"Furious, Orange"

All right, all right, all right you men (and, you lady men, obviously). Hit that very Blog Signal, Mister that there Keith Telly Topping and let us get this latest From The North bloggersiationism update, live and direct from The Stately Telly Topping Manor, into top gear and onto the Interweb for consumption by the From The North massive. So, he did.

So, what - you may well be wondering dear blog fiends - had been going on in the wide wide world since last yer actual Keith Telly Topping blogged for y'all like a bloody big bastard blogging thing? Not much, really. It's reached that time of the year - in Britain, at least - where the only news is that there is no news. Except that it's hot and it's going to be getting hotter before it gets cooler. Because, let's face it, whom amongst us doesn't enjoy the nice glow of twilight? 

Anyway, dear blog fiends, a funny thing happened on the way to the Interweb this week. And, the funny thing was as follows: A German, a Brazilian and a Dutchman walked into a bar. To be fair, there would usually be an Englishmen with them. But he's still at the World Cup. Nah, lissun ...

Ho. And, indeed, ho. Of course, that's only going to last until some obscene hour of Saturday night when, this blogger imagines, the ghost of Bjørge Lillelien will be stirring and laughing as Haarland sticks in a hat-trick against a defence without a recognised right back. Probably. 

Meanwhile, it appears that, all of a very suddenly, the North American public have fallen rapidly out of love with The Beautiful Game. One can't possibly even begin to imagine why that may have occurred since just a few days earlier, there were seemingly enjoying it the mostest, baby. 

In a completely unrelated - oh no, very hot water - story, it has been widely reported that US tariffs on Belgian chocolate are set to sky rocket any day now. This blogger wishes it to be known that he loves Belgian chocolate. If there was a World Cup for chocolate, the Flems would be a shoe-in for the title. I mean, people talk about Swiss chocolate, sure. But this blogger, to be honest, finds Swiss chocolate a bit too milky for The Stately Telly Topping Manor palette. A little bit too ... nice. Too middle of the road. It's the Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass of chocolate if you like. Much like the Swiss's 'neutral' stance in geopolitical terms for the vast majority of the last five hundred years, in fact. Now, take the Germans as a counter example. Dark, a hint of bitterness beneath the sweetness, a hint of a strong and unique aftertaste. Their chocolate's quite nice, though.

Still, when all is said and done at least the United States of That There America's hosting of the tournament has been helped by the superb accommodation that country has provided to all visiting players, officials and fans. Except for Iran, obviously.

Anyway, let's get back to where we started - an American, a Columbian and an Egyptian walk into a bar and simultaneously whine about the manifest unfairness of, you know, stuff. The barman looks them up and down and says in a withering manner, 'is this some sort of joke?' Nah, lissun ...

The biscuits in question will, of course, entirely be decided upon by league position. Those in the relegation zone will only be offered McVitie's Digestives from a packet that's already been open for a few days and are starting to go soft; those in the mid-table, you might be lucky and get a Rich Tea or a Hobnob if they're in the top ten. Only those in the Champions League qualification places will get to order from the Waitrose biscuit aisle. Sorry,  but it's The Law. 

Goddamn annoying things in the world that really gets right on this blogger's tit end: Number seven hundred and forty nine. When you're having breakfast at your local Morrisons café on a Monday morning, order white toast and you get given brown bread instead. This! Will! Not! Stand! 

Bloody Hell, dear blog reader, Keith Telly Topping was always fully well aware that the great and sainted John Barry wrote some flamin' sexy tunes back in the day. He wasn't, however, aware that sort of thing was involved. Sssshoking. 

Also, dear blog readers should be made fully aware that the finely manicured luscious lawns of The Stately Telly Topping Manor have, recently, been finely manicured once again by Keith Telly Topping's garden-type individual, Young Glenn.

In other news, they really do not want any of them there thirteen-bar-blues and forty years of imaginative use of denim in The Holy City, do they? This blogger can't say he blames them, to be honest. In fact, if Keith Telly Topping were to be asked for an opening on whether Status quo should be 'under threat' at Jerusalem's holiest site, his answer would, likely, be 'I like it. I like it. I la-la-la-like it.' 

'So, you reckons there's a market for jewellery coloured like shit, Percy?'

Lovely bubbly ...

Rank stupidity.

Well, indeed ...

'Go on, sister, do 'im.'

As recently as recently, this blogger has, as is his want, met up with his excellent fiend Young Malcolm. For shits and giggles. Food and drink. Malarkey and shenanigans. Curry and chips. And, it was lush in our sights, so it was. 

Also this week, this blogger his very self managed to achieve his highest ever Geoguesser score of twenty two thousand ... and a few. This blogger fully realises that there are people who play the game, effectively, professionally, for whom twenty two thousand would be a jolly bad day at the office. But, hey, this blogger confesses he's still merely a beginner at working out where the Hell he is in reality let alone as part of a daily online geography quiz that he's only been doing for eighty days or so. Thus, he'll take the score and celebrate it.

Work, of course, also continues at a genuinely furious pace (interrupted only by the odd day off when this blogger goes out to lunch with a close personal fiend - see above) on this blogger's latest work of considerable artistic merit, Beyond a Vault of Horror: A Study of 70(ish) Further Great* British Tales of ‘Mystery & Suspense’, 1936-1981 (* and not so great). At the time of writing this blogger has reached, more of less, the four-fifths mark in the book in terms of entries on movies that he wishes to cover in his usual idiosyncratic A Vault of Horror style (fifty nine out of seventyish) and with his (entirely self-imposed) wordcount limit for two hundred thousand words still, just about, in sight and, possibly, achievable. 

This blogger is also keen to remind all dear blog fiends that Keith Telly Topping's previous 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 published later in the year (around September or October to be precise) by those marvellously lovely people at Telos Publishing. As a consequence, it should be up on the publisher's website for pre-order at some stage in the medium-term. And, you can absolutely guarantee that all From The North blog fiends will be kept apprised of exactly when that happens.

And, as we always note at this point in each bloggerisationism update, whilst we all wait - patiently, one hopes - for both of Keith Telly Topping's forthcoming volumes to appear in all good bookshops (some bad ones and some online ones that neglect to pay their share of taxes), it's time for a necessary reminder; should any blog fiends be of a mind to do so, they can always order one, two or all three of this blogger's previous tomes on British horror, SF and fantasy film from the genuinely tremendous, immensely marvellous and utterly fantastic 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 collective bloggerisationism fiends that ever there was in all the live-long day and, this blogger, humbly, thanks you for allowing him into your homes.

And, on that bombshell ...

Of course, it's important to remember just exactly what the first rule of 'Ho Club' is.

So, with the From The North news out of the way, therefore, it's time for the From The North weather. And, it seems that someone in America's Midwest is gonna get themselves lucky tonight.

So we end this latest - somewhat shorter than usual From The North bloggerisationism update with a couple of important thoughts for all dear blog readers to bear in mind for future reference. Firstly, when any potentially embarrassing situation presents itself, truth is always the best option. 

And finally, dear blog fiends, in the event of any potential social faux pas, this blogger's tip is to carry on regardless as thought nothing whatsoever had happened. Basically, in the hope that no one will be offended enough to mention it. 

Retro Futurism

Welcome one, welcome all dear bloggerisationism fiends to the latest From The North update. Coming to you live and direct before a studio audience from The Stately Telly Topping Manor. Can you dig it?

And, we start this latest From The North update with a clear and obvious example of, ahem, subtext rapidly becoming the text, if you will. It shouldn't be allowed, frankly. But, it is.

With the start of the football World Cup this very week, dear blog fiends, this blogger must report what is, to him, the Funniest Thing EVER (or, at least, the funniest World Cup-related thing, recently). Which is Sure deoderent's latest advert ('official sponsors of the World Cup') using Cole Palmer scoring a penalty for England. Which was laughed roughly forty eight hours after Thomas Tuchel declined to pick the vastly overrated Chelsea forward in the England squad. Especially as they'd gone to all the trouble (and expense) of licensing 'Don't Let Me Down', a song by The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them), to soundtrack the advert. Presumably paying Sony Music millions in the process. Sure, 'it won't let you down ... But, your manager might.' Stick that on the can in the interested of accuracy in advertising. Then, a few days later, young Master Palmer rocked up in another World Cup advert - remember, the competition that he's not playing in because he wasn't picked - this time, for Nike. Aw, bless. Even the Sun, not normally the first place you'd go if you were searching for an appreciation of dramatic irony, thought it was bloody hilarious. Cheer up, Cole mate, there's always four years time. Possibly. 

It was, in has to be noted, the funniest football-related advertising mishap since someone at ITV thought it was a good idea to show one of those dreadful 'wank hands' Joe Hart shampoo adverts at half-time in the Iceland versus England 2016 Euros match, mere but moments after the then-but-not-for-much-longer Manchester City goalkeeper made his second calamitous wank hands fiasco mistake of the tournament and helped to eliminate England and, as a consequence, pretty much end his own international career. You simply can't write comedy like that.

This blogger has to confess, however, as someone who can remember every single World Cup back to Mexico 1970 (and, remember every World Cup properly back to West Germany 1974 as one of his former blog projects, Keith Telly Topping's World Cup Trivia Page demonstrates) the first few days of the current tournament have left this blogger distinctly underwhelmed. As underwhelmed, in fact, as he has ever been at this early stage in a tournament. And, this blogger isn't sure why, exactly - although there are a few potential reasons which raise their ugly heads into the light. It could be due to the location, because of which all of the start times for matches have been at or around this blogger's usual bedtime (9pm to 11pm GMT), although, previous tournaments in odd time-zones around the planet still haven't stopped Keith Telly Topping from staying up to all hours, or getting up at all hours, to watch the footie? Possibly it's the fact that this blogger is currently in the middle of writing his latest book (see below) and, therefore, has his mind, broadly, on other matters at this particular junctures? Possibly it's Lewis Hall not getting into the England squad in place of that kid from Stottingtot Hotshots who, whilst he looks quite good coming forward, doesn't look like he can defend to save his life? Or maybe, just maybe, it's the fact that FIFA (a memorably dodgy bunch of hypocritical gangster and fraud artists at the best of times) have lost little opportunity in sucking up-big style to That There President Mister Rump (the whole 'FIFA Peace Prize' nonsense for a kick-off)? And that Infantino, as a consequence, has got his tongue rammed so far and so firmly up the Presidential chuff that there's no room for anyone else to get in there for a right good lick, which has left such a sour and rotten taste in the mouth? Could be that. For whatever reason, watching the first half of Brazil versus Morocco notwithstanding (mainly to see how this blogger's beloved Th' Toon's beloved El Capitano, Bruno Guimarães, was getting on upon the world stage) and catching most of the rest of the matches on highlights packages, Keith Telly Topping really hasn't been too invested in any of it thus far. Still, it's early days yet and England have still got to come out and display their usual crass and rank ineptitude when the nation is depending on them to bring a bit of light into a world of darkness and shadows. So, we've got that to look forward to on Wednesday when they probably get spanked off Croatia, anyway.

Mind you, there has, at least, been one twenty four carat world-class World Cup moment thus far. Allow Metro (so, not a real newspaper) to explain.

Before proceeding any further with this blog update, this blogger must place on record his sadness at the news that Tony Head died last week at the age of seventy two. This blogger met and interviewed Tony twice during 2002 and 2004 when Keith Telly Topping was writing Slayer and found him to be one of the most pleasant, likeable and funny people that this blogger had the pleasure of being in the company of for any length of time. A good man, with a healthy sense of perspective and not inconsiderable charm. We lost another good 'un this week, sadly.

But, the beat goes on and we, however reluctantly, must go on with it. Work continues - as mentioned above - on this blogger's latest meisterwerk, Beyond a Vault of Horror: A Study of 70 Further Great* British Tales of ‘Mystery & Suspense’, 1936-1981 (* and not so great). At the time of writing this blogger has just reached, more of less, this halfway mark in terms of wordcount, if not actual entries and, the novelty still hasn't worn off yet, it remains good fun for the time being.

This blogger is also keen to remind all dear blog fiends that Keith Telly Topping's previous 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 published later in the year (probably around September or October) and should be up on the publisher's website for pre-order at some stage. And, you can absolutely guarantee that From The North readers will be kept apprised of exactly when that happens.

And, as we always note at around this juncture, whilst we all wait - patiently, one hopes - for both of Keith Telly Topping's forthcoming volumes to appear in all good bookshops (some bad ones and some online ones that don't pay their fair share of taxes), it's time for a necessary reminder; should any blog fiends be of a mind to do so, they can always order one, two or all three of this blogger's previous tomes on British horror, SF and fantasy film from the genuinely tremendous, immensely marvellous and utterly fantastic 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 for allowing him into your homes.

Once the current book is out of the way, this blogger also has another, previously alluded to, long-term writing project currently on-the-go with a collaborator. This blogger has, at some stage, considered writing that one using a nom-de-plume just to keep that particular book separate from his film/TV/music works (even though the project in question is, vaguely, pop culture-related). But, he's never found a name that he felt entirely comfortable going with. Even though he did ask a close personal fiend for some suggestions. And, he got some choice crackers, admittedly.

All things considered, this blogger believes that, in the interest of transparency, it's probably best if he sticks to using his own branded moniker on all work no matter how diverse they may be from his usual area of operations. That and the fact that, as a gloriously overt narcissist, he simply loves, seeing his own name in print as often as is humanly possible.

Next, a word of From The North gratitude to the Daily Mirra. Thank God you told us, otherwise we'd all be doing it. Or, you know, for those of us without a functioning vagina, finding a viable alternative place to stick the lolly.

'So, we really like what the art department have come up with for the cover design. But, tell me, are you entirely sure about the LP's title, Dick?

Over the last three weeks this blogger has, as noted, been knee-deep in working on Beyond a Vault of Horror: A Study of 70 Further Great* British Tales of ‘Mystery & Suspense’, 1936-1981 (* and not so great). But, on a couple of occasions he has allowed himself a little time off to taste the pleasures of a good meal that wasn't cooked (badly) at The Stately Telly Topping Manor. Firstly, there was another one of this blogger's semi-regular luncheonette meetings with That There Young Malcolm for fun, frolics, food, drink and conversation about British 'mystery and suspense' films of the 1930s, 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s at The Keel Row. Which this blogger really deserved.

And then, just a couple of evenings ago, after this blogger had managed to come up with three thousand words on what a jolly under-rated film The Man Who Was Nobody was/is, this blogger made the impulse decision that it was right about high time that he treated himself to salt and chilli pepper king prawn with boiled rice and a small portion of curry sauce. And, lo, it was geet lush and mad tasty in this blogger's sight, so it was. And he really, really, really deserved this. On a scale of one to ten with one being 'yes, he sort of deserved it, a bit. Maybe' and ten being, 'ho, yus me auld beauty, he really, really, really, really, really deserved it', this was definitely a nine-and-a-half.

All of which leads us, nicely, to a necessary confession.

The blogger would like to alert all dearest blog fiends of a basic, important, truism. Remember, all of you, if you wanna look Shat, you've gotta be Shat. Skill. 

Which leads us to a few important From The North observations. Kicking-off with a fine example of sexual harassment disguised as 'being supportive'. Also, she looks borderline underage. This blogger hopes you get nabbed by The Fuzz, matey, it'd be the least you'd deserve for such an appalling slavver.

On a somewhat-related theme, this blogger has certainly never heard it called that before.

Jeez, dear blog reader, it seems everybody's at it this week. What's appertaining?

Mind you, when it comes to belittlement in broadly speaking intimate situations, as has been noted elsewhere, it can cut both ways. If you're not careful with how you phrase things.

Oh, I say ...

Listen, get your minds out of the gutter, dear blog fiends. To the pure, all things are pure.

This blogger repeats, to the pure, all things are pure. It is alleged.

She's after that what, now?

Ouch. One imagines, that hurt like jimbuggery.

Methinks the gentlemen doth protest too much.

So, on that very bombshell, dear blog fiends, we move to the latest From The North Headline Of The Month award nominations. Starting, of course, with the latest 'only in the Gruniad Morning Star' moment. We couldn't have an award nominations list without at least one of those. 

After which, what else could we have but the latest 'only in the Daily Lies' moment. Lies to see you, to see you, lies.

Sympathy for the driver perhaps?

Well, it's understandable, some of those North London cats are, like, rock hard.

Near where? Well, that's hardly surprising, then.

'Accidentally.' Yes. Of course. We totally understand, mate.

Oh, no. Will the world ever recover from this terrible happenstance?

One can't possibly even begin to fathom out why that could possibly have happened, can one?

Jesus, they must be desperate after all this time?

Classy effort.

More power t'yer elbow, sweetheart. And, do let us all know how your one-woman protest affects Tui's million pound profits this year, won't you.

Heh. They said 'erection'.

Only in (checks notes) 'High Side, between Gorefield and Parson Drove, near Wisbech.'

And, did anyone notice, Mister Man? Well, they didn't until he called the Brighton Argus who were, clearly, having a slow news day.

You know what they say, dear blog fiends? Him what smelt it, dealt it.

It's 2026 and, seemingly, there are areas of the British Isles - well, Falkirk, anyway - where references to The X Files are still considered to be valid 'up-to-date' pop culture allusions (unless, of course, it's actually a reference to that bloody song by Catatonia. In which case, the same thing still applies).

Oh, the humanity ...

Shockingly, there are still some people who challenge the BBC News website on the accuracy of its statements. And also on the fact that it used to run by adults. Guilty as charged on the latter but, the former, you simply can't find any fault in this.

Of course, a From The North Headline Of The Month award list on nominations simply wouldn't be complete without some upper middle-class bellend in the Daily Torygraph whinging about the manifest unfairness of shit that, if they mentioned it in presence of some Hard Lards from The Estates, would earn them a swift - and thoroughly deserved - hard fist in the mush. And, regular as clockwork, here's the Torygraph.

Lucky it wasn't Radio Times that got delivered nineteen years late, really. Otherwise that would've been a complete nightmare.

'Do you dig graves?' 'Yeah, they're all right.' Has anyone done the 'stiffy' joke, yet?

This should surprise no one. After all, surely there is nothing more fundamentally and traditionally British than cruelly discriminating against Morris Dancers? It's virtually the national sport, isn't it?

Someone at the Bristol Post is after a Pulitzer Prize this year, seemingly.

But, the winner - by a country miles, this week and, indeed, every other week - goes to the Daily Lies and this, not-in-the-slightest-bit 'completely made-up bollocks, oh no, perish the thought' story. 'The encounter with the hotel worker is alleged to have taken place at about 1am. The worker later reported the alleged proposition, which is said to have taken place last month.' The word 'alleged' is doing a Hell of a lot of lifting in that particular sentence. Twice. An anonymous (and, therefore, almost certainly fictitious) 'source' allegedly claimed to the newspaper: 'She went down to the hotel lobby to ask for another bottle of wine. The guy told her the bar was closed. She lifted up her top and said "what if I let you have a go on these funbags?". This behaviour was totally brainless. Boozing so heavily before a flight was unacceptable.' Tragically, there is nothing in the article to either confirm or deny whether the offer was accepted by the bar staff member in question.

And finally dear blog fiends ...

From The North will return once this blogger finds a few hours to pull it all together. Which, this blogger likes to think, will be delightful news to all From The North dear blog fiends the world over. Yes? Surely?

Seriously, dear blog fiends, you wouldn't want to miss out on all of the entertainment this blog provides on a semi-regular basis, would you? What manner of malarkey and shenanigans would that lead to you should be asking your very selves? It doesn't bear thinking about.