A Tiding Of Magpies: Cup Special!

Welcome, from The Stately Telly Topping Manor all you luscious dearest bloggerisationism fiends, to a very special - if somewhat wholly unexpected - emergency blog update coming to you all ...

So, a funny thing happened to yer actual Keith Telly Topping, dear blog reader. This blogger woke up this morning (sorry if this sounds like the start of a Muddy Waters lyric - this blogger should really be calling y'all 'honey chile' at this point, he supposes) but, guess what? You never will. It turns out that it wasn't a dream after all; it seems that this blogger's beloved (and now, thankfully, sold) Magpies did actually only go and win the bloody Carabao Cup yesterday. Yes, this blogger is every single bit as surprised as he is sure you all are by this happenstance but, there you go. Stranger things have happened. Not much stranger, admittedly. Anyway, it's 'official', it's on Wikipedia and everything.

Not only that but, after having a celebratory Chinese takeaway meal late yesterday evening, this blogger opened his accompanying fortune cookie to discover the following message therein. Listen, it's certainly pretty sage advice and, under any normal circumstances this blogger would be positively delighted to comply. But sorry, today of all days, yer actual Keith Telly Topping is afraid that ship's already sailed.

If you're wondering about the previously mentioned celebratory Chinese takeaway meal, it was this. That's dry-fried salt and chilli king prawn with boiled rice and a small portion of homemade curry sauce. For those taking notes, it was very nice.

This blogger incidentally, if you are taking notes, was six the last time his hometown football team, his beloved (and now, thankfully sold) Magpies won something. Until yesterday. (Well, obviously, there were three second-tier championships, two Texaco Cups, one Anglo-Italian Cup and one Inter-Toto trophy-type-thing in there. But they don't count, apparently.) Something which he has, painfully, spoken of previously on this very blog; here and here and here. Now, the length of time it has been since yer actual Newcastle United their very selves last won a 'major' trophy (domestic or otherwise) is but one day. It's going to take a while before that doesn't sound very, very weird indeed.

The perpetual under-achievers of English football have finally got a 'major' (by which, this blogger means brigadier-general) monkey off not only their back but, also, the collective back of their long-suffering support.

Yes, dearest bloggersationism fiends, the list of Newcastle United managers to actually win one or more 'major' trophies is not a lengthy one; the legend that was Frank Watt, Andy Cunningham, the legend that was Stan Seymour, Douggie Livingstone, the legend that was Joe Harvey and now, the legend that is Eddie Howe. The latter (whom, unbelievable as it may be to some, still has a few doubters amongst the weirder and more self-entitled-prick fringes of United's support-base) has now done something which Tom Mather, George Martin (no, not that one), Charlie Mitten, Norman Smith, Gordon Lee, Richard Dinnis, Bill McGarry, Arthur Cox, Jack Charlton, Willie McFaul, Big Jim Smith, Osvaldo Ardiles, the legend that is Kevin Keegan, Kenny Dalglish, Ruud Gullit, the legend that was Sir Bobby Robson, Graeme Sourpuss, Glenn Roeder, A Big Fat Useless Tub of Allardyce Flavoured Lard, the legend that is Kevin Keegan (again), Chris Hughton, Joke Kinnear, the legend that is Alan Shearer, Alan Pardew, John Carver, Steve McClaren, the legend that is Rafa Benítez and the legend that will never be Mister Steve Brucie (nasty to see him, to see him nasty) couldn't manage to do in all their years at the club's helm.

Not only that, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, but His Holiness Nick Pope, Kieran Tripper, Tino Livramento, Fabian Schär, Big Dan Burn from Blyth, Sandro Tonali, Wor Bruno Guimarães, Joelinton, Jacob Murphy, Alexander Isak, Harvey Barnes, Callum Wilson, Joe Willock, Emil Krafth and non-playing substitutes Martin Dúbravka, Lewis Miley, Will Osula, Matt Targett and Sean Neave have done something the legends that all were Malcolm Macdonald, the late and much-missed Hallelujah John Tudor, Jinky Jim Smith, the Godlike Genius of Tony Green, Mick Mahoney super-goalie, the late and much-missed Terry Terry Terry Terry Hibbert (on the wing, on the wing), Peter Withe, John Anderson Kenny Wharton pride of Blacklaw, Terry McDermott, Davey McCreery, Kevin Keegan, Chris Waddle, Peter Beardsley, Gazza, Davey Kelly ('he scores a hat-trick on the telly'), Rob Lee ('he gets a goal on ITV'), Andy Cole ('when he get the ball he scores a goal'), Lee Clark, Steve Watson, Robbie Elliot, Johnny Beresford, Warren Barton, Phillipe Albert ('everyone sing his name'), David Ginola, Sir Les Ferdinand, the late a much-missed Pavel (is a Geordie) Srníček, Shay Given, the late and much-missed Gary Speed, Barry Venison, Nolberto Solano, Liam O'Brien, Andy O'Brien, any, any, any O'Brien, Scott Sellers, Paul Bracewell, Laurent Robert, Obafemi Martins, Andy Carroll, Kevin Nolan, Fabricio Coloccini, Ryan Taylor, Tim Krul, Papiss Cisse, Hatem Ben Arfa, Yohan Cabaye, Ayoze Perez and hundreds of other great, good, merely average or downright substandard footballers (and, in the case of the ha\ted Michael Owen, one disgraceful malingering little shit) never did.

They've only been and gone and actually won something, haven't they? BBC News had the story right from the word go.

The jolly excellent NUFC.com also proclaimed it. Loudly and proudly.

Yes, dearest bloggersiationism fiends, this blogger's beloved (and now, thankfully sold) Magpies only bleedin' went and secured their first 'major' domestic trophy for seventy years and ended a wait for a 'major' prize stretching back to June 1969 with a deserved Carabao Cup final win over Them There Liverpool at Wembley on Sunday 16 March 2025 - a date that will, forever more, live on in the calendar. As the day after 15 March. Probably.

Th' Bonny Toon Army were sent into pure-dead raptures of orgasmic, too-stiffening ecstasy (or, something very similar) as goals either side of half-time by Big Dan Burn and Ice Cold in Alex Isak put them on-course for a triumph that will lead to legendary status on Tyneside for Eddie Howe and his players. Burn celebrated his first England call-up earlier in the week by meeting Kieran Trippier's beautifully floated corner with a towering header from the edge of the box in first-half stoppage time, before Isak pounced to finish clinically from Jacob Murphy's knockdown of Tino Livramento's perfect left-wing cross after fifty two minutes. It was, this blogger is forced to admit, purely geet cush, so it was.

Toon fans (both the lucky thirty-odd thousand in the stadium and the hundreds of thousands watching at home in the North-East and around the world) went totally off-it mental radge. Understandably.

Them There Liverpool did pull a goal back through substitute Federico Chiesa in injury-time making the final few moments, heart-thumpingly nasty (or, even more heart-thumpingly nasty than the previous ninety two minutes had been). The Magpies, however, survived the tense finish to clinch their first major silverware since Bobby Moncur lifted the Inter-Cities Fairs Cup in Budapest in 1969 and first domestic success since Jimmy Scoular received the FA Cup from the late Her Maj at Wembley in 1955. And, they did it without three of their most important players too - Lewis Hall and Sven Botman (both injured) and Anthony Gordon (suspended).

So, to sum up, then ... G'yiddip Th' Toon! It bloody took you long enough!

' ... I'm afraid I was very, very drunk.' Actually, that's not true at all, as long-term From The North readers will recall, this blogger doesn't drink so much as 'a little wine' these days. Cos he's on pills for his nerves. And, on that particular score, the match itself did not help in the slightest!

Otherwise, Sunday was one of those sort of days.

Moving - reluctantly - away from the events of Sunday (there'll be time-enough to reflect on those at length in the days, weeks and months ahead, no doubt). Check out, if you will, this immensely marvellously review of this blogger's publications A Vault of Horror and the more recent Return to the Vault of Horror from the delightful Alan Toner on his You Tube channel here. This blogger wishes to thank Alan, muchly, for his kind and positive words.

Alan's a published horror author himself, his other You Tube channel can be found here. Check that out, too. Especially if you're dreading 'jazz festivals in the West Country' any time soon.

A couple of other quick bits and pieces to finish off this hasty update. One assumes, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, that this story from the Daily Post helps to explain Lenny Henry's absence from our television screens of late.

On Friday, this blogger had his three-monthly jab for B12. And, as usual, that knacked like jimbuggery.

Power, corruption and lies have, clearly, gone to their collective heads. Making one presumes, today, an if you will Blue Monday (though, not in Newcastle where, unbelievably, the sun is out and everybody in dancin' in the streets and lovin' each other).

That, therefore, was a much-shorter-than-usual, From The North update, largely to celebrate something which this blogger genuinely believed he might never see again in his lifetime. G'yiddip Th' Toon! Who let the dogs oot? (This blogger's thanks go to his niece, Our Aly, for the photograph of her Toon-loving pooches which, subsequently, trended on BBC News for a while!)

And finally, dear blog fiends, a word from out sponsor. Eddie in!!

Edited to add: A quick addendum dearest bloggersiationism fiends just to note that, whilst this blogger loved Sunday the mostest-baby, he was by no means alone in such loved-up malarkey-style shenanigans. Paul, Billy Tray, Lady Sam and Alex at the very excellent From The North favourite The Toon Review all loved it. The legend that is Big Al Shearer, he loved it. Almost as much as his mates, the legend that is Gazza Lineker and the legend that is Big Meeks, also loved it. Wrighty loved it. From The North favourite, The Irish Guy loved it. Another From The North favourite, Young Adam P, he loved it. Yer man Roobenstein, he loved it. Even Gary Neville at Sky Sports loved it. Admittedly Carragher, a graceless, slappable prick at best of times, had a face like a smacked arse whilst the legend that is Sir Les Ferdinand and the legend that is Shay Given were both in the process of really loving it (Jamie Redknapp didn't look overly displeased, to be fair). This blogger's former BBC Newcastle colleagues Young Razor and the legend that is Johnny Anderson loved it. The legend that is Steve Howey loved it. Matty at The Magpie Channel loved it (and he got to hang out with some legends and got into the after-game party with the players the lucky so-and-so!) Aal the lads and lasses there at Newcastle Fans TV (and, in The Stack Fan-Zone), aal wi' smilin' faces loved it. This blogger means aal the lads and lasses at Newcastle Fans TV loved it. That's aal the lads and lasses at Newcastle Fans TV! The Truth Faith podcast loved it. Loaded Mag loved it. Black and White Banter loved it. Everything In Black And White loved it. GallowgateShots loved it. Ever More NUFC loved it. NUFC Matters loved it. Geordie Josh loved it. The legend that is Keith Downie loved it. The Daily Scum Mail's Craig Hope loved it. The Geordie Journos loved it. Tripps loved it. Fab loved it. His Holiness Nick Pope loved it. Wor Bruno (and his Magic Hat) loved it. Big Joe loved it. Big Dan Burn (he's from Blyth) loved it. King Eddie loved it. The legend that is Shaka Hislop on ESPN loved it (although, atypically, Craig Burley and the lass hosting the show seemed to want to have a four hour debate on what a national tragedy it was that Liverpool lost rather than even mention Newcastle winning the damned thing). The 90s Mags loved it. Wayne Rooney and, Christ, even that twenty four-carat turnip Troy Deeney (a second-rate footballer and fifth-rate pundit) said some reasonably nice things on Match of the Day. Never A Foul loved it. 442oons had a bit of fun loving it (having already had a bit of fun loving the semi-final win over The Arse). This blogger mentioned Shearer loving it, yes? Every Magpies' favourite Scumchester United fan, the delightful Alice loved it. Robbie and Goldbridge loved it. Lank-haired Chelsea ponce Rory Jennings (you know, the bloke who took great delight in telling everyone how much he 'hates' Newcastle United) loved it. His mate Buvey loved it (though it's notable that the third member of The Club, that arrogant laughable Beardy Scummer who, two seasons ago, was claiming Erik Ten Hag was one of the best managers in the Premier League and that Eddie Howe would be getting sacked 'soon', has said nothing. Nothing). Ben Foster loved it. Football Ramble loved it. Expressions Oozing and his blud both quite enjoyed it (albeit, it wasn't anywhere near as funny as his reaction to Th' Toon spanking his beloved Stottingtot Hotspurs six-one a couple of years ago). Arne Slot and, indeed, most of the Liverpool players (and many of their fans subsequently posting to online forums) showed considerable class and dignity in defeat, for which they have this blogger's total respect; the fact that they're going to win the Premier League probably by-a-street helps to ease the pain, one imagines. Thierry Henry loved it. Newcastle suddenly became every Scumchester United fans' second-favourite team cos they loved Th' Toon beating their rivals Liverpool! In fact, pretty much everyone in the country (except Liverpool fans, which was entirely fair enough, the collective Mackem Filth, which was hilarious and some Middle Class Hippy Communist vegan-quiche-eating Grunaid Morning Star readers) were reasonably happy about it. Except some Arsenal fans; they remained salty-as-fuck. But, these guys really loved it. Bloody Hell, even sections of the odious, chebends at TalkSport with their sick Southern-Based-Media agenda and their endless parade of second-rate-ex-footballers-turned-fifth-rate-pundits seemed to enjoy aspects of it (admittedly, more Liverpool losing than Newcastle winning but, we'll accept whatever crumbs we can get from those abject glakes). Take, for example, this pair of sneering clowns who both won next-to-nowt in their entire careers. Of course, there's always one churlish waste-of-sperm who wants to suck all of the joy and happiness out of everything. His name's usually Simon Funking Capitalist-Tosser Jordan, a close personal fiend of Eddie's predecessor risible clot Mister Brucie (nasty to see him to see him, nasty). Hey mate, do the whole world a favour, catch a really nasty bowel-disease, will you? Thanks in advance. And, if you can pass it on to that ginger full-of-his-own-importance sneering tosser Paul Scholes as well, that'd be jolly useful. But, to conclude dearest bloggerisationism fiends, this blogger will tell you who loved it the most (apart from this blogger his very self, obviously). Tell 'em all about it, King Kev. We all loved it.

Tales Of Mystery And Suspense

Good day to you, dearest bloggerisationism fiends and jolly welcome you all are to the latest From The North blog update direct from The Stately Telly Topping Manor; coming to you in celebration of the fact that, you know, the weather's turned a wee-bit-nicer of late (mostly, though not exclusively - see below for details of one day when it very definitely wasn't). Let us, therefore, begin this latest set of random and bizarres dribblings from yer actual Keith Telly Topping's diseased, fragmented and leaking brain with this rather lovely vintage photo of Stowell Street, long before it became this city's beloved Chinatown. This was taken, presumably, sometime during the early-1960s, given the cars parked, rather willy-nilly, at the far end of the street and the fact that Wellbar House on Gallowgate can be seen towering in the background. That was completed circa 1961.

This blogger should, in fact, have been visiting one of the several extremely excellent restaurants which now populate Stowell Street last week. Sadly however, the trip had to be postponed due to a sad death in a family of this blogger's intended luncheon colleague. Obviously, this blogger's thoughts and best wishes are with the chap in question and his family at this time of great loss and sorrow. Difficult as it is to believe sometimes, dearest blog fiends, there are a few (in fact, more than a few) things in life which are slightly more important and a tasty plate of King Prawn Curry with egg-fried rice and no veg. True story, believe it or not.

Anyway, dear blog reader it is, indeed, that time again, this blogger is able to confirm at this very juncture. What time, you may well ask? Why, this time, of course. 

Therefore, with joy in our wallets, we start the latest bloggeriasationism update with a serious question occasioned by this blogger doing some local newspaper research - as he frequently does for a variety of reasons: Is this, Keith Telly Topping wonders, 'The Ultimate 1970s TV Clipping'? And, if not, then why not? How much more 1970s could this possibly be? None more 1970s, that's how much.

In fact, dear blog fiend, the only way in which that could have been any more 1970s would've been if the murderer featured on that particular episode of the popular 1970s ITV panel quiz Whodunnit? had turned out to be a member of Wizzard (a popular beat-combo of the 1970s, you might've heard of them). Oh, hang on ...

Anyway speaking, as he was back at the start of this bloggerisationism update, about this blogger's beloved Toon just a few months ago, this blogger found himself getting into quite a daft and pointless kerfuffle with the owner of a particular locally-based website which shall remain absolutely nameless. Due, exclusively, to this blogger's extensive knowledge of British horror movies, psychological-thrillers and other tales of mystery and suspense. This chap (or it may, in fact, have been a lady chap), had issued a challenge to his amd/or her own dearest blog readers to name as many films as they could which were filmed ('or partly filmed' and bear that last bit in mind because it's quite important to what follows) in Wor Geet Canny small-fishing-village-on-the-Tyne. So, this blogger, being up for a challenge at the best of times and also being a smart-arse of outrageous proportions, provided a list. Starting with the really obvious ones. The Likely Lads.

And, Get Carter.

And Payroll.

Then moving onto the slightly less obvious ones; Purely Belter (the film, incidentally, which allows anyone playing the 'Six Degrees Of Separation' game to get from Stan Laurel to Alan Shearer in but two moves - it's via The Blood Beast Terror if you wish to play-along at home!)

And, On The Night Of The Fire.

And, The Clouded Yellow.

And Stormy Monday.

To the downright ruddy obscure, The Ballad of Tam-Lin and Schizo. What this blogger received back was an unexpected right mouthful of impertinence over the latter two, with the website owner in question claiming the neither 'even exist.' To which this blogger, without further aggravating comment, provided Wikipedia links (here and here) - to prove that both most certainly do, indeed, exist - and screengrabs - to demonstrate that both feature some filming in Newcastle.

This blogger then received a further mouthful of crass impertinence over this blogger being 'a know-all' (and, various other naughty names which he won't bore you with). Yes. Guilty as charged sir (or madam). So, perhaps next time you don't want a question answered, it might be an idea not to ask it in a public forum in the first place. There are, incidentally, this blogger is sure several further films which feature location filming in-and-around Newcastle, Gatesheed, Waalsend, Whitley Bay, North Shields and various other parts of Tyneside (Billy Elliot, for one), but those listed were the ones that came most-readily to mind. Aren't some people simply strange?

And, speaking of strange people ...

For that nonsense, to this nonsense. Awoo. Next ...

Now, it's time for a, necessary, advert break and for a word from one of our sponsors. Particularly as it's washing day at The Stately Telly Topping Manor so this seems entirely appropriate.

Saturday 8 March, as you may well be aware, was International Women's Day. As this blogger has often noted in the past, his sister is not his enemy and, therefore, in celebration of that particular day dedicated to all women, here are six of the best of them.

This blogger mentioned previously that, whilst the weather, by-and-large, has started to show signs this too-long-a-winter is drawing, thankfully if rather more slowly than one would like, to a close, this hasn't always been the case. Example: Last Friday seemed quite a nice, if somewhat overcast, day when this blogger decided, on something of a whim, to pop down to the local Aldi for a few items which he could've easily left until the following day but, you know, didn't. Half-an-hour there and back, no sweat. This was what this blogger trudged back in.

And, this was how he spent the rest of that day.

Snivel. Cough. Splutter. Wheeze.

Still, it could've been worse. Just. 

Meanwhile, dear bloggerisationism fiends, this little lot arrived over the course of a couple of days in Percy The Stately Telly Topping Manor postal-flap to keep yer actual Keith Telly Topping more-or-less entertained. For, at least, the next few days whilst he recovers from his rainy exertions to the shop. Several of these will also, hopefully, come in handy at some stage in the future when this blogger decides exactly what his next literary endeavour will likely be.

Of course, that's once this blogger sees the recently-completed Island of Terror published and available for purchase (later in 2025, apparently). This blogger will say one thing about That There Mister David Howe, he's a sound-bloke, an outstanding publisher and a world-class lover. Except, that's actually three things. Okay, Keith Telly Topping will say three things about That There Mister David Howe then ... Remember, both Return to the Vault of Horror and A Vault of Horror are still extremely available if you haven't already bought one, several or lots. You might even get one or two of these super-sexy bookmarks with any copies which are ordered. Plug ends.  

So, 'what's on The Stately Telly Topping Manor Blu-ray today then, Keith Telly Topping?' this blogger hears you all, as one, ask with a mighty voice. Why, this, dearest bloggerisationism fiends. This is what's on The Stately Telly Topping Manor Blu-ray today. Which is also, interestingly, an anagram of the title. Or, at least, it should be.

In the most recent From The North bloggerisationism update this blogger mentioned that, for a brief moment at the end of February, every planet was due to appear in the night sky simultaneously in a rare celestial spectacle. This so-called 'planetary parade', occurred shortly after sunset on 28 February and it will be the last time the phenomenon occurs until 2040 (by which time, presumably, this blogger will be long dead and gone). The full planetary alignment saw Mars, Jupiter, Uranus, Venus, Neptune, Mercury and Saturn all lined-up just like that song by Sheikback. And, indeed, they did. Someone even managed to capture it on film. 

Albeit, this blogger doesn't want to ruin anybody's viewing of the planetary alignment, but he's pretty sure that Jupitar, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune are all quite a bit bigger than Mercury, Venus and Mars, not the same size as this here illustration suggested. Just sayin'.

Perspective. It's quite difficult to get through life without it, dear blog fiends. 'Small ... far away.'

Now, a heartfelt From The North Thought For The Day, dearest bloggerisationism fiends. Keith Telly Topping reckons that those who claim mixed-marriages don't work should go and funk themselves. Hard. And, ideally, painfully.

This blogger has received more than a few requests from one dearest blog fiend for 'more pictures of ladies with big jugs.' So, especially for you (and you know who you are), whom is this blogger but to comply with your desires. Satisfied?

Does anyone else, this blogger wonders, ever have one of them days - you know, them days - where one goes rooting through a large box of DVDs that one recorded off-the-telly between fifteen and twenty years ago looking for something specific, find something completely different that you'd forgotten you owned and then spent the next hour-and-a-half watching it whilst still not, actually, finding the thing you went looking for in the first place? Just this blogger then? That figures ...

This blogger has been having lots of 'those' sort of days of late, he must confess. As previously noted, one of his days quite recently was this sort of day.

Another was one of these sort of days.

And yet another was, spectacularly, one of these sort of days.

Time for another advert, perhaps?

'Dig the music, kids!'

'Listen, there was no reference to strangling a bare-breasted prostitute for the European Version when I read the original cheque ...'

'This is a very interesting old house.' 'I don't know, it gets a bit creepy sometimes. It's a bit like one of those houses in horror films.' 'I know what you mean. You think Boris Karloff's gonna pop up at any moment.' And, five minutes later, he does. Crap!

The point in Doctor Blood's Coffin in which one realises, for certain, that Peter Blood is a total bad'un (we'll leave aside the title just for the moment), occurs during the car drive back from the mines to the village in which Kieron Moore completely ignores everything that Hazel Court says because he's got evil-doings on his damaged brain. No sane man could possibly do that when sitting next to The Divine Goddess and (first) Queen of Horror. It's just not right. He must, therefore, be evil.

This blogger is, of course, a renowned and published expert on horror movies (if not, necessarily, a renowned and published 'world' expert then at least within the confines of The Stately Telly Topping Manor). Therefore, can someone please explain to this blogger why, exactly, he's never checked out this clear masterpiece previously? Answer me that and stay fashionable.

'Fancy trying it this way tonight, dear?'

And now, today's 'no shit?' social media posting of the week.

Obviously, that needs to be followed by this.

So many questions. And now, here is an important public service announcement.

The latest From The North Headline of The Week nominees include this one from the Daily Record.

Kent Online proving that they've really got their finger on the pulse of the issues that matter to the general populous.

The Manchester Evening News, whose alleged 'Real Life' writer, one Paige Oldfield, got paid for writing this 'not-even-remotely-real-life' piece of abject horseshit. Well done, Paige, we're all sure your parents are really proud of you.

Somerset Live with possibly the finest example of a 'someone got paid to write this?' nonsense since ... well, since Paige Oldfield wrote that thing in the Manchester Evening News. Phil Norris, seemingly, is the person responsible for the latest 'you get yer money fer nowt' exclusive.

An international flavour is provided by the News Republic. And yes, this does, indeed, seem to be uncannily like that Simpsons episode. Or, indeed, several Simpsons episodes. And yes, this blogger is aware the story is four years old ... but it's still funny!

It's nice to see that writing utter risible crap and getting paid for it isn't merely the province of the local media, the BBC News website is also at it. Frequently. Congratulations go to Eleanor Maslin and Jake Zuckerman for, seemingly, believing that this tripe constitutes 'news'. Does anyone else remember when the BBC used to be run by adults?

You have to hand it to Sky News, however. Anything the BBC can do, they can do ... worse. This, also it would seem, constitutes 'news'. It almost makes one long for the days when Uncle Rupert and his attack dog Kay Burley were still in charge. Almost, but not quite. Actually, not even 'almost' if we're honest about this. 

Congratulations are definitely due to the Daily Torygraph for doing what seemed to be the impossible and managing to make Alexander Armstrong into an even more annoying, self-entitled Tory twat than he already was. Jolly well done, there, guys - that's a public service and no mistake.

The Cumberland and Westmorland Herald, meanwhile, have the only story that matters, the four-hour closure of the Penrith branch of Greggs. 

And, in the Cumberland and Westmorland Herald newsroom ...

But the winner, by a clear margin, goes to the Ballymena Gazette.

From The North's daily bloggerisationism traffic (in terms of page-hits) continues its recent upward trend, it would appear. 

This, it seems, is the blog that reaches the parts plenty of other blogs also reach. But we do it, with style!

From The North's latest news story concerning The Be-Atles (a popular beat-combo of the 1960s, you mightv'e heard of them). And, it's good news, everyone. 

Forty six years ago this very week, on 9 March 1979, The Jam released their seventh single 'Strange Town' b/w 'The Butterfly Collector' on Polydor Records. This blogger will just repeat the really important part of that sentence. Forty Six Funking Years Ago. Where the Hell has my life gone?

Meanwhile, here's a picture of The Punk and The Godfather. Or, should that be, The Modfather and The Mod Grandfather? Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

Sometimes, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, only but one word is necessary to convey what needs to be said. Y'feel me?