"The Constraints Of Wealth, The Freedom Of Poverty, The Madness Of Obsession, The Bride Of Deliverance"

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.

Act Nice And Gentle

Foldy-roldy, ray-doo-day, dearest blog fiends. Hit That There Blog Signal, Keith Telly Topping, it's that old From The North bloggerisationism update time yet again, me auld China. Let's fakkin' go!

We begin with an important - if, extremely self-aggrandising - moment in this very blog's slightly-over-twenty year history which occurred on and/or around 19 April 2026. For that was when From The North received its sixteen millionth individual page hit. Which if this blogger's maths haven't significantly deteriorated since he got a CSE Grade 1 in the subject in the summer of 1980, is an average of approximately eight hundred thousand visitors per year. Whether that's sixteen million different punters wandering into the gaff in the vain hope of finding some porn and/or videos of cats doing amusing things, one single dear blog fiend, clocking in an average of approximately two thousand one hundred and ninety two times per day since March 2006 wishing to be informed, educated and/or entertained by this blogger's singular musings on subjects which interest him, or something in-between, this blogger will leave up to individuals to decide for themselves. Probably the in-between option, this blogger would venture. 

Recent blog traffic has been regularly in the four to six thousand hits-per-day with the odd higher peak, usually on the days immediately after the posting of the latest From The North update.

Of course, it is always necessary to place on record what this blogger chants, loudly, every time From The North has a page-hit-related landmark moment such as this.

In the last From The North blog update - which, if you missed it, you can read here - this blogger sadly related the, at the time, most recent unwanted communique he had received from Keith Telly Topping's very own Interweb stalker. Of whom long-time blog fiends will be well-aware due to his persistent attention-seeking. With a heavy heart, this blogger feels it his duty to report that, within a couple of hours of the last From The North blog update going live, regular as a broken clock, the bloke was at it yet again. This time sending nasty, meanspirited comments to this blogger's BlueSky account (and, of course, earning himself an instant place in yet another of this blogger's increasing full-of-him block-files). One would have thought the chap would have taken the hint by now that this blogger simply doesn't want to have anything whatsoever to do with him. Seemingly, not. For those keeping score, that's now four separate blog pages, this blogger's (former) e-mail address, Facebook (twice) and now BlueSky that he's invaded with various unsolicited foul-mouthed utterances in what this blogger can only presume to be a vain hope of having the final word. And, he's failed on every occasion. Having been blocked from all of those methods of communication, it will be jolly interesting to see what - if anything - he tries next. Dear blog fiends can rest assured that if an aeroplane flies over The Stately Telly Topping Manor, this blogger will certainly be rushing outside to see if there's been an example of (really badly-spelled) skywriting in the azure haze above The Stately Telly Topping Manor giving Keith Telly Topping further unwanted GBH on the eyeballs.

Seriously, Mark, you're impressing absolutely no one with all this childish nonsense, you're causing this blogger only mild and very temporary irritation as it takes less than a minute to initiate the block facility on various forms of social media and you're making yourself look more and more like an obsessive clown with each successive attempt to get me to try and notice you. Grow up, fer Christ's sake. And, if you're still wondering why it was that you got blocked on Facebook in the first place - which seems to have initiated your reign of torpor - this is pretty much it, in a nutshell.

In summation, give it a rest. No one that matters is even remotely interested in your whinging about the manifest unfairness of 'someone on the Interweb not wishing to talk to you any longer' and you're making yourself look foolish with each, successively desperate, 'everybody look at me, me, me, me, me, me, me'-style cry for attention. And, on that sour note ...

This week's public announcement that Meta intend to cut one-in-ten jobs at their Circus of Fun 'after spending billions on AI' both amused and utterly outraged this blogger in equal measure. Given Keith Telly Topping's own recent Facebook 'difficulties' and Meta's crass disinclination to appear to give a good-God-damn about them. He must confess the news did make him curious as to what, exactly, these one-in-ten individuals were actually doing at Meta in the first place. They certainly weren't working in the Customer Service department, that's for certain.

And, of course, billions being spent on AI is such a terrific idea because AI is always so reliable and trustworthy, is it not, dear blog fiends?

Still, least it be thought by anyone (with and/or without an agenda) that this blogger is completely down on the hideous reality of AI taking over the world and initiating a Terminator-style End of Days to enslave and ultimately destroy humanity, it would appear that AI does - sometimes - produce interesting results. As this summation of this blogger and this blog, taken directly from an AI search this morning, would appear to prove.

Asked for their opinion on this matter, the Oxford English Direction replied: '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.'

Which seems an accurate summery almost worthy of AI itself, one could argue.

One would have to be a seriously hard-hearted sod not to feel at least a modicum of sympathy for the one-in-ten Meta staff (in whatever capacity they were occupied that wasn't Customer Service and actually helping their customers), of course. And this blogger is, contrary to occasional appearances, not one of those. Still, the unfortunate individuals involved in a somewhat different sort of Meta 'purge' to the one this blogger suffered twice in five days last month can, at least, take solace in the fact that top Birmingham reggae outfit UB40 did, in fact, predict this very situation back in 1981. In a rubba-dub style(e). And ting. Murda!

This will, one hopes, be of some minor consolation to the soon-to-be-former Meta-types as they collectively line-up at the Department for Work and Pensions, P45 in their now unemployed hands, a tear in their eye, the crushing inevitability of life's rich pageant weighing, heavily, upon their slender shoulders, as they attempt to claim Universal Credit. Using a 2026-equivalent of an actual UB40.

Of course, these one-in-tenners may contrive to get themselves another job in the interim. Which would be good news. Top Birmingham reggae outfit UB40 also had a song about that and the miseries involved in actually being in employment, 'So Here I Am, Standin' At A Bus Stop Wishin' I Was Somewhere Else'. Dub-style. This blogger isn't saying that either position is, inherently, untenable lads. But make your minds up, eh?

We all have 'em, dear blog fiends. Some half-remembered image from a movie or a TV show which we saw as a (relative) Youngling that we simply cannot identify despite years of diligent research. As well as asking everyone we know who might have a vague buggering clue of what we're talking about. But, usually, don't. This blogger has had several of these over the years, including a bowel-shatteringly scary  episode of the US anthology TV series Ghost Story, At The Cradle Foot which he saw one Saturday night in 1975 and which this blogger struggled to identify for years but, finally did. Or the three-part BBC drama serial The Donati Conspiracy which this blogger saw in 1973 on first transmission, forgot the title of but, finally worked out what it actually was many, many years later.

But, there was one of these things which evaded this blogger's every effort to identify it no matter how hard he tried (and he did try) and no matter how many of his knowledgeable fiends he ran an only half-remembered description of by to no avail. Until this very week, that is. It was (this blogger believed, correctly as it turned out) a TV movie from either the late 1960s or the early 70s, judging by when Keith Telly Topping believed he saw it (circa 1977-8 ... ish). It concerned a man, a lawyer or a journalist perhaps, certainly someone with a white-collar job, who was also a psychic and, whenever he had a vision of someone's forthcoming death (ala The Dead Zone), the screen would shatter like broken glass. This blogger believed he'd seen it late one Friday (possibly), Saturday (most likely) or Sunday (less likely, unless it was during the summer) night on Tyne-Tees and that it may have had Robert Culp as the lead (though, that was less certain and, as it turned out, completely wrong). That was all this blogger could remember. Keith Telly Topping tried for years to find out what it was to no avail, no doubt irritating some of his more genre-savvy fiends with occasional 'can you help me identify this thing? It's doin' my crust-in, baby'-type pleas across the decades. Then, last week, completely by chance, Keith Telly Topping only went and bleedin' well found it, didn't he? On his own, as well, which was even more satisfying. He was right about some things, it was a TVM, a CBS Movie of the Week in fact, called Visions and shown in the UK as Visions of Death. This blogger was correct about the time period, it was made in 1972. He was wrong about Robert Culp, as he'd long suspected he may have been, it was actually Monte Markham playing the psychic who was, actually, a professor (so, at least he was white-collar). But this blogger was wrong about so much which is. presumably, why he'd never found it previously despite much research; it wasn't shown on Tyne-Tees on a Saturday in 1977, it was, in actual fact, on BBC1 on a Friday night in June 1981, described by Radio Times as '[an] ingenious and suspenseful thriller' (it was subsequently re-shown twice on the BBC later during the 1980s). But, this blogger was spot-on about the screen-shattering effect which was the most memorable thing about the movie in this blogger's memory. Other points of interest, it also featured a pre-Kojak Telly Salaves playing a very Kojak-style policeman and the female lead was Barbara Anderson from A Man Called Ironside, both of which this blogger should have remembered - being a big fan of both series - but didn't. So, there you have it - it only took Keith Telly Topping forty five years to track that down, watch it on You Tube and think 'yes, that's roughly what I remember!' Isn't the Interweb a truly wonderful thing, dear blog fiends? Unwanted stalkers, notwithstanding, obviously.

Meanwhile, dear blog fiends, here is a lengthy list of some very beautiful-sounding words, the majority of which the blogger tries to use as often as possible. Because, like many people, he likes beautiful-sounding words and the way they sound, you know, beautiful. 

And, by contrast, here is a list of some that are considered ugly-sounding; anyone else other than this blogger notice and be surprised by the presence of several words - notably 'moist' and 'diarrhoea' - on both lists? Just me, then?

'Jeysus Cyn, that must've been some bloody serious gear we had round George's gaff last night, I'm still seeing Space Monsters out the corner of my eye.'

And, on a marginally-related theme, this blogger isn't at all sure about Angine de Poitrine's latest change of image. Stick to the polka-dots, lads. 

During a spare moment-or-ten this week, yer actual blogger had his first go on the very excellent Geoguesser website, scoring a more-than-respectable nineteen thousand on his first daily attempt; it would have been more but for an absolutely disaster on the fourth round (of five) where he misidentified an Argentinian street-sign as being in Spain and, thus, ended up with but nul points for that particular round. Or, puntos nulos, if you prefer. In the days since he's never, quite, managed to top that debut score though he did get close on a couple of occasions.

Until, atypically, the very day this here From The North bloggerisationism update was being prepared when yer actual broke the twenty thousand barrier with a bit of quality geographical knowledge; specifically in spotting a street-sign for Pago Pago and remembering that was (and, still is) the capital of American Samoa. Quality. 

Next we have the first of this latest From The North update's 'makes you think, dunnit?' moments. Of which there are several, in case you were wondering. Makes you think, dunnit? The lad's got a point. 

This year, as usual, St George's Day fell on 23 April. And, in what is becoming a firm From The North annual tradition, this blogger hopes that all of his dearest blog fiends celebrated the day in a manner befitting the greatness of Saint George his very self. And, importantly, that they did exactly the same thing on St Ringo's Day twenty four hours later. Such important long-standing traditions must be maintained for future generations, dear blog fiend.

On a slightly more serious and sad note, 28 April is the thirteenth anniversary of the death of this blogger's mother, the late Lilly Topping (nee Lamb). The following day is the thirty fifth anniversary of the death of this blogger's father, the late Thomas Topping. In what should never be (and isn't) an embarrassing confession, this blogger continues to miss both of them every single day. They gave him life, a home, food and clothes, an understanding of right and wrong, a love of football, television, literature and the importance of thinking for his very self and they kept him safe until he was able to fend for himself. Which is greatly appreciated by this blogger now even if it wasn't as much as it probably should have been, at the time. 

Hang on, dear blog fiends, since when did the Daily Lies become the world's moral compass and start making actual sense in its front page stories? This blogger must have missed that particular memo.

For this latest From The North blog update's second 'makes you think, dunnit?' moment, dear blog fiend. And, the moral of this story appears to be never trust a God-botherer wearing spectacles (particularly if you are 'hooked on sex ... and drugs'). Makes you think, dunnit?

'Clothes maketh the man', they reckon ('they' in this particular case being Desiderius Erasmus, William Shakespeare and Mark Twain, all of whom wrote something approximately like that between 1500 and 1897). This blogger in fact, would go one step further and suggest that clothes also, very definitely, maketh the woman, too.

And, this blogger is certain that The Sisterhood will all, happily, back this blogger up on that particular score. Reasonably certain.

Well, fairly certain. Probably.

Moving, swiftly, onwards before this blogger (quite rightly) loses his Jacob's Cream Crackers in a totally understandable 'accident' with a scythe and an enraged group of ladies ...

A third From The North 'makes you think, dunnit?' arrival follows. With the observation that, these days, Morrissey appears to be simply phoning it in, does he not? Before you judge, remember, he's not strange, dear blog fiends. He just wants to live his life that way. 

Then there's makes you think, dunnit?, part the fourth. And, a necessary reminder to the writers of newspaper placards everywhere; grammar is your fiend, newspaper placard writers everywhere - treat it with respect. Makes you think, dunnit?

Followed, of course, with the true inevitability of the truly inevitable, by makes you think, dunnit? part the fifth. Sounds like a worthwhile career move, this blogger would argue. Makes you think, dunnit?

As this blogger may have previously mentioned, when Keith Telly Topping was naught but a Youngling, he rather fancied growing up to be one of Them There astronauts. That's if he couldn't get the gig of being the pilot of Thunderbird 2, or the TARDIS, or spending his Saturday afternoons flying down the left-wing for his beloved Th' Toon and, in the evenings, being the tambourine player with Slade. We all had dreams in them far-off days, dear blog fiends. Dreaming, as Blondie once observed, is free. Nevertheless, the call of Outer Space has never, entirely, left this blogger's wilder imaginings. Though, as this blogger's late grandmother once noted, people do actually die in spaceships; ultimately, being the tambourine player in Slade was always going to be a safer alternative.

Though, to be scrupulously fair, you could get a nasty cut from the angular edges of Dave Hill's patented Superyob guitar (or, the angular edges of Dave Hill's fringe for that matter). Or suffer temporary blindness if you happened to look at Sir Noddy's mirrored hat at slightly the wrong angle. It was a health and safety nightmare, dear blog fiends. And, that's before you had to cum on and feel the noize without protective earmuffs. Awlriot, all of Slade?

And so we reach the latest From The North bloggerisationism update's Headline Of The Week/Fortnight/Month award nominees malarkey. Starting with the Southend Echo's tale of this saucy individual who, seemingly, committed his crimes with relish and certainly knew his onions. What, too cheesy?

Next, a piece of twenty four carat genius journalism by the BBC News website (which used to be run by adults). This blogger thinks it's the 'data suggests' at the end of the full title of the piece, Rise in speeding fines linked to more drivers breaking the limit, data suggests, that makes it art.

Then there's this work of genius from the files of 2014, dear blog reader, with the Derry Journal (and, also, the Daily Mirra which, believe it or not, once upon a time used to be a real newspaper) posing one, very obvious question. Was he, you know, aiming for someone lying on the mattress at the time and, simply, missed? Just a wild stab in a dark. But, we are digressing (and, so was he, seemingly). 

Another legendary dip into the archives, now; to wit the Lancashire Telegraph in 2008, for this example from the 'let us all stand up and salute the absolute shite some people chose to care about' column. 

'Black' did you say, My London? Oh dear ... 'Worms for tea, mother?'

The BBC News website (which used to be run by adults) is having a bit of a time of it this week, it would appear. Simon Armstrong's Nature Festival Mixed Up With Nudist Event story fails to reveal, however, whether nuts were involved in both of the mixed-up events.

What sort of abject shite does the Daily Torygraph assume (possibly correctly) their readers give a bollocks about, part the first? Is this blogger alone in wondering when a piece of journalism includes the line 'the 47-year-old marine biologist walked into the restaurant' what the punchline to that joke could, possibly, be?

What sort of shite does the Daily Torygraph assume (possibly correctly) their readers give a bollocks about, part the second? 'F-bombs, b-words and worst of all, dropped ‘g’s are entering the political lexicon. What would Churchill think?' wonders Sophia Money-Coutts who is, apparently, 'a columnist who specialises in etiquette matters, such as how to eat a pear (with the left hand) and whether it's acceptable to say toilet.' You couldn't make it up, dear blog fiends. Well, you could, but would you wish to?

The Banbury Guardian, meanwhile, really have their collective finger on the pulse of the nation with the stories that really matter the mostest. Like this one, for instance. Interestingly, the BBC News website (which used to be run by adults) also covered the same chilling tale of sausage roll-related mishap in some depth (and with exactly the same headline). Making one wonder whether James Gamble of the former particularly minded having his homework copied by Ethan Gudge of the latter. Slow news week, was it, gentlemen?

A story local to The Stately Telly Topping Manor, next and the ever unreliable Evening Crocodile reporting on, if you will, Christians in Search of Filth.

Presumably, when The Reverend in question first washed his hands and then wished to be told to whom he could complain about the massive floater he'd just found in the Central Station netties, LNER replied 'Nowt to do with us, Bonny Lad, we just run the trains. And, furthermore ...'

On a similar scatological theme. 'Pit toilets are basic, non-flush latrines that collect human waste in a deep hole in the ground. They are common in remote or rural areas, such as off-grid camping sites,' explains the BBC News website (which used to be run by adults) helpfully.

Congratulations, meanwhile, are due to Cornwall Live's Shannon Brown for a rare outing for the word 'kerfuffle' in a headline. But then, heartfelt commiserations to her for seeing it removed at a later stage, presumably by her sub-ed. Tragedy. Also, any sighting of a speedboat that wasn't given away as first prize on an episodes of Bullseye deserves at least a few moments of everyone's attention.

Bristol Live are also to be praised for proving, once again, that all politics is local. And that one of the, one presumes unintended, consequences of The Curiously Orange President Rump's war on common sense was what knock-on effect bombing the shit out of Iran would have on the Number T1 from Colston Avenue to Bristol City Centre via the Clifton Suspension Bridge.

What, one wonders, are the chances that this was simply some sort of performance art installation which simply got out of hand?

Remember, dear blog reader, Sunday is family day. Usually.

Well, it was this week at The Stately Telly Topping Manor, anyway.

It fact, it was a normal, perfectly ordinary day in this blogger's decidedly odd and discombobulated world if truth be told ...

... At least, it was until the strangest of things happened.

On The Stately Telly Topping Manor reading-list this week, an old school favourite ...

The latest From The North bloggerisationism update's sixth 'makes you think, dunnit?' sample really does, dear blog fiends, make you think, dunnit? It was how long?

A necessary reminder now that, should any blog fiends be of a hankering to do so, they can order any, two or all of this blogger's volumes on British horror, SF and fantasy movies from those genuinely marvellous and wonderful people at Telos Publishing (available here, here and here). Unless, of course, you have already ordered any, two or all of them. In which case, this blogger loves you all, you're the greatest dear blog fiends that ever there was in all the live-long day, bar none. However, remember, you could consider ordering them again. This time as a gift for that special someone in your lives ... that you really don't like.

This blogger, after all - and as he is perfectly willing to admit in open court - has a growing Blu-ray collection and an unquenchable King Prawn Curry and Boiled Rice habit to support. That's one particular monkey he has no special wish to get off his back any time soon. It's Keith Telly Topping's cross, dear blog fiends, he'll bear it as beast he can.

It's an absolutely fair cop, frankly.

And finally, dear blog reader, a - brief - return to what was, once, a regular mainstay of this very blog, Keith Telly Topping's 45 of the Day. Here's The Kinks with a message of hope and tolerance for all of us. Tell 'em all about it, Ray, baby.

From The North will return when this blogger has something worth saying which, he fells, y'all will be interested in. Or, to put it more honestly, when he feels like it. 

In the meantime, dear blog fiends, Keith Telly Topping will be busy representing The Stately Telly Topping Manor at the buffet.