Welcome you are, all of yer actual Keith Telly Topping's more-or-less-several bloggerisationism fiends, to what is almost certain to be the very final From The North update for yer actual 2025. Unless something wow-spooky and pure-dead-weird occurs in the interim. So, assuming that nothing wow-spooky and pure-dead-weird does occur in the interim, hit that there The Stately Telly Topping Manor blog signal if you'd be ever so kind and, if you are all sitting as comfortably as a numb-bum will (comfortably) allow, as they used to say on Watch With Mother, 'let us begin.'
We kick-off this latest From The North blog update with a bit of, necessary, bloggerisationisms housekeeping. Here is an up-to-date map of From The North's pan-continental international and global reach; now updated following this blog receiving its first ever visit from a newly-arrived dear blog reader in that there Uzbekistan. Though, we're all still waiting for the net-savvy chaps and lady-chaps in that there The Federated States of Micronesia to get their shit together and drop in for a cuppa. To quote the late Douglas Adams, 'the secret is to bang the rocks together, guys.' See if you can spot yourself on the map, dearest blog fiends. This blogger is reasonably certain you're in there somewhat.
The From The North page-view traffic, meanwhile, continues to be, regularly, in the four-to-ten-thousand hits per-day range. Most, admittedly, from dear - presumably, first time - blog fiends, stumbling in here in the vain hope of finding a plateful of red-hot porn.
So, especially for you gentlemen (and ladies) who are 'well-into that sort of thing', here's an early Christmas present just for y'all.
Phwoar, eh? Wicked. Next - 'Ah, Meezda Telly Topping, ve've been expeck-ting yew ...'
'A single to Skaro, brother. And, tell me, are you running on time? I've got a planet to exterminate in forty seven rels.'
Okay, okay, this blogger can take a hint, dear - thoroughly irritated - blog fiends.
Therefore, with joyous abandon in both us hearts and us wallets, we must turn our attention to the main matter-in-hand at The Stately Telly Topping Manor for the last few weeks; to wit, the first complete read-through and continued-editing of the third part of Keith Telly Topping's A Vault of Horror tetralogy, Bride of A Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Films of 'Mystery & Suspense' (1933 to 1986) (* And Not So Great) (** Plus two French, three Italian and one Spanish). That has been, as t'were, completed more-or-less to the author's vague satisfaction. The current reckoning is as follows: two hundred and ninety three thousand four hundred and ninety nine words; seventy eight films covered from The Ghoul to Gothic; four hundred and sixty four pages of Telly Topping goodness; two hundred and seventy six annotated footnotes; one Dedication; one set of Acknowledgements; one Introduction - Scream & Scream (Again); two small but beautifully formed mini-essays (The Deadly B's and It's a Fair Cop, Guv!); an extensive Bibliography and an About the Author piece (Mister Horrible's Stately Manor of Terror). Since that first complete read-through was completed, the author has been knee-deep in a second complete read-through, looking all the while for further mistakes, correctables and loopholes until his forehead bleeds. Once that is concluded (going at the current rate, this blogger is guessing that should be, roughly, by the end of this very week), he'll be delivering the damned thing off to his publisher and then having a nice long lie down in a darkened room for a month. Maybe six weeks. Which'll be nice. At this point you may have concluded, correctly as it happens, that this entire paragraph, has been nothing other than a banal exercise is crass self-aggrandisement and selfish-promotion not particularly well-disguised as 'news.' It is now, you'll all be glad to know, extremely ended. The author thanks you, all, for allowing him (however unwillingly) onto your social media.
Highlights of the editing so far have included the end of the review of The Psychopath (Amicus, 1966) and this blogger's discovery of the most potentially embarrassing typo in the entire book by a considerable distance (even worse than the 'Hammond orange' fiasco previously alluded to in the last bloggerisationism update). If this isn't a Freudian slip, dear blog fiends, then Keith Telly Topping doesn't know what, actually, is; it should, of course, read 'death by blow-torch.' You guessed that, right? Please tell this blogger you guessed that?
Another contender for the 'thank Christ Keith Telly Topping spotted that' typo in the manuscript award, from the Craze entry, is also worthy of considerable shame. 'Pasty?' What the actual ... ?
And, there was, of course, the point where not only Roman Polanski and Kenneth Tynan but, also, Bill Shakespeare found their very selves with an aspect of their plot being given the full Logic, Let Me Introduce You To This Window treatment. (Listen, it's a dirty job, dear blog fiends, but someone's got to do it. And, by someone, this blogger, of course, means his very self.)
Potential purchasers of Bride of A Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Films of 'Mystery & Suspense' (1933 to 1986) (* And Not So Great) (** Plus two French, three Italian and one Spanish) will also be delighted to learn that a provisional cover has been envisioned by this blogger's thoroughly and disgustingly talented publishers. This blogger just loves the mauve text on this one the mostest! There's nowt like a wee bit of purple to indicate that there's quality ahoy.
Keith Telly Topping believes that'll look well-sexy and just a little bit dangerous on all dear blog fiends' bookshelves. Perhaps alongside these bad boys. Will it not?
Meanwhile, this blogger was both delighted and more than a bit extremely delighted to discover that all three of those previous Telly Topping books were featured in the Telos top-ten best-sellers list for November. This blogger had always assumed it was only The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) who managed to get multiple works in a top ten at any given time. So, once again, a bigly-big massive thank you - from both yer actual and from David and Stephen at Telos - to everyone who bought A Vault of Horror, Return to the Vault of Horror and/or Island of Terror. Or, who is considering doing so. You're all splendid people and we love you the mostest, baby.
Ego, ego are you thoroughly well-satisfied?
With of all that gross selfism very much out of the way (at least until the next bloggerisationism update), what with this being 'that time of the year' and all that and everything, all together now ...
You should probably know to whom you should be giving thanks come Boxing Day ...
Also, here's your, necessary, annual reminder about the single most important thing to bear in mind during this particular but of the year ...
As this is, at least in theory, the season of goodwill to all men (and ladies ... and, indeed, some dogs) let us, therefore, gather round the old pianna for a right good sing-song. Come on, dear blog fiends, all join in: 'I go .... "huh-huh-huh-huh, neek-neek-neek-neek-neek-neek-neek/whiz-bong, whiz-bong, Mrs Gandhi, yok-yok."' There, this blogger is sure we're all feeling much more festive now.
Since the last From The North bloggersiatonism update at the start of December its very self, the latest of this blogger's - now fortnightly - regular luncheonettes in Th' Toon with this blogger's excellent fiend, that there Young Malcolm, has taken place. And, as usual, jolly splendid it was too. Look at the size of that Chicken Tikka Masala, for but one thing.
Mind you, this blogger really isn't sure that KFC's latest sales pitch - bragging about the size of their massive cock - is going to play particularly well with some in the community.
During the last From The North bloggerisationism update, this blogger mentioned that as soon as Keith Telly Topping gets the second complete read-through and continued-editing of Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Movies of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish) out of the way (just to repeat, probably by sometime a'tween Chrimbo and New Year), he's got The Stately Telly Topping Manor home media situation-type-malarkey well-sorted. To save him the trouble-and-strife of having to watch any actual telly over the festive period (odd dips into From The North favourite Talking Pictures TV, notwithstanding).
Well, this blogger is delighted to inform all dear fiends, that he's only been and bleedin' gone and bleedin' added to his 'must watch' stash. Otherwise known as the 'I dunno what you lot are doingthis Christmas week, but Keith Telly Topping his very self is going to Eurohorrorland' really naughty list. Because, dear blog reader, let's face it, nothing (but nothing) says Christmas like German, French and Polish blood-soaked abandon. Plus, an example of a kooky heist-caper from a period when yer actual Engerland was a-swingin' like a pendulum do. Actually.
And now, a - necessary - question to all dear blog fiends: Answers on a postcard.
However, just to prove that yer actual Keith Telly Topping does, occasionally, enjoy a movie made after 1979, this rocked up on Terry, The Stately Telly Topping Manor tellybox machine this very week. 'Seems God has a sense of humour.' This blogger didn't think it was quite as good as the previous two in the Knives Out franchise but it's still, comfortably, The Stately Telly Topping Manor Film of the Year (for what that's worth). This blogger is with From The North favourite Mark Kermode all the way on this particular score; Keith Telly Topping, likewise, could cheerfully watch Danny Craig's Benoit Blanc in a Rian Johnson whodunnit once a year for the rest of time.
Pop Music Has Ruined This Blogger's Life, Number six hundred and fifty nine: Keith Telly Topping was idly flicking around Terry, The Stately Telly Topping Manor tellybox channels one afternoon this week when he came across some hard-boiled 1940s film-noir thriller in which one character referred to another character as a 'stool pigeon'. And, this blogger found his very self completely unable to avoid adding, out loud, 'Ha-cha-cha-cha!' Damn you, Kid Creole and all of your sodding Coconuts, you've ruined this blogger's life.
Next, for your consideration, the following ...
Always remember, dear blog fiends, that a chap must have a hobby.
Which brings us to From The North's December 'it's makes you think, does it not?' award.
Always remember, dear bloggerisationism fiends, that a chap must have a hobby. Part the very second.
Isn't it just like totally beyond wonderful how jolly helpful some providers of goods, services and takeaway consumables are when thinking about their customers' health and safety?
Before we get on to our semi-regular bloggerisationism feature, the From The North Headline Of The Month award, here's a revisitiation of a former winner of thate very coveted prize. One which, a decade later, still provokes so many unanswered questions thoroughly unanswered.
What's all this, dear blog fiend, the BBC News website (which used to be run by adults) is reporting? The Second Coming? In Belgium?
Let's get this shower of shat on the road with a round of applause for the family that thought they could get away with the old, 'it's just my late grandmother, honest' malarkey.
Next, there is a new CSI series in the offing, it would appear. One wonders which song by The Who they'll be using for the theme music of this one.
'Look at the size (and shape) of that sausage ...' Be aware, dear blog fiend, that anyone who says 'looks just like a thingy' will be sniggered at (and, possibly, thereafter spanked with a wet plimsole ... if they're really good).
Still on a foody theme (well, pies, anyway), it's all kicking off in Wigan, it would seem. We do take our pies jolly seriously up here in t'North.
Next, this Jacob's Cream Cracker from the Dorest Echo. Good on ya, girls what a nice gesture.
This, meanwhile, is what constitutes 'news' in the Channel Isles. Whomsoever knew?
Which, to be fair, is still far more properly newsworthy than the absolute twenty four carat bollock-shat which the Nottingham Post appears to consider 'news'.
It's official: 'Christmas is ruined.' At least, it is according to the Brighton Argus.
And, speaking of Brighton's finest (only) local newspaper, congratulations go to them for given space in their clearly massive media organ to the views of one Andy Winter (whomsoever he is). Andy wins this year's prize for being the most cheerless, slappable, whinging muddyfunster on the entire planet, bar none, for this piece of abject, risible tripe. Congratulations, Andy, one is sure your parents are really jolly proud of your achievement.
Though, to be scrupulously fair, that particular competition was far tougher, this year, than usual. Especially, with the Southern Daily Echo's decision to print this bucket of crass, ignorant sexist gittery from one (Mr and/or Master) M Wilson who is a clear runner-up in the most cheerless, slappable whinging muddyfunster on the entire planet, bar none, stakes. If you can stomach reading this shower of disgraceful diarrhoea, dear blog reader, this blogger hopes that you, like he, believe it's (Mr and/or Master) M Wilson's closing 'just my opinion' comment which makes it art.
Remember, dear blog fiends, it's an age-old truism but it remains an entirely valid one, 'woke' does not exist - it was made up by some cheerless, slappable whinging muddyfunster cnuts in Fleet Street as verbal shorthand of 'everything I don't like.' Only cheerless, slappable whinging muddyfunsters and readers of the Daily Scum Mail use the word 'woke' in anything other than a purely ironic context. You'd better start working out which of these applies to you, Andy Wilson and (Mr and/or Master) M Wilson. This blogger thinks he'd rather be a cheerless, slappable whinging muddyfunster, personally. Being a Daily Scum Mail reader would be far more unbearably embarrassing and hard to justify.
This, meanwhile, is obviously some new use of the words 'major incident' that we at From The North hadn't previously come across.
Has anyone, we wonder, bothered to inform those lovely people at Devon Live that the very excellent Doctor Hatcher up in Sandford almost certainly, 'has a cream' for 'embarrassing bollards'?
But, of course, the winner of the From The North Headline of The Month award goes, as usual, to the ever-reliable Metro (so, not a real newspaper, then) and Jen Mills's potential Pulitzer prize-winning piece, here. Trees died to bring bored bus passengers this essential information, dear blog fiends.
Following all that rancid puddle of noxious phlegm, dear blog fiends, here is an illustration of this blogger's life in a nutshell. In. A. Nutshell. (Keith Telly Topping his very self being the one expecting the headache, just in case you were wondering.)
In. A. Bloody. Nutshell.
On Monday of this very week, dear blog fiends, this blogger did the, as it turned out, second-to-last of his pre-Christmas shopping at a surprisingly far less-rammed-to-the-rafters than he'd anticipated Morrisons. For all of those necessary last minute purchases; you know, milk, Yorkshire Puddings, a roast pork joint, sliced mushrooms, Bubble prawn dogs, gravy, a Garlic baguette, a tin of minced goose fast and some fabric conditioner. The really important stuff, all in for a fraction over thirty four quid. Because, let's face it, dear blog fiends, when you need some fabric conditioner, you really need some fabric conditioner.
Stepping out of the shop on his way to the bus back to The Stately Telly Topping Manor carrying his three bags full of a essential purchases, this blogger found his very self witness to a minor contretemp in the car park between an extremely mouthy, insolent youth (and his, equally mouthy and insolent girlfriend) and two police officers; the latter of whom were, clearly, not looking for a fight over a case of light-shoplifting this close to a public holiday. But who, nevertheless, were being quickly talked into meeting out some pre-emptive ad-hoc justice by the mouthy, insolent youth's inability to just shut the fek up, nod politely and look suitably chastened after having been pinched by the Bobbies. It reminded this blogger of an occasion many, many years ago outside a nightclub on Newcastle Quayside when a somewhat drunken and spotty oik with a questionable haircut and an even more questionable attitude was taking considerable umbrage with some Lily Law 'looking at me in a funny way after I'd sang the Laurel and Hardy song at them.' Or something. On the verge of having his collar felt for 'being a drunken arsehole in a built-up area during the hours of darkness' said spotty, drunken oik fell back on the last line of defence for barrack-room lawyer everywhere who feel they have been belittled by the forces of authority in front their their gang of chums. 'I know my rights! You're tekkin' liberties, like,' he told the assembled fuzz. One of whom, seemingly, was a bit of a potential People's Poet when replying, 'if, by that you mean, I am about to take your liberty, from you, whereby you're going to be spending a night in the Newgate Street cells, young man, then yes. You are entirely correct in that assertion. You're under arrest!' Take some sage advice from one who has both been there and, indeed, done that (memorably, one day at Roker Park during a particularly crappy 0-0 draw in the 1985 Wear-Tyne derby). Never, not never, try to prove to plod you're smarter than them or know The Law better than they do. You may be and possibly you do, but it's seldom going to end well. It didn't then for the spotty oik with a questionable haircut and it didn't today for the mouthy, insolent youth (and his equally mouthy and insolent girlfriend) who both ended up bundled into the back of a waiting jam-jar and were about to be whisked off to Clifford Street for, presumably, a moment of existential crisis up a'fore the Charge Sergeant. Sometimes, when you're told 'you have the right to remain silent', it's probably a good idea to do just exactly that.
This was followed, on Tuesday, by a quick trip down to Aldi for some further last minute unsustainable necessities after which this blogger was back to his drum in less than forty minutes. This will, this time definitely, be the last time The Stately Telly Topping Manor threshold will be crossed until sometime next week (unless this blogger decided that he desperately needs a takeaway at some stage, obviously). 2025 shutdown commencing (though, you may recall, this blogger still has this bloody book to finish editing - see above). It's been emotional.
C'mon, dear blog fiends, be honest and truthful and realistic. You'd react similarly in such a situation, would you not?
And finally ...
Keith Telly Topping concludes this latest blog update by, once again, wishing all of his dearest blog readers, their families, fiends, neighbours, work colleagues, acquaintances, ladies they once met at a party, bands they quite like, favourite football teams, people who support the same political party and, in fact, everyone else who knows them, a more-or-less adequate holiday period and a slightly-better-than-average New Year. That's remains best you're going to get from Keith Telly Topping. He doesn't do 'happy Christmas's.
