Welcome you all are, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, to the latest From The North update. Quicker one than usual, this, for reasons which will become clear as we got along.
So, on Monday of this very week, the PDF page-proofs for this blogger's forthcoming Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Book of 72 Great* British** Films of Mystery and Suspense
From 1933 to 1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus two French, three Italian and one Spanish) only went and rocked up at The Stately Telly Topping Manor direct from the greatest publishing company in the history of the world, bar none, Telos. Thus, this blogger knew he was going to be really really busy over the following few days reading through. ahem, six hundred and thirteen pages of text until his forehead bled looking for errors and corrections.
Note that the title is slightly inaccurate on this proposed - but, really rather handsome - cover art slick and that it's seventy eight films being covered, not fifty eight (hence the staggeringly over-the-top and -down-the-other-side page count). But, don't worry about that, dear blog fiends, because we is on The Mother. In the meantime, this blogger always feels rather elated each time he gets a new set of page-proofs which includes an ISBN page. For some reason, that always makes it feel just that bit more real.
Thus, this blogger was able to confirm to his dearest Facebook and Blue Sky fiends that he was intending to be 'going in, now. I may be some time!' To be fair, thereafter, he kept them all pretty-well appraised of the ongoing situation across the next few days. Like, for instance, posting this on Wednesday evening when he was about halfway through his monumentally massive task.
Laugh? He nearly did. He was also able to confirm, on the self-same evening, that he really deserved this.
No, not that. This. How much did he really, really, really deserve it, you may well be wondering dear blog fiends? Let him count the ways ...
For most of Thursday, this blogger thought he was in with a decent chance of actually finishing the Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Book of 72 Great* British** Films of Mystery and Suspense From 1933 to 1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus two French, three Italian and one Spanish) edit that night. But, by around eight o'clock he had simply hit a brick wall and was too damned shagged out to do any more that evening despite their being a mere but fifty seven page to go. This blogger would, he told his fiends, sooner take one more day to finish it properly than battle on through the fatigue and, potentially, miss something vitally important.
Taking a brief moment away from editing Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Book of 72 Great* British** Films of Mystery and Suspense From 1933 to 1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus two French, three Italian and one Spanish). A stray reference in the Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? piece about Little Chloe Franks singing a snatch of the nursery rhyme 'Ride a Cock Horse to Banbury Cross' during the film reminded this blogger of what is, without question, the single worst LP cover of all time. No exceptions. Bar zero. Whatever one thinks about Old Roge and some of the extremely questionable post-Brexit, pro-Reform bollocks that he's come out with over the last few years he is still, after all, the man who sang/screamed 'Won't Get Fooled Again'. No one, surely, deserves to have something as horrible as this hidden away in the darkest recesses of their closet, do they? Do they? Okay, maybe they do ...
Meanwhile, some decidedly odd things were cropping up with suspicious regularity on this blogger's Facebook feed. Most notably, an invitation to 'An Evening With The Return of Emerson, Lake and Palmer.' Given that yer actual Keith Telly Topping has managed to survive many evenings (whatever sixty two times three hundred and sixty five, plus approximately sixteen 29 Februarys is) without having so much as a tiny smidgen of Emerson, Lake and Palmer anywhere in his life, this blogger reckons one more evening isn't going to do him too much harm.
And, this blogger is fairly certain that Mssrs Emerson, Lake and/or Palmer would probably agree with that assessment. If two of them weren't already dead, obviously.
So, Friday 8 May 2026. A day in the life of yer actual Keith Telly Topping, aged sixty two (and a bit). 'Woke up. Fell out of bed. Didn't touch my fine head of hair with a comb, because it was just perfect as it was. Went along the landing to the netty and has a slash and then went into the kitchen and drank a cup. Looking at my phone, I noticed I was bang on time. Found my hoodie and my sleeveless grey puffa-jacket and left my hat exactly where it was since I only wear it if it's cold (and, it wasn't). Missed the bus and had to wait ten minutes for the next one. Didn't smoke because, you know, cancer and all that. Kept my medical appointment with the divine Nurse Elisabeth and had a really stingy needle full of B-12 jabbed, painfully, into my upper right arm. Needless to say, it hurt like bastard jimbuggery and I yelled and squealed like a big, soft girlyman before thanking every deity I don't believe in that it'll be three months before I need to do that again. Went to the post office to draw out some money. Went to the shop. Caught another bus. Went to another shop (because the first one didn't have everything I needed). Walked back to The Stately Telly Topping Manor. Told all of you all of this.' Tell you what, dear blog fiends, stick a double-tracked forty-piece piece orchestra recorded in Studio One at EMI on that and plenty of echo and it'll be a masterpiece.
At this point, therefore, with his arm only slightly throbbing like a ... big, throbbing thing, this blogger was ready to do this shit! (ie. to fulfil the terms of his contract with the single greatest publishing company in the entire world, bar none and finish editing the PDF page-proofs of his latest acclaimed, best-selling - it says here - book). Then, when he had done all that, he intended to go back to bed. Because he's an old, not-very-well man and his arm hurt. And so did his back (though, that's a permanent thing). Fishing for sympathy is really fun, isn't it dear blog fiends? Thus it was that, at approximately 2pm on that very Friday afternoon, this momentous moment occurred.
That's right, dear fiends, as indicated here, this blogger can now thoroughly confirm that there will be a sequel, to the sequel, to the sequel, to the sequel. The fourth part of the A Vault of Horror tetralogy, Beyond a Vault of Horror: A Study of 75 Further Great* British Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1936-1981 (* And Not So Great) has been pitched, accepted, contracted (delivery date 31 October) and writing will begin just as soon as this blogger has had forty eight hours necessary kip.
This blogger has promised David and Stephen that he'll try to bring this one in with a somewhat reduced word count as he doesn't want to produce another six hundred word plus tome, but he'll still be aiming to pack as many 'chillers, thrillers, blood-spillers and programme-fillers' in as he possibly can. Publication? Sometime in 2027. But, hey, give this blogger a chance to write the damned thing first.
And, whilst we wait - patiently, one hopes - for both of these to appear, a necessary reminder that, should any blog fiends be of a hankering to do so, they can order one, two or all three of this blogger's previous volumes on British horror, SF and fantasy movies from the genuinely marvellous and wonderful Telos Publishing (available here, here and here). Unless, of course, you already have ordered one, two or all three of them. In which case, this blogger loves you all, you're the greatest dear blog fiends that ever there was. And, thank you for allowing this blogger into your homes.
Yes. Yes I am. Thanks for asking.
So, what else has been going on since last this blogger blogged like a big bloggeriser, you may be wondering? Or, you may not. But, don't worry if you're not because this blogger is going to tell you, anyway. For one thing, he's been touring all of the major cities of South-East Asia with his favourite 1980s band, Kajagoogoo. Singapore? Yes. But the bassist was quite good.
Incidentally, dear blog fiends, if you can't be bothered to read the last From The North update from a couple of weeks ago, then be not a'feared. Because AI can do a handy summation of its contents just for you. A reasonably accurate one, as it goes.
Sunday, apparently, is Mother's Day in the US (in the UK we had it in March). Therefore, all American From The North fiends are urged to remember that it's not just once a year you should be asking that most important of questions, 'are you my mummy?'
Also, as usual, this blogger suffered one of his tediously regular fortnightly luncheonettes in The Keel Row with Young Malcolm. It was ... the usual.
Let us, now, continue with some important parish notices. Like, for instance, the rumour that the proposed remake of The Terminator isn't going as well as hoped or planned.
Also, the observation that, sometimes, a clarification is not only helpful, it's absolutely necessary.
Desperately necessary.
Although, on some occasions, questions do need to be asked.
Next we have confirmation that the past was a time when the concept of health and/or safety was, if you will, 'someone else's problem'.
Blimey, dear blog reader, this blogger knows that not everyone enjoys a-hoppin' and a -boppin' to the Crocodile Rock quite as much as yer actual Keith Telly Topping his very self does. But this is, surely, taking things just that little bit too far?
As previously discussed on this very blog, nominative determinism would appear to be very much 'a thing' in all manner of manifestations. Even geographically and ecologically.
In Mod We Trust. Part the first.
In Mod We Trust. Part the second.
In Mod We Trust. Part the third, cor blimey!
And now ... no!
Never!
Surely not?!
And ... err, where, exactly? Just casually interested, you understand?
Finally, dear blog reader, this blogger hears a cry of 'but, but, but, Keith Telly Topping ... What about the From The North stalker, then? What's the latest there?' Well yes, sad to report the saucy minx has been at it again. Predictable as piles though this blogger supposes he should give the individual due recognition for his ceaseless determination to have the last word. And, never actually having it. He's quite a sight, to be honest. Anyway, get this - he created a second Blue Sky account, after his first one was blocked. Seemingly purely so that he could send five (that's five) abusive messages to this blogger's account. Five. One after another. This being, remember, someone who recently had the audacity to claim that Keith Telly Topping is 'obsessed' with him rather than the other way around. Can we have a second opinion on that matter, please? Anyone? This blogger really isn't sure exactly how long it took the silly sausage to create the second account and then to (presumably) vent his considerable spleen five times but I'm pretty sure it would have been longer than the approximately twenty seconds it took this blogger to bin all five messages, unread and then, to make his newest account join his previous one in this blogger's Blue Sky block-file. Seriously, pal, amateur hour. The skywriting suggestion from last time, would've got a lot more attention.
One awaits further related developments with something approaching anticipation. Though, if he tries it on Blue Sky again, their Community Guidelines have some very interesting things to say on the subject of their app being used for 'insulting, threatening or harassing behaviour.' Which is always good to know in advance. And their moderators are just an 'in-app report' away, I'm assured. That's, also, nice to know.
The French have a phrase for this sort of thing, this blogger believes. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
And, on that bombshell, dear blog fiends, From The North will return ... although now this blogger's got yet another book to write, updates may not be as regular as they have been so far this year. Goodbye for now and, erm, hello ducky.
