Elon, of course, is - as he would be the very first to confirm - only
ever interested in what is best for everyone on the planet. Including himself, obviously.
'Irony ( n ). ʌɪrəni/. 1. Someone saying something that they do not, necessarily, mean. For the purposes of merriment and japery. 2. Like "goldy" and "brassy" only with iron. 3. What your mum does with your shirts after washing.'
So, for Elon and all of his - no doubt exceptionally well-paid - AI minions at
Grokipedia if they happened to be reading this particular blog posting, here is a - seemingly
necessary - update. Should any dear blog fiends be of a mind to do so, they can order one, two or all three of this blogger's recent tomes on British horror, SF and fantasy films from the genuinely tremendous, immensely ground-breaking and utterly pure-total fantabuloid 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 the mostest, baby. You're the greatest collective blog fiends that ever there was in all the live-long day and, this blogger, humbly, thanks you all for allowing him, once again, into your homes (and wallets). Except, of course, to add that you
could - if you, you know,
felt like it - order one, two or all three of them
again. Perhaps as a gift for that special someone in your life ... whom you
don't like. It's an option that's all this blogger is saying. Go on, Elon, you
know you want to - you've got more money than God, spread a little happiness in The Stately Telly Topping Manor direction.
This blogger is also keen, once again, to remind dear blog fiends that Keith Telly Topping'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) completed early this year is soon to be published (around late September or October, 2026 to be precise although the exactly publication date remains to be confirmed). Consequently,
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) will be up on the publisher's website for pre-order at some stage in the short-to-medium-term. And, you can absolutely
guarantee that all
From The North blog fiends will be kept stunningly apprised of exactly when
that occurs. What can this blogger offer in mitigation for this presumptions, dear blog fiends? Except that it is, after all,
his job.
Returning to the subject of this blogger's
IMDB page for a brief moment. That, incidentally, also spectacularly fails to include this blogger's certified TV debut,
from a February 1975 episode of Tyne-Tees Television's Sunday afternoon football highlights programme,
Shoot! when outside broadcast cameras at St James' Park captured this blogger, sitting on the wall of the (then New) East Stand flicking the 'V's at a hapless Middlesbrough player (possible the late Willie Maddren) who was inoffensively taking a throw-in somewhere near him at the time. Probably that moment a twenty four carat TV history is now long lost from the archives, hence its omission from
IMDB's listings (though footage, at least, of
Supermac's winner at the Gallogwgate End is available on
You Tube).
Whence yer actual Keith Telly Topping
last blogged from The Stately Telly Topping Manor like big-bad-bloody-buggering-bastard blogging-thing, this blogger was bigging-up having only recently achieved his best ever score (to date) on the very excellent
Geoguesser website with a score in the twenty three thousand range. Once again, it's worth point out at this point that for a relative
Geoguesser beginner like yer actual Keith Telly Topping, twenty three thousand seven hundred and nine out of a potential maximum score of twenty five thousand is probably the sort of figure that some of the honest-to-God professional
Geoguesser geezers out there on the Interweb (several of whom have You Tube channels which this blogger finds thoroughly entertaining) would look at and think, 'hmmm ... not bad. Not great either, mind, but not bad for a novice.' And, they'd be dead correct in that very assertion. Anyway, on 30 July, this blogger only went and beat that total by a nose, scoring a really rather lovely twenty three thousand eight hundred and thirty nine on his, at the time, one hundred and fourth consecutive daily effort. 'Yay, me' noted Keith Telly Topping when asked - by no one - for a reaction to this particular happenstance.
And, whilst this blogger's daily average remains, comfortably in the roughly seventeen-to-twenty thousand range - with, usually, four examples of getting roughly the right country, if not the right part of the right country but, always, one crass moment of believing a location in Argentina, Chile or Ecuador is in Spain (due to a street sign being in, you know,
Spanish) or getting the dusty and well constructed long and winding roads of South Africa and Australia (or, on one spectacularly memorable occasion,
Thailand!) confused because they all drive on the left - this blogger can, still have surprisingly good days. Like one, for example 7 August when he didn't, quite, beat his previous best score but still managed to get jolly close, achieving twenty two thousand nine hundred odd, by correctly spotting locations in Estonia, Switzerland, Australia, the Netherlands and Canada. When asked - by no one in particular - for a reaction on
that occasion, Keith Telly Topping was heard to ejaculate (steady), 'blow me, stiff, me auld beauty - twice in a week?
That's a surprise!'
This blogger reported
during that last From The North update that
Beyond a Vault of Horror: A Study of 72 Further Great* British Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1936-1981 (* and not so great), the latest, fourth (or, technically, counting
Island of Terror,
fifth) in this blogger's tetralogy of books covering the British cinema of chillers, thrillers, blood-spillers and programme fillers, had been extremely completed to a first draft level. Since the delivery date for the finished manuscript isn't until the end of October, this author intended - and still intends - after a necessary few weeks with his feet up taking it easy and getting his shat together, to use the majority of September and October to edit the manuscript until it squeals, blares, bubbles and begs -
begs - for mercy. As is his want.
This blogger was fully aware that Manchester was a
really rough gaff back in the 1980s, dear blog reader (one of his best mates at the time was at Salford Uni and a fair few weekends were spent by this blogger staying at his drum in the city, going oot on the lash back in those days when drinking was a viable lifestyle choice for Keith Telly Topping before health issues put pay to
that malarkey). But, seemingly, it was even worse than yer actual Keith Telly Topping previously believed if
this evidence is to be believed.
The following image rocked up on a few
Facebook pages of this blogger's acquaintance earlier this week; one of those genuinely bastard tiresome 'here is a list featuring some random stuff' type affairs almost certainly compiled and posted by
an American, I'm guessing. But one which, many of those subsequently reposting, seem not to have bothered reading
the title of. Because 'nobody', apparently, has 'all twenty.' That's
nobody. Not a single, solitary person, ever. Bar none. And, of course, the gormless slapable glake that created this bollocks in the first place asked
everybody whether they 'had all twenty' or not didn't he and/or she? For the record, Keith Telly Topping
has, indeed, done
all twenty of these things at some stage in his life and half-a-dozen of them he continues to do several times a week to this very day, because he's Old School like that. He'd also be remiss if he neglected to observe that if the stupid bucket full of toxic phlegm that created that list, his and/or her very self,
had 'done' number eighteen, then he and/or she would know how to
spell 'dictionary' correctly. And if he and/or she
didn't then at least they'd have been able to look up how to spell 'dictionary'
in said 'dictionary.'
There is only one suitable punishment for such abject, disgraceful glakery, dear blog fiends. And it is
this sort of thing.
Harsh you may argue and, perhaps, it is. But it's the
only language these people who post stupid lists of random stuff which misspell the word 'dictionary' onto the Interweb understand and the only way they'll ever learn not to be such a flipping plank in future. This blogger is use all right thinking people will agree.
Following that - and still knee-deep in the barbed anti-US trip that this blogger currently finds himself unwillingly stuck deep within - here is an illustration of American foreign policy post-World War II explained. With the use of props.
Fascinating. So, that'd be a '
no', then? Thought so.
So, therefore, we arrive at the
From The North, patented '
woah! Bit of politics, there' section and, following the widely-reported new reports of an
ex-Neo Nazi activist having withdrawn as a Tory election candidate, there seem to have been further developments. Oi, Nigel, once you've finished
your current by-erection battle with a bin, here's a potential recruit for your lust for glory.
Meanwhile, the
Manchester Evening News has
this story concerning that delightful US President Mister Rump chap. Just a guess, but this blogger wonders if the word in question begins with an 'f'? Or a 'c', possibly? Go on,
Manchester Evening News, be like Lionel Blair and Una Stubbs and give us a clue.
Personally, this blogger would've gone with something more alone
these lines if
he'd ever landed a job as a sub-editor at the
MEN.
Far more classy, he feels.
On a somewhat marginally-related theme, this blogger wonders if the label ingredients list
this story is warning readers about could, possibly, be something along the lines of 'actual Olive Oil, two per cent: yer granny's piss, seventy four per cent; sweaty sock-juice, twenty three per cent; stinking guttersnipe phlegm, one per cent (trust us, it makes
all the difference)'?
This blogger doesn't know whether you've ever noticed, dear blog fiends, but life appears to be positively
full of 'mixed messages' at this present moment. That said, there are 'mixed messages' and then there is
this.
So, anyway, dear blog fiends, since last this blogger blogged - you remember
that? Of course you do, it was on the Interweb and everything - he's been out again for another of his (roughly) fortnightly luncheonettes with That There Young Malcolm. To discuss matters of urgent international importance that need solving (and, also, British horror, science fiction and 'tales of mystery and suspense' films of the 1930s, 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s). So, no change
there, then. Although, actually on this particular occasion there
was a change in venue as, for the first time in a decent couple of months, Keith Telly Topping and that There Young Malcolm forewent the delights of The Keel Row and returned to one of our older haunts, the
very excellent Amaysia on That There Stowell Street.
Jolly geet lush and all that and everything, so it was. What with an extremely pleasant soup starter.
Then a pure dead
two-thousand-mill-edge-cush main course; one that fair made this blogger's eyes water in extremis with its sexy spiciness. And, then coffee (and a wafer thin mint).
This blogger, it should be noted, enjoys nothing more than having his sinuses assaulted by a particularly aggressive spicy sauce. Though, maybe not
this one. Not today, anyway.
Of course, dear blog fiends, that thoroughly idyllic couple of hours
should have been followed by our usual trip across the road to HMV and a leisurely amble round the Blu-ray section ending, perhaps, with a couple of choice purchases. '
Should' this blogger notes. A word that's doing a lot of the heavy lifting in this particular sentence. Unfortunately (you knew there was going to be an 'unfortunately' coming, did you not?), Keith Telly Topping was, he is sad to report, suffering from infernal back pain of the sort that this blogger
hadn't experienced quite this bad in some considerably time. Thus, we were forced to cut short the afternoon's activities so that this blogger could limp down to Eldon Square and catch the next Number Twelve back to The Stately Telly Topping Manor. And, thereafter, have a nice long lie down in bed. Not that it did much good, unfortunately.
To explain, not even remotely briefly: Keith Telly Topping first remembers injuring his back when he was playing five-a-side football back in his early twenties, circa 1985 or thereabouts (stop sniggering at the back, this blogger will have you know he was one Hell of box-to-box midfielder back when he was young and pretty) and it's never been quite right ever since. He suffers, off and on, with sometimes extremely debilitating bouts of
sciatica (mostly, to be fair, 'off' these days, it's actually been a good six months since he last had a nasty stab of it). A decade of more ago he was diagnosed, after an MRI at the Royal Victoria Infirmary, with 'multilevel degenerative disc disorder of the third vertebrae' (he said, checking his extensive medical notes). This time, however, the pain felt rather different with an ache not only in the lumber region but also down this blogger's right leg as far as his Achilles (sciatic pain usually only gets as far as the knee then, mercifully, stops). Now, as someone who has spent his life defending the NHS and all it stands for (as numerous previous blog postings - like
this one and
this one - will ably demonstrate), it has to be noted that they don't half try this blogger's patience sometimes. On the Friday of that week, this blogger had an appointment for his three-monthly B-12 injection and, whilst at the Medical Centre, asked the receptionist if he could possibly see a doctor whilst he was there with regard to his still Jacob's Cream Crackering back pain. 'No, you'll have to fill in an online form first and then speak to someone on the phone before you can see a doctor' was the reply. Okay, if those are the rules then those are the rules. So this blogger did
all of that, completing the online form on his phone
whilst he was getting his (just to remind everyone,
really painful) injection. His thanks go to Nurse Elizabeth for being so understanding about the situation. He explained, in great detail on the form, that he was now on his way home and could they kindly ring
after 9.50am (the expected journey time). So, Keith Telly Topping gets home and finds a blinking light on the landline phone which, 1471 informing him, that Waaker Medical Centre had 'tried to call at 9.26am today.' Whilst he was on a bus somewhere on the Waaker Road returning to The Stately Telly Topping Manor to receive the incoming call. Does anyone else ever have one of them days where you're talking and
nobody seems to be listening to a bloody Goddamn word you say? You do, dear blog fiend? Then you'll know how this blogger felt. Soon thereafter, however: 'Hello it's Waaker Medical Group - can you come in today?' To which this blogger replied, through
properly gritted teeth, 'I've already
been in today.' 'Yes so I can see from your records. Okay, can you come in
again today?' Wearily: 'I suppose so!'
This blogger did just that - costing him a second return bus fare of the day - and, the long and short of all this malarkey, was that it's '
just' a muscle spasm, apparently (and the Achilles pain is, seemingly, completely unrelated). What a huge and staggering disappointment. This blogger had been hoping, at the very least, for a collapsed spine. For those taking notes, the muscle spasm has - slightly, though
only slightly - eased in the week since, under a constant bombardment of paracetamol and ibuprofen gel. It's still not quite back to normal but it is far less painful than it was. The (unrelated) Achilles pain remains an issue, however. And, it knacks like buggery.
It's at times like this, dear blog fiends, where this blogger
really regrets that workable personal jetpack technology never developed in the way that we all hoped it would back in the 1960s and 1970s. This
isn't the future we were promised, frankly and this blogger - along with the rest of his generation - is Goddamn pissed off about this right shite state of affairs.
Where is that bright and shining future that
Star Trek and
The Jetsons promised us back in the day? Where are our weekend breaks on Venus, dear blog fiend?
Where are our supersonic turbo-speed flying hover cars in onboard stereo and drinks machines?
Most importantly, where are our significant scientific advances in the area of penetrative anal-probing and, if they
have been developed (in secret) by our governments, then where can we get some on the black market? Because this blogger confesses he
really wants one and is prepared to scour the dark web in search of a working model.
This actual days of future past, present - the one we've been sadly lumbered with -
wasn't in the brochure, dear blog fiends. We should all be
angry about that and demanding answers. We were supposed to have colonies, holiday camps and games of cricket on Mars by now, surely? To paraphrase Blur, modern life really
is rubbish
Still, at least this blogger's exceedingly well-thumbed copy of
Adventures In The World Of Tomorrow did get
one thing absolutely spot-on about the Twenty First Century.
Okay, possibly
two things.
But, as for accurately predicting other aspects of modern life? Nah, not so much.
Is it too much to hope for an alien invasion at this juncture to put us all out of our miseries? Possibly from the direction of Uranus?
Moving on, swiftly, as we normally do at around this sort of point in each
From The North blog update, we reach the always popular and anticipated
From The North Headline Of The Week award nominees list. Kicking-off, big-style, with 'guess what, dear blog fiends?
The Times are at it again.' Or, to put it another slightly less nuanced and polite way - Definition of the Day, Part the First: 'over-entitled, selfish, stupid, punchable, rich ignoramus
glakes, see also
Times readers.'
Followed, somewhat inevitably, by 'guess what, dear blog fiends?
The Daily Torgraphy are also at it again.' Or, to put it another slightly less nuanced and polite way - Definition of the Day, Part the Second: 'over-entitled, selfish, stupid, punchable, rich ignoramus
glakes, see also
Torygraph readers.' Same as it ever was.
Next, from the pages of that bastion of always truthful and accurate reportage (at least, they were before they
got caught hacking people's phones to obtain there stories)
Daily Mirra; one from the '
things that you never, actually, knew for certain were illegal but, when you think about it, yeah, that does make a kind of sense' file. For those wondering, dear blog fiends, it's the fact that he took a scythe along with him that makes it
art. And, potentially, an additional charge of 'carrying a deadly weapon.'
To
the Bournemouth Echo, next and a properly twenty four carat classic example of 'someone actually got
paid to do
this rank tomfoolery?' You had one job, pal.
One job.
Birmingham Live, meanwhile,
appear to be somewhat confused. As indeed, he must confess, is this blogger his very self. After all, isn't setting fire to things, you know, those who work in a crematorium's
job?
Though, to be scrupulously fair, there
was that time
Cornwall Live highlighted
this unfortunate juxtaposition of signage in close proximity.
The
Bournemouth Echo seem to be having a bit of a celebrated high-old-time at present, scoring a second nomination in the latest
From The North Headline of The Week award list with
this piece by Ben Stuart. Note the line: 'John freely admits his passport went through the washing machine.' Probably a good idea not to try and use it to go through customs, in that case, mate.
Galloping onto a curiously amusing (if, somewhat scatological) story from
the NME. Curiously amusing largely because, 'Mess of Shit' also happens to be a pretty accurate three-word summation of Heavy Metal as a genre in general and pretty much
all of the bands that occupy a place there-within. Just puttin' that out there specifically to deeply piss off anyone who owns a studded leather jacket, bad breath, a significantly noxious BO problem and far, far,
far too many Deep Purple and Saxon LPs cluttering up the bedsit slum they share with their seventeen year old girlfiend. You all have my sympathy. Or, you know, you would've had if you hadn't made that lifestyle choice in the first place.
Get yer 'air cut.
These people, meanwhile, want everyone - and this blogger means
everyone - to know 'bout the black private dick that's a sexy machine with all the chicks. Can you dig it?
The
Wolverhampton Express & Star investigates an outbreak of residents 'being left baffled' in a local news staple involving 'bizarre' graffiti about 'fat blokes'.
So, the real question
here, dear blog fiends, is what is the Pope actually
going do with these Rebel Monks? Send them to Craggy Island for an indeterminate period of time, perhaps?
Ultimately ...
Next, only in [checks notes]
Ross On Wye. Apparently. 'She is described as having blonde hair and wearing a red dress, red trainers, and carrying a brown bag. The spokesperson said they "must stress she is not in any trouble with the police."' Monobrow'd pop midget Chris de Burgh, possibly, but,
not the police.
Sting, of course, in additional to being a balding ex-milkman from Waalsend, used to be
in the Police. 'Used to' being the key words in this particular sentence. And yet, here were are in 2026 with headlines like this; Sting, dear blog fiends. He plays the lute and solved crime.
Remember, kids, don't be an ex-bikie and don't get involved in illegal asbestos dumping. Just say 'no.' Not least, to Sting his very self.
Meanwhile, in New Zealand, strangeness is, seemingly, afoot. Or, not as the case may be.
Ah, the
Suffolk Gazette, God bless you guys
and all of your many fictional works. A classic example of a story that isn't true but easily could have been. And, had a song written about it.
Meanwhile, the casting of the new Doctor appears to have
taken something of a bizarre turn.
For any dear blog fiends who may be feeling more a smidgen cheesed off with life in general and the really
titchy size of their maleness in particular,
here's a little something - emphasis very much on the 'little' in that sentence - to remind you all that in life, someone, somewhere, is
always worse off that you are.
One is fairly certain that the tart in question was equally delighted by these revelations.
Next, this week's 'Makes You Think, Dunnit?' Letter of the Week. So, you see, it's
all The Doctor's fault.
Returning, briefly, to an omnipresent theme upon which much of the Interweb is foundationalised. One is more than sure that
this will give a few dear blog fiends an idea or two as to what abject but perfectly legal naughtiness they can get up to with a consenting partner of their choice tonight after dinner and a bottle of wine. Go for it, dear blog fiends. Blast off.
And now, a new - much anticipated - occasional
From The North subcategory, Life Is
Extremely Unfair. Part the first.
Followed, somewhat obviously, by Life Is
Extremely Unfair. Part the second.
Okay, well
that's somewhat unexpected. Still, if we want to live in a world run on sustainable energy, it's one potential solution, this blogger supposes.
Did you know, dear blog reader, that
Robert H Justman served as Associate Producer on
Star Trek during its first two series during the 1960s before being promoted to Co-Producer at the start of the third. He then resigned, partly due to exhaustion and partly due to his displeasure with the decline in quality of the series, as well as what he considered its poor treatment by Paramount, the new owner of the studio. But, mostly, because Gene Roddenberry wouldn't let him created a Vulcan character called Mister Spunk. Or, indeed, Mister Spank. Fascinating. A missed opportunity, dare one suggest, Captain?
Now, an important
From The North public service announcement.
Finally, dear blog fiends, proof that justice comes in many and varied forms.
Style.
So,
that's how that shit goes, dear blog fiends. It's a big 'over-and-out' from yer actual Keith Telly Topping for this latest foray into the wild and wacky, madcap and bizarre world of The Stately Telly Topping Manor and all its many and varied doings.
From The North will return. Soonerish rather than laterish. And,
that's a promise.
Edited to include an important addendum: It has been brought to this blogger's attention that, earlier in this very
From The North bloggerisationism update, a photo image was posted which purported to be that of multibillionaire industrialist, businessman, space-pioneer and megalomaniac shortarse Elon Musk. This blogger has since been informed by a reliable (though nameless) source that, in fact, the illustrative photograph used was
not of Mister Musk his very self at all but was, in fact,
The Devil. This blogger sincerely apologies if this misidentification caused
any inconvenience, embarrassment or reputational distress. To Satan. That is all.
For those who, not infrequently, ask - nay, beg - for a visual representation of what an average day at The Stately Telly Topping Manor actually looks like (that'll be all three of you), here you jolly well go. Once again, this blogger acknowledges Major - and, by Major, Keith Telly Topping means Brigadier-General-type - thanks to The Retro Vault Facebook page for their well-groovy inspirations in interior design and decoration.
This blogger was recently alerted by a dear blog fiend (hi, Jeff!) to the existence of - and pointed in the direction of - Keith Telly Topping's very own Grokipedia page. Which, despite seemingly drawing the majority of its information directly from a number of postings made on From The North itself, still manages to include a couple of (relatively minor) factual inaccuracies. That said, it's still a Hell of a lot more extensive than this blogger's Wikipedia page. Albeit, the former doesn't include any mention of this blogger's two most recent publications whilst the latter indisputably does (admittedly, only because this blogger went and put them there himself). That said, both of these are infinitely more accurate than this blogger's IMDB page which includes one whoppingly massive mistake and, shockingly, no references whatsoever to this blogger's appearances on Newsnight (in 1986) and Fifteen-To-One (in 1991). You can always spot whenever Keith Telly Topping is actually on the telly, dear blog fiends. The big white arrow sticking out of his heed being something of a dead giveaway, for one.
For those who didn't know (and this blogger must confess that would've included his very self up until a mere couple of days ago), Grokipedia is, apparently, 'an AI-generated online encyclopedia [sic] launched by Elon Musk's xAI in October 2025.' Built, reportedly, 'as a rival' to Wikipedia, it uses the 'Grok large language model' (no, me neither) to compile and fact-check articles (as noted, in the case of this blogger's entry - largely stemming from this blog it would appear), 'aiming to counter what Musk describes as the left-leaning political and ideological biases of traditional crowdsourced platforms.' Meaning, seemingly, that they can't spell 'encyclopaedia' correctly. So, clearly there's nothing even remotely sinister and dangerous in that, or anything even slightly like it. Oh no, very hot water ... 
