Question 'Twixt Þe Famous Rhyme And Þe Famous Rhythm Puzzle

Good grief, Christina, Lordy, Lordy, gimme a gnu, somebody, it's the very From The North blog signal, so it is. And, so (relatively) soon after the last one. Let there be great rejoicing throughout the land (and, in all of the other places where From The North is read as well). 

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.)

Followed, obviously, by another - equally important - statement for The Ages. Yes, this blogger thinks between them, those two just about sum up the current mood of The World at this present juncture. 

In this latest. somewhat shorter than usual but, still, perfectly formed from The North update, dear blog fiends, our first 'makes you think, dunnit?' lesson of the week is this. Sort of goes with the territory, doesn't it.

Subsequent to the last From The North bloggerisationisms update and the hot news story about the recent announcement of the - welcome - recovery of two 1965 vintage Doctor Who episodes, if Ladybird are looking for an author for this potential addition to their range, this blogger would like them to be aware that he is thoroughly available, And, they should also be advised, that he reckons he could probably knock-up a decent, accurate and mostly non-anoraky twenty to thirty thousand words of text to go along with their artwork in less than a week (without, once, using the words 'telerecording', 'junked' or, indeed, 'Ian Levine'). A one-time take-it-or-leave-it offer, Ladybird.

Opening paragraph: 'Once upon a time, when the world was very, very young and dinosaurs roamed the Earth, there were two hundred and fifty three monochrome episodes of Doctor Who held by the BBC, on either videotape or film. In their archives. In London. Then, something jolly strange happened. Somebody - and, to this day no one knows exactly whom - got a bit previous with the incinerator and burned a shit-load of them. For a laugh. Allegedly. It was, said the fans when the found out this had happened, "a bit of a shame."' Et cetera. This blogger reckons it's got some serious potential.

Also since last this blogger blogged, like a big blogging thing, he has been back to The Keel Row again with his close, personal chum Youngling Malcolm. Having a right good afternoon oot on Th' Lash, like. Well, if a couple of Pepsis and a couple of Orange Juices count as 'oot on Th' Lash, like', that is. Moore 'oot on Th' Pop' if truth be told. Literally. What can this blogger use as an excuse other than the usual; he's on pills for his nerves. 

Next up, a jolly important Public Service Announcement for all of those not currently on pills for their nerves. Lucky bastards. 

Sometimes, no further words are necessary. And, something they really are. 

Which brings us, more rapidly than usual dearest blog fiends, to the latest From The North Headline Of The Week award nominees. Starting with what appears to be a case of attempted murder by the Irish Independent. Bloody Saint Patrick, he managed to get the snakes out of Ireland no trouble but he refused to shut the door on the corvids, it would seem.

Followed by an absolutely necessary bit of advice to all manufacturers of electric toothbrushes. You really should put a warning on the box when they're selling those things that the customer has to be extremely careful where they actually put it. (And, no, Electric Toothbrush Incident never actually did a session for The John Peel Show. But, they probably should have.)

The BBC News website (which used to be run by adults) are up next, reporting about a case of mistaken identity in relation to an, ahem, cereal offender. Come on! 

Meanwhile, there are some funny goings-on down in Wiltshire, it would seem. I mean, we've all got our crosses to bear along with our meaty packages, have we not? 

So, do we think the photographer from Macclesfield News asked this lady to affect the aggressively scowling expression on her mush that she's sporting in this images or, could that be her default look? One could go either way on this particular score.

This next one, from the Independent (the newspaper for middle class hippy Communists who can't afford the Gruniad Morning Star) is funny because, a) they said 'boner' in their headline and b) ... no, actually, if this blogger is being scrupulously honest here, there is no b, it's just a shitload of a. Also, do we think this was the kind of writing that 'Rachel Dobkin in New York' thought she'd be doing when she because a journalist in the first place?

There are, of course, some questions that we've all needed to ask at one time or another in our collective lives. Like this one, for instance.

Or, indeed, this one. Though one has to wonder where, exactly, these scientists would like us to stick the sharpie in question. This blogger has his own ideas but theirs may vary. 

Some Middle class hippy Communist turnip at the Gruniad Morning Star got paid, actual money, to write this. Or rather, to being somewhat more accurate, to cut and paste something previously reported by CNN a few days earlier. The journalistic equivalent of copying someone else's homework and passing it off as your own, one could suggest. And, indeed, this blogger just has. 

Of course, the Daily Torygraph clearly believe that their readers are more interested in this kind of slappable averice-happy bollocks. And, almost certainly, they are wholly correct in that assertion. 

Next, they'll be publishing a story detailing how crass, ignorant snobbery is alive and kicking in certain part of The Home Counties ...

... or, indeed, demonstrating the hateful priorities (and abject stupidity) of the extremely idle rich.

Mind you, dear blog fiends, to be scrupulously fair, the latter  sort of crap is also alive and kicking in the Daily Scum Mail. So, no surprise there, then.

Still, at least the Scum Mail - for all its many, many, many faults (and, one can add as many 'many's as one feels comfortable with) - doesn't make online readers pay to have a gander at 'bring out the world's smallest violin' rubbish. Such as another classic hidden behind the Torygraph paywall. Ones heart bleeds for you, pal.

Thankfully, unlike the nationals, Chris Bishop at the Eastern Daily Press actually does have his finger firmly pressed on the pulse of the nation when it comes to stories that people actually give a gnat's chuff about. Pulitzer Prize winning stuff, there, Chris, matey. The phone call from Columbia University is, surely, coming any second now. 

Now the serious part, dear blog fiends. This, I'm afraid, is it. The beginning of The End. We've all been waiting for it and now it's finally happened. Skynet is going live as we speak and the machines are about to take over. There, clearly, is no stopping them. And this blogger, for one, wishes to welcome our new metallic Cyborg overloads and would like remind them that, as a best-selling, internationally respected author, journalist, broadcaster and blogger, Keith Telly Topping can be helpful to them in rounding up other humans to toil in their mechanised underground kraftwerk.

So, remember to unplug your toaster tonight, dear blog fiends, unless you want to be attacked in your bed by it (and two slices of well-done Warburtons). You have been warned.

A 'magical island'? Off the Wirral? By Hell, they must've been smoking something considerably stronger than Woodbines that night on Merseyside.

It is reported that this chap previously had a clean record.

The most mind-bendingly amazing thing about this story is the completely unexpected revelation that they have Greggs in Brighton. And that it would appear the seagulls have competition when it comes to nicking people's food.

Overseas (fake) news now, dear blog fiends and, if you're wondering, yes, this is almost certainly another example of made up bollocks. But, it's funny made up bollocks at least. And, the final line manages the almost impossible (happy) feat of making it art. 

Plus, of course, we simply couldn't have a From The North Headline o' the Week/Fortnight/Month/Year award-type event without at least one contribution from the good old reliable as ever Metro (so, not a real newspaper). This one, thankfully, is a twenty four carat beauty.

Moving on, swiftly, to the What The Actual Flip? part of this latest From The North bloggerisationism update and a further collection of 'makes you think, dunnit?' moments. 

Number one: Are they intending to be 'singing, singing buttercups and daisies'? They surely must. Makes you think, dunnit?

Number two: To quote Mister George Harrison, Scouser of distinction, in an episode of The Simpsons, 'nah, it's been done.' Makes you think, dunnit?

Number three: 'Punk had a glass jaw', it would seem. Along with a glass everything else. Makes you think, dunnit?

Finally, this blogger would like to take this opportunity to stand up and heartily applaud MC Hammer's brave and striking new-look image.

And, on that bombshell, dear blog fiends, From The North will return.

Eventually.

Discovery Of Lost Things

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.