this blogger had someone pointing a gun at him, he would certainly drop his sausage. They make them hard in North Korea, seemingly. 

This blogger is hesitant to call YorkshireLive's claim 'a right load of old tripe-and-bollocks' but, all roads in all of Yorkshire? Yep, this is a right load of old tripe-and-bollocks.

Hang on, New Zealand Herald. Isn't this the plot of a Father Ted episode? This blogger is sure it is. 

Now, the obvious question here is, was the monkey asked his name so they could write it on the cup?

A slow news day in West Allotment, was it?

Sorry, run this one by me again, will you?

The Basildon, Canvey and Southend Echo-News isn't an organ of the media we've featured a lot on From The North. But, Grosvenor Rock Factory Neighbours Calling For It To Be Demolished has to be worth at least a few moments of your time, surely?

An utter bollocks story from good old reliable YorkshireLive, but the picture they use to illustrate it is, admittedly, quite pretty.

Well, there's something you don't see every day.

There's something you don't see every day, either.

And, the moral of this particular story is never, not never, indulge in any hardcore-falconry without wiping your Interweb browser-history first.

Okay, 'taunting'? And your 'source' on this, alleged, 'taunting' is, EveningNews24? A puddle is, by definition, unable to 'taunt' anyone on account of the fact that it is, you know, an effing puddle. Next ...

Some sensible advice from 'Abergavenny Man' here. Thank you Abergavenny Chronicle, what would be do without you or, indeed, your 'source', so-called Abergavenny Man?

The blogger was very saddened to learn of the the recent deaths of an actor he always really admired, Christopher Benjamin and a director whose movies (and one, seminal, TV show) he always found fascinating, disturbing and brilliant, David Lynch. Both will be much missed at The Stately Telly Topping Manor. And, this blogger urges all dear blog readers to check out From The North favourite Mark Kermode's tribute to From The North favourite David Lynch, here.

'Police say they have nothing to go on ...' So, but it's difficult hard to resist a set-up like this. 

Well, you could try looking up. If that doesn't work then, yes, consult the Interweb for advice on how to see it. Idiots. 

And finally, dear blog fiends, another vital question that we all, if we're honest, want - nay demand - an answer to. Is a sausage worth going to jail for? If it's one of Morrisons jumbo pork sausages, then this blogger would venture, yes. Yes it is.