Yes, my dearest bloggerisationism fiends, it's yet another
From The North update thrust, unwillingly, upon you all for no Earthly good reason other than that yer actual Keith Telly Topping has a spare day on his hands between various other projects (see below). Hit That There Blog Signal, Keith Telly Topping and let's get this show on the road.
So, pay attention at the back, otherwise, you
know what the outcome will be.
So, this is for the four people on the planet have
haven't heard the only news that's been reported by the UK media over the last week. Two 1965 episodes of this blogger's beloved
Doctor Who,
The Nightmare Begins (trx 13 November 1965) and
Devil's Planet (trx 27 November 1965) - or, as they're more widely known, episodes one and three of the serial
The Daleks' Master Plan - long believed lost (except for a few clips) have been
discovered, in what was rather euphemistically referred to as 'a ramshackle collection' and returned to the BBC. Restored versions of the two episodes will be released on BBC
iPlayer this Easter for all to see. They are the first previously missing
Doctor Who episodes to be returned to the BBC since
the discovery of eleven episodes in Nigeria in 2013.
Apparently, the British economy is now so seriously fekked-up that returned
Doctor Who episodes are considered the highest form of currency you can spend on the high street right about now.
Makes you think, dunnit? Part the first.
The announcement of the discovery of these two, previously lost, episodes of
The Daleks' Master Plan, of course, brings to mind the last time the exact self-same thing happened. And, the curious chain of dubious and unbelievably improbable events which surrounded it. For those dearest bloggerisationism fiends who are too young to remember the Earth-shattering malarkey involved, episodes five (
Counter Plot) and ten (
Escape Switch) of the twelve (or, if you include
Mission to the Unknown, which you
should, thirteen) part 1965-66 epic were, allegedly, 'discovered'. In July 1983, allegedly in the alleged crypt of an alleged Mormon church in London (that's
not alleged, it definitely exists, this blogger has been there. Once). Or, at least, the announcement of their recovery was made in July 83, this blogger always presumed that the episodes actually made their way back to the BBC's - shamefully incomplete - archives a few weeks before the announcement was made public. This, despite subsequent - perhaps less than diligent - research by numerous fandom detectives, all wearing big fek-off deerstalkers and carrying big fek-off magnifying glasses, completely failing to establish the location or, even, the actual existence of the alleged Mormon church. In which the alleged crypt housed the alleged film cans containing the two episodes in question.
However, the snot considerably thickens when one takes into account the following. A few months prior to all the malarkey surrounding the alleged discovery in the alleged crypt in the alleged church in
not alleged London, in November 1982 (also,
not alleged, most of us who were alive at the time actually
lived through that particular month. It had thirty days, this blogger recalls), several
Doctor Who fanzines (if you're too young to remember what
they were, it's a bit like a website ... only
on paper) widely reported a curious story. It was about a rather shady individual who, allegedly, turned up at a major
Doctor Who Appreciation Society fan convention in, not alleged, London (it may have been
InterFace II) and, allegedly, attempted to negotiate with various DWAS attendees about a - subsequently to be arranged - cinema showing of two, then-missing,
Doctor Who episodes. The identity of the two episodes in question wasn't revealed, the whole thing may have been a gigantic hoax and ultimately, the two incidents may not be connected at all. Nevertheless, it has, allegedly, been more than a bit widely speculated within certain part of
Doctor Who fandom that those two subsequently 'rediscovered'
The Daleks' Master Plan episodes had been allegedly held in, ahem, 'private hands' all along. And that the, alleged, 'discovery' in the alleged crypt of an alleged church in
not alleged London was, actually, a cover story. On that had been, allegedly, concocted by the BBC to hide the exact, alleged, circumstances of these two episodes' being returned to the archives. And, the alleged identity of alleged individual who'd, allegedly, had them and where he (and/or she), allegedly, got them from in the first place. In a kind of 'don't ask, don't tell ...
and, allegedly, some alleged licence fee payers' money allegedly changing alleged hands may also have been involved' type scenario. Allegedly.
Additionally, of course, some film effects extracts from the - now recovered - episodes one and three were
already held in the archives along with the complete episode two (
Day Of Armageddon) and a fifty eight seconds clip from the end of episode four (
The Traitors) featuring the sadly doomed Katarina (Adrienne Hill) being held at knife-point by the villainous and, also doomed Kirksen (Douglas Sheldon) in an airlock whilst Bret Vyon (Nicholas Courtney), Steven Taylor (Peter Purves) and The Doctor bicker about what to do about the situation. Those having been recovered in the early 2000s from various different sources. So, for those keeping notes (and, several websites exist to document exactly this stuff in forensic detail) that's now five and a twenty-fifth of
The Daleks' Master Plan which is known to exist. And, just six and twenty-four-twenty-fifths to go. Allegedly. So, as it stands, if you want to see the rest of
The Traitors,
Coronas Of The Sun,
The Feast Of Steven,
Volcano,
Golden Death,
The Abandoned Planet or
Destruction of Time, sorry, you
Cant.
That's the way everything crumbles. A bit like Sara Kingdom after getting shot by the Time Destructor in episode twelve, in fact.
And for those without a nearby calculator to hand, it's now
ninety five Doctor Who episodes which are missing from the BBC's
still shamefully incomplete (but, not as shamefully incomplete as they used to be) archives. Considering the total, at one point was close to one hundred and fifty, this might be considered a win by some.
And, on
that particular bombshell ...
Makes you think, dunnit? Part, the second. Checking for rust under there?
Moving on to non-
Doctor Who-related matters (and, believe it or not, dearest blog fiends, despite what some members of fandom my assert, there
are some), please allow this blogger to talk about his - other - favourite subject. His very self. For those who are wondering about The Right Shite State of Affairs with regard to yer actual Keith Telly Topping's ongoing scribbling activities at The Stately Telly Topping Manor (so, that'll be about six of you, no doubt). It's like this, y'see - as
previously noted on this very blog,
twice in fact,
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), the third part of Keith Telly Topping's
Vault of Horror tetralogy, has been delivered and will be published later this year. Keep an eye on the
Telos website for updates on pre-orders if you're of a mind.
And, whilst you're there you can always stick in an order for
Island of Terror. Or
A Vault of Horror. Or,
Return to the Vault of Horror. You know, if you haven't already got them. Or, even if you already
have. No pressure, this blogger will just leave the three links hanging there. Casually. Innocently. Like a sock on a shower-rail.
Anyway, the fourth (and, possibly even a potential
fifth) part(s) of the
Vault of Horror tetralogy(!), the fourth volume tentatively entitled
Beyond the Vault of Horror hasn't even been pitched yet and, wont be for some months still to come, but yer actual Keith Telly Topping
is currently making notes and collecting exhibits as we speak. More on that one later in the year. In the meantime, there is also
another - ongoing and more long-term - project (potentially to be called
Theatre of War) in collaboration with another writer which, again, hasn't been pitched to anyone (or even fully developed, as yet) but which
is underway and - so far - seems to be producing some quite interesting results. This blogger doesn't wish to reveal too much about that one yet, however, as it's still very early days.
That's it as it stands. Bet you're all really sorry you asked, now? And, remember, dear blog fiends, buying a book is an expression of your own personality and taste and, frankly, it's got nowt to do with anyone else.
Makes you think, dunnit? Part the third. The
horror.
Also, in yer actual Keith Telly Topping's life, of late, hair
cu-uuuut.
All right, dear blog fiends, don't shout it
all at once.
Since
last this blogger bloggerised like a big bloggerisationism thingy, yer actual has spent yet more of his valuable time luncheoning and networking with his close personal fiend, Young Malcolm at The Gate. And, a jolly splendiferous spread it was, an'aal. As usual. We've got another one lined-up next week too.
Which brings us, of course, to The News.
Speaking of whom, those bloody foreigner onions, they come over here, they take over our supermarkets ... Do something about
that, Mister Farago.
Makes you think, dunnit? Part the fourth. I say, steady on Miss. This blogger isn't entirely sure such a confession is suitable for the time or the place.
There's little left to say after
that revelation except ...
Next, things which one does not normally expect to hear whilst doing the weekly shopping in Morrisons. Number one: Being informed by That There Mister Dayyyyyvd Bowwwwie about the potential tasty qualities of 'cue lines and a handful of 'ludes' whilst in the middle of the tinned goods aisle. 'I wonder if they'll go well with some creamy mushrooms and basmati rice?' this blogger pondered as he headed off towards the meat counter.
And, on a somewhat nearly-but-almost related theme.
This blogger thought it was more than a bit nippy in Basil, The Stately Telly Topping Manor bed one night last week (despite the presence of but
three hot water bottles - Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego -
and a jolly thick pair of bed socks on yer actual's plates o'meat - King Nebuchadnezzar II and Queen, Ship's Cook and Hedgehog Nefertiti, respectively). But, one does most definitely
not expect to wake up to a - visible - blanket for frost covering The Estate on
the first Saturday in sodding March. Global warming? Fine, but a bit of evidence of it round these parts would be nice right about now.
Effing proper chilly so it was. This blogger felt just exactly like Mister Sulu in that episode of
Star Trek when he was, you know, trapped on a planet that was proper chilly and the transporter wasn't working.
The following image (and caption) was recently found on That There The Interweb. I say, is the person whomsoever posted this suggesting that Mister Johnny Alucard is, in fact,
a ladygirl? He'll have your neck for that, matey, mark this blogger words. Also, one simply has to admire the particular scowly mush sported by
From The North favourite The Divine Janet Key. It's got definite 'I've got the largest knockers on display, here, how come everybody's looking at
From The North favourite The Divine Caroline Munro,
From The North favourite The Divine Stephanie Beecham and
From The North favourite The Divine Marsha Hunt and not me' vibe to it, has it not dearest blog fiends? Which begs the obvious question, what have
they got that Janet didn't have? Apart from a) her own series of Talking Pictures TV, b) a Hollywood career and c) Mick Jagger's love-child and a couple of hits singles (including
one bloody brilliant one and
a more than decent one), respectively. Be fair, Jan, not only did you survive the movie, unlike two of your castmates, you also got to marry Jack Regan.
That's divinity for you.
Following that: A photo from a publicity stunt to promote Hammer's
Blood from the Mummy's Tomb (1971), in which
From The North favourite The Divine Valerie Leon starred. The cat, Sunbronze Danny Boy, was dressed in a harness and
From The North favourite Val was wearing wore her Egyptian-style costume from the film. The photos were taken on King's Road in Chelsea before several startled onlookers. Particularly the chap on the bike. Oh, the temptation for a pussy joke at this juncture ...
Is it really so very wrong of this blogger to note that, when he was in junior school, he had a pair of grey socks
exactly like
From The North favourite The Divine Linda Hayden is modelling here? No, apparently, that
is an acceptable confession to make. Glad we got that one sorted out.
When this blogger grows up, he wants to be
From The North favourite the
late, great Peter Wyngarde - seen here with Sally Anne Howes demonstrating why triple-pleat trousers never really caught on. I mean, the ability to knock seven years off ones age for a kick-off. It's a beat trick if you can do it.
After all, as
From The North favourite Peter Wyngarde
once said to From The North favourite The Divine Wanda Ventham in the
Department S episode
The Man From Nowhere, 'Groovy, baby!'
Needless to say
From The North favourite The Divine Rosemary Nicols was singularly unimpressed.
Makes you think, dunnit? Part the fifth. To quote
From The North favourite Johnny Alucard his very self, 'dig the music, kids.'
Next up, either an elementary schoolgirl-type error, a 'do
you want to tell her or should I?' type scenario or a witty piece of 'had you fooled right good and proper and no mistake' malarkey? You decide dear blog fiend.
Laughing at someone’s name who is being quoted in a BBC Leicester story about an 'adult club' is, of course neither big nor is it clever, dear blog reader. Yet here we are.
It is, of course, always worth remembering that during the 1990-91 English football season Fulham FC had a manager who delighted in the name
Alan Dicks. It was a notably bleak period for the famous old London club housed on the banks of the Thames, the team's performance was poor, finishing Twenty First in the Third Division (a position which, normally, would have seen them relegated to English football's fourth tier, though they were saved from this fate thanks to league restructuring that season) and they were humiliatingly eliminated from the FA Cup by non-league side Hayes. When they were going through a particularly bad spell, away fans at Craven Cottage used to have a right good laugh getting extremely amused by the home supporters chants of 'Dicks Out!' They should have thought themselves jolly lucky - a few years earlier we, at Newcastle, were managed by
Arthur Cox. Anyway ...
Well, it's happened to all of us, mate, you're nothing special.
'To the centre of the city where all the roads meet, waiting for you' no doubt. Specifically for all drivers, having trouble with their transmission and who have, ahem, lost control. Again. But, where will it end? Here. That's enough Joy Diversion puns to last a lifetime or more.
The following is, of course, a completely made-up thingy from
Meme Central. Nevertheless, whomsoever wrote it
did manage to raise a wry smile on this blogger's usually scowling lips with his efforts. 'According to investigators, within forty eight hours the man began receiving confirmation emails for everything from: A monthly cheese-of-the-week club; A mystery sock subscription; A guided meditation hotline; A Christian dating site; And something called "Rent-A-Llama LLC." Police say delivery trucks began arriving at his house daily, including one driver who reportedly showed up with a small alpaca wearing a party hat. The suspect allegedly admitted she "may have clicked a few things" but insisted she was simply "helping him explore new hobbies." Authorities say the man only realised what was happening after his credit card was charged for a $79 monthly spiritual energy cleanse membership. The woman now faces harassment charges. The llama has since been returned to its owner.' Oh,
very good!
Almost, in fact, but not quite, as good as this one from the same website.
So. Many. Questions.
Moving on, with haste, to the
From The North Headline Of The Fortnight awards. And, of course, we couldn't even
have a
From The North Headline Of The Fortnight awards without
at least one contribution from the Metro (so, not a
real newspaper, then). I mean, could we?
Or, indeed, a
From The North Headline Of The Fortnight awards without at least one contribution from some prick of a headline writer at the
BBC News website (which used to be run by
adults)
who appears to believe he and/or she is an undiscovered comedy genius.
The
Northern Echo is usually a good bet for a place on any list of nominees; particularly stories about
what a right dump Horden is.
One wonders if people, if you will, 'voted with their feet'? Look, this blogger is working with what he has to hand, here, give him a break, will you?
Apparently, three weeks later,
the Chester Leader also reported a follow-up story when the snail arrived back at the door of the chap who threw him and said 'what was
that all about'?
Now,
this one - from the
Daily Record - amounts to nothing more than saucery.
The
Daily Torygraph has always prided itself on being
the newspaper that asks the questions no one else dares to ask. Similarly, Keith Telly Topping prides himself in being a person who answers the questions that no one dares to ask. In this particular case, his answer being 'from a shoe shop (or online) and on you feet, where the fek
else are you going to wear them, you numbskull moron?' Hope this helps,
Daily Torygraph fashion editor Tamara Abraham, since you seem a little confused on this matter.
One usually has to pay extra for
that service. Particularly in Bath.
Well, it is
now after the
Crediton Courier talked about it. Unless, of course dear blog fiends, you know of a
more talked about road sign in Devon. Carrying, incidentally, the byline of one Alan Quick, Editorial Manager/Photojournalist. Who, presumably, got
paid for this puddle of noxious horseshit. Remember, dear blog fiends, trees
died to bring you this information.
Sad to report that,
according to the Brighton Argus, Arthur Two Sheds Jackson now requires a new nickname.
This, apparently, constitutes 'news' in South Wales.
Many people often ask this blogger, 'Keith Telly Topping', they often ask, 'have you any particularly preference as to how you would like to shuffle off this moral coil and join the choir invisible?' This blogger's usual reply is that yes, he does have a particular preference. 'I'd like to die peacefully in my sleep, just like my father did,' this blogger states. Before adding 'unlike the sixteen passengers on board the bus he was driving at the time.'
And finally, dear blog reader ...
From The North, as usual,
will return.
Anyway, enough of such malarkey and shenanigans and all that; this latest From The North bloggerisationism update must start with what this blogger suggests is a necessary statement for The Ages about The Situation. You feel me? Therefore ... (Don't knock it, once the bombs start a-fallin', the petrol runs out and the Interweb stops working, we'll all be speaking like it was the Fifth Century shortly after The Romans left.)
