And, as we usually note at this around juncture in each
From The North update, whilst we all await - patiently, one hopes - for both of Keith Telly Topping's forthcoming volumes to appear in all good book shops, some bad ones and some online ones which neglect to pay their fair share of the taxes everybody else has to stump up, it's time for a
necessary reminder. Should any dear blog fiends be of a mind to do so, they can order one, two or all three of this blogger's previous tomes on British horror, SF and fantasy films from the genuinely tremendous, immensely marvelistic and utterly 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 for allowing him, once again, into your homes. Except to add, of course, that you could - if you 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. Anyway, moving swiftly on ...
So, dear blog fiends - here is a vitally important question for y'aal to ponder there upon in your own gaffs (or, wherever you consume you regular dosage of
From The North - this blogger is
not judging you). Here's the scenario: You have just completed your fourth volume (or, as previously alluded to, fifth if you count
Island of Terror) in the
A Vault of Horror tetralogy. Therefore, the question needs to be asked
whatchamagunnagadooo? Well, firstly, this blogger urges you all to attempt to make a sentence for the following words; 'really', 'deserved', I', really', this' and '
really'. How we doing so far?
Then, following hot on the heel from
that malarkey (and, very nice it was too), after you've just spent sixty nine days (
stop sniggering at the back) writing two hundred and four thousand (and a few) words - more of less
exactly the wordcount limit that you had set yourself as a promise to your publishers - three hundred and sixty two pages, one hundred and sixteen footnotes, seventy two entries covering seventy two movies (obviously), one introduction (
Bloodbath at the House of Death), one extensive
Bibliography and one, self-aggrandising
About the Author piece, as a consequence you find yourself seriously shagged out. And, consequently, in need of a nice quiet long weekend in The Stately Telly Topping Manor doing precisely nowt that could even remotely be considered 'work' of any kind. Except, obviously, watching
more horror films only this time, as a hobby. Once again, dearest blog fiends, this blogger finds himself asking that most ancient of questions
whatchamagunnagadoo? Well,
this is one way to get the weekend sorted, right good and proper and no mistake.
Right nice y'are, dear blog fiends. This blogger hopes your collective weekend was as potentially productive and, simultaneously, chilled as Keith Telly Topping's very own. With, perhaps, a couple of close and personal fiends of your very own.
A few months back, this blogger
boasted about having achieved a score on the
Geoguesser website of over twenty one thousand. In the interests of complete and open transparency, this blogger - never being one to miss an opportunity to smoke his own cornet in public if given half the chance -
has to confess to you all, dear blog fiends, that it has subsequently taken him a further
three months (until the middle of July, in fact) to achieve a higher score. Although, in doing so, getting twenty three thousand seven hundred and nine and his very first
Geoguesser gold medal, this blogger remains somewhat humbled by the fact that it required ninety two daily challenges to get to even
that level. Though he's hit the twenty thousand mark twice since, admittedly, Keith Telly Topping is still very much at the 'hopefully one day talented, but remains a beginner' stage. This blogger looks on in relative awe at those guys on
You Tube who can, seemingly, get near to or even hit the maximum twenty five grand on a daily basis, sometimes without even
moving. God,
that's impressive to someone who, on occasions, still can't even get the continent right, let alone the location within a couple of kilometers.
Next ... you
tell 'im, Vicki, love.
And, on a somewhat related note, this blogger can certainly assure the young lady in question that if she keeps using the cream exactly as prescribed by her experienced medical practitioner, the itching, burning and swelling should lessen within a week.
It would appear that, in the aftermath of the recently concluded World Cup, President Mr Rump of Orange's immigration policy now extends to anyone who dares to criticise the half-time show at the final. This blogger would give his own opinion on the entertainment value of said thirty minute 'spectacle' but, in fact, he entirely missed it. This was due tro the fact that he had an urgent, pressing, appointment with his lavatory at the time. A tragedy, perhaps, but them are indeed the breaks.
This blogger must, at this juncture, give a
major - by which, Keith Telly Topping means Brigadier-General - shout-out to the hugely excellent
The Retrofuture Vault page on
Facebook for providing many of the forthcoming images grabs for this latest
From The North update. This blogger being a) dog-tired and shagged out after finishing off his latest book and, consequently, b) far too lazy to go looking around
Googly Images for any suitable alternatives to education, inform and entertain you all (this being
From The North's public mission statement as well as the BBC's). This blogger urges all dearest bloggersiationism fiends who also happen to be
Facebook fiends to check out
TRfV's mighty, mighty works. So, to begin with ... this blogger is perfectly willing to bet that
she's a bit on the chilly side.
Of course, this blogger has been taking some serious notes of the names of various architectural designers that he's looking to consult for the next round of upgrades to The Stately Telly Topping Manor exterior. Take
this one, for instance.
Or, indeed,
this one. Tasty view.
One or two of their interior designers might, also, be getting a sly call on That There Stately Telly Topping Manor red phone hotline to enquire about pricing and policy.
That's
more than a distinct possibility.
Also, when that inevitable day in the future comes that Leopold the Stately Telly Topping Manor laptop needs an urgent upgrade, well, this blogger has certainly taken note of
this potential solution.
And, of the hasty employment of this potential Stately Telly Topping Manor assistant ready to feed those vitally important co-ordinates into the Stately Telly Topping Manor computer whenever necessary. After all, Keith Telly Topping's
A Vault of Horror tetralogy (with or without
Island of Terror) don't write themselves, you know.
Personal transport will, by necessity, change in the future. Cars will become smaller. And potentially
fruitier. The side-effect of which are likely to be enormous. Because if
all the cars are oranges, there will no longer be any such thing as traffic jams. Rather, there will be alternative traffic
marmalades. A necessary difference one feels.
Popular music as a form of entertainment will, of course, continue. With, thanks to a combination of AI and cloning, exciting groups such as The Roberta Palmer Sextette Beat Combo reigning supreme at the very Toppermost of the Poppermost. Which, this blogger is sure you will all agree, is
total groovy.
That said, the average Friday night doon the local will remain, reliably, unchanged. Lasses in silver miniskirts dancing on the tables. Yeah,
that sort of thing you can find
now without having to look very far or hard.
In the field of medicine, those alien robots from the 'For mash get S.M.A.SH'
adverts in the 1970s will all be retrained on a government scheme designed to kill your dreams and employed as surgeons by the NHS. 'First they peel them with their metal knives ... then they smash them all to bits.'
Et cetera.
And, of course,
all predictions concerning what the future will hold in store for mankind generally will be absolutely one hundred per cent accurate and come true in a suitably timely and recognisable manner. No, really.
Moving on, now to the return of the always popular
From The North Headline Of The Month award. First up, dear blog fiends a couple of thoughts concerning our opening story. Anyone who calls themselves 'an
influencer', this blogger believes, needs
a punch. Secondly, anyone who does something as mind-numbingly stupid as this particular glakes featuring in this particular story did, also needs
a punch. Thirdly, does anybody else remember when
the BBC News website used to be run by
adults? To sum up then, punch, punch and, indeed,
punch. This blogger believes that just about covers everything related to this particular Pulitzer Prize potential piece of journalism. People, meanwhile, who don't deserve a punch, the Welsh rugby team that took it upon themselves to
get the damned thing back off the mountain. Well done lads. And, please feel free to invite the 'influencer' along the next time you're practicing your scrummaging.
Next ... err. Okay. And oldie, admittedly, but still one needs to stand up and salute the
Church Times seemingly taking something of an Old Testament approach to the subject of the rehabilitation of offenders, yes?
Meanwhile, the
Gruniad Morning Star, as usual, have their
finger right hard on the pulse of the nation. At least, on the finger of the pulse of that part of the nation occupied by slappable Middle-Class hippy Communists in love with dubious fashions and about as much common sense as the average mollusc. Just for clarification, you understand.
Another one from the
BBC News website next. Oh mate. There's 'asking for trouble' and then there's
this. Whatever
this constitutes (asking for
catastrophe, perhaps?). Though, to be fair, third is only
two off 'champions'. Nearly. This blogger will give you that much. Nearly,
but not quite ... Like Thomas's boys, so near and yet so far. Only, in their case, the disappointment is likely to be somewhat less permanent than the tattoo (a potentially
very expensive skin-graft notwithstanding).
And now, an important Public Information Announcement direct from The Stately Telly Topping Manor. When it comes to them there drugs, dear blog fiends,
just say 'gnome'.
There's 'making a point' and then there '
MAKING A POINT'.
What a
plonker. I mean, firelighters are, surely a less drastic alternative.
The next example is
possibly a euphemism.
Possibly not. I mean, this
is Essex we're talking about, after all. Nothing would surprise yer actual Keith Telly Topping about what goes in within those particular borders.
From The North regrets to inform all dear blog fiends, that
From The North favourite the
Daily Lies has arrived with a 'what?
Too soon?' entry into the latest
From The North Headline of The Month award nominations listing with a 'Hallow'een is
ruined' moan of abject disapproval. Two points are raised however by
this piece of quality journalism by one Liam Randall. Firstly, Liam, taking a bunch of quotes you found on
Facebook and cutting and pasting them into your newspaper isn't
actually 'journalism', is it? It's more, sort of, stenography. Still one is sure your parents are
very proud of you. Secondly, however, is The Range
really 'a major UK retailer' as you claim in your headline? Answers on a postcard.
A
second piece of abject risible horseshite from the
Gruniad Morning Star, next, dearest blog fiends. Cos, you know, one can never have too many of
those. And this blogger, for one, welcome our new repurposed apparent sex dolls into schools to teach The Kidz about the inevitable rise of the machine and their victory in the forthcoming war against humanity.
'
Hundreds' you claim, Cameron Blackshaw of the
News Shopper (no, me neither)? The evidence would appear to suggest a number closer to
seven. Eight if we count the dog. Were all the rest of them
busy when your photographer turned up?
One supposes if someone is going to do
it anywhere - and, a lavatory is the usual, recommended, location for such activity - then
somewhere with lots of paper to hand would seem to be a viable alternative. But,
From The North feels it important at this juncture to stress that dear blog readers should, generally speaking, refrain from shitting
anywhere other than in a designated area for waste disposal. Even if using a Dan Brown novel to wipe the Klingons off seemed like a good idea at the time. It's
not big and it's
not clever. Dan. Then again, this
is Essex once again so,
anything's possible.
Gosh, dear blog fiends, Father Ted and Father Dougal have certainly changed a bit since they moved from Craggy Island to
Eastbourne.
Oh, hang on. Yeah,
that's better.
So, either the
Echo, here, is advising people where to leave their business as an alternative to libraries in Essex (see above). Or, alternatively, they're trying out some new lyrics for a remake of one-hit wonders Martha & The Muffins' 1980 classic.
From The North could go either way on this one.
In Warrington, seemingly,
this constitutes ' news'.
This blogger was, he is forced to confess, ready and willing to pour much scorn and considerable vitriol on
this piece from The Hipster's Bible its very self, the
Brighton Argus. However, on reading the article, he completely changed his attitude. £3.70?
For a bowl of curry?! Bloody Hell right, the chap concerned was shocked.
And stunned, probably. Though, mate, take it from someone who's both been there and done that. If you're eating curry with
that beard, I'd be ready for some serious facial hair stains that are simply a bugger to shift for
days afterwards, even if you take a daily shower. Just sayin'. But, to get back to the
important point, we must repeat, £3.70?
For a bowl of curry?! What
is the world coming to? It's £1.80 at this blogger's local pure dead nice spicy-food emporium. There's a tip for you, mate, move to Tyneside, it's
miles cheaper (and, less full of hipsters).
Next, dear blog fiends, an example of that age-old 'I get paid by the word, me' malarkey, a journalist - in this case
Erin Rhodes of the Bournemouth Echo - writing an article (and getting paid by the word) about having done something which lots and lots and
lots of other people who aren't journalists and who don't get paid by the word - do on a regular basis. What do you want, Erin, a fekking
medal for doing something and getting paid for it? Also, it's the 'to see what it was like' in the headline which makes it
art. As though there's any other reason for doing
anything, ever, other than 'to see what it was like.'
Jesus wept, dear blog fiends ...
This blogger considers that one should
always go to work in the morning having had a good, hearty, filling breakfast. Temazepam, by and large,
isn't recommended.
The next statement, part of a
BBC News website
livefeed on the announcement by the new Prime Minister that bus fare in England are to be capped at £2, has the twin advantage of being a) factually accurate and jolly welcome by anyone who uses public transport on a reasonably regular basis like this blogger and b) piss in yer own pants funny at the highlighted plight of 'poor' drivers. So,
double bonus, there. Of course, 'Durham man' could always sell his car and quit whinging like a
big girl if he's as financially strapped as he claims. Bit of a radical suggestion, this blogger knows but, hey, that's the way the biscuit crumbles in life. What do you think the rest of us are, a bank for your personal usage? Ooo, this blogger went all Ben Elton for a second. Sorry 'bout that.
Never - not no
never - take a '
poop sponge' onto a cruise, dear blog fiends. Take a Dan Brown novel instead. That has the bonus of being biodegradable. Still for the family in question, the Carnival
is over.
And, of course, a
From The North Headline Of The Month award nominee list simply wouldn't be complete without something from the
Metro (so, not a real newspaper, then).
This, for instance.
By Hell, dear blog read, The Robins certainly weren't 'bobbins' when
this occurred at a recent pre-season 'friendly' with Wythenshawe Town. What would Little Frank say? 'Wemb-er-lee/Wemb-er-lee/It's a great big place in London and they call it Wemb-er-lee'
Et cetera. 'An eyewitness told
Altrincham Today that tensions had been building throughout the first-half following a series of robust challenges on what was described as a hard, dry playing surface.' However, it's 'I've not seen anything like that at a football match since Cantona in 1995. It was like watching an old Bruce Lee movie' that makes it
art. Then, 'photographs taken after the incident appear to show the player involved being confronted on the pitch by a woman believed by spectators to be a family member, with eyewitnesses suggesting she may have been his mother.' Now
that's something the Premier League really ought to adopt for serious foul play next season. Forget a Red Card on VAR and a three match ban, just getting told off by your mum in front a packed stadium should be punishment enough for the errant player in question.
Then, there's
this from the
Crocodile. Still, on the plus side, at least they didn't have to actually
see Bruno Mars. Some might consider
that to be one Hell of a lucky escape.
Things we learned this week, number ninety four. Someone at the
Independent doesn't know how to spell the word 'diarrhoea' correctly. Which is good to know.
Next,
police suspect fowl play.
If one were to be looking for
a metaphor for pretty much everything in modern life in general, here it is, dear blog reader. Look upon our works, ye mighty, and despair.
Here, meanwhile, is Letter of the Week, from the
Dorset Echo. Skill, Mark, baby. Var nigh,
Jimmy Hill in fact. And so say all of us.
And, finally dear blog fiends, sometimes there simply are
no words. But
lots of questions.
As, therefore, this latest bloggersiationism update wends its weary, shagged out way towards a conclusion, therefore dear blog reader, we return, ever so briefly, to 'The Future' at The Stately Telly Topping Manor. Of course, the issue of,
ahem, what goes on in Basil the Stately Telly Topping Manor bedroom rears it unfortunate, unspeakable head. All manner of unpleasantness and shenanigans, one suspects if this illustrative - albeit, rather cosy - image is anything to go by. So long as the foxy lady in question isn't into messing about with this blogger whilst he's in his kip then everything should be fine.
Perhaps, dear blog fiends, it would be best for 'that sort of thing' to be studiously avoided by all concerned and a discreet veil be drawn across the entire dilemma. This blogger is
sure you all understand this new, entirely made-up-on-the-spot
From The North policy and intend to put it into practice in your own gaffs.
Although, for those future humans who simply cannot do without
something, if you will, hot and a-throbbin' between their thighs, relief from such unnecessary and unwelcome discomfort
will still be available for the right price. Like, however much
this costs, for instance.
And, as
previously noted, dear blog fiends, sometimes it is simply unavoidable that the subtext does, indeed, become the text. Rapidly.
Again.
Some things, however, are unlikely to
ever change.
And finally, dear blog fiends, there will still occasionally be one of those awkward moments where someone farts downtown at an entirely inopportune moment which they hope nobody noticed but, actually, everyone
did. The fall out from which will remain as unpredictable as ever.
Okay, then, dear blog fiends, that's it for another one.
From The North will return. And, it'll be every bit as sexy and just a tad
dangerous as usual. TTFN.
We begin this latest From The North update with the really, really, really big Stately Telly Topping Manor news. After, quite literally sixty nine days of writing (no jokes please, stop sniggering at the back), yer actual Keith Telly Topping is happy - nay, borderline delicious in fact - to report 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 horror, science fiction, fantasy, chillers, thrillers, blood-spillers and programme fillers, has been extremely completed. To first draft status, obviously since the delivery date for the finished manuscript isn't until the end of October and your present author intends, after a necessary few weeks with his feet up taking it pure-mega-easy and getting his shit together, like, to use the majority of September and October to edit the ungrateful little bastard until it squeals and bubbles and blares and begs - begs - for mercy. Because, as the virry Jeysus of Cool Nick Lowe his very self once noted, you have to be cruel to be kind (in the right measure). This, dear blog fiends, shall be the whole of the law. Nevertheless, this is how things currently stand at this exact moment in time, space and relativity. Which is nice. 
This blogger is also, of course, keen once again 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) completed earlier in the year remains to be published later in 2026 (around September or October to be precise although the exactly publication date is yet to be confirmed) by those marvellously marvellous people at Telos Publishing. As a consequence, 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) 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 stunningly well-apprised of exactly when that occurs. What can this blogger offer in mitigation, dear blog fiends? It is, after all, his job. 
