I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again, You're NEVER Gonna Get Me Down

Welcome, dear blog fiends, to a somewhat sombre and decidedly tetchy From The North update. In which yer actual Keith Telly Topping is about to vent his not inconsiderable spleen about the manifest shittiness of the World in general. And about one aspect of it in particular, which involves a multi-billionaire. No, not that one (although, yes, a case can be made ...) 

First, a bit of history. Last month saw the twentieth anniversary of this very blog, the first post having been made by Keith Telly Topping in early March 2006. Much has changed in this blogger's life since that time. He's nearly died twice, for a kick-off (all the gory details, here and here).

When this blogger last posted a From The North update, just a couple of short weeks ago, things were - for the most part - going swimmingly. He was engaged in an exciting new writing project, for one. In fact the only thing he had to worry about was that face. You know that face, dear blog fiends? Sure you do. It's the one when you've left your gaff to do the weekly shopping, spent a deep sea diver on bus fares, six quid for breakfast, over forty knicker in Morrisons and then arrived at the bus stop and realised you've forgotten to buy the main thing that you came out for in the first place. This face, in fact.

Okay, it's very much a First World Problem and all that. Be advised, however, this following blog update is going to be chock-a-block full of those.

Sadly for this blogger, most of them involve this little chap.

Blog fiends with extremely long memories will recall that this blogger first joined Facebook roughly around the same time he started this blog, in 2006. It was a useful way of keeping in daily contact with the majority of this blogger's fiends, colleagues (at the time he was working for the BBC) and acquaintances in various fandoms (film, TV, sporting, literature, et cetera). And, importantly, he had fun there - like that time he tried to thin out his increasingly huge address book, with hilarious consequences as they always used to say in TV Times. Albeit, that did have the nasty side effect of one of those people I blocked (because he was being something of a bore) deciding to become Keith Telly Topping's personal online stalker for the next few months. You win some, you lose some. Then, in June 2021, this blogger' Facebook account got hacked. And hacked well, I'll give the hacker that much credit. Not only did they change this blogger's password but, also, his contact e-mail address (and, obliterated the old one). Meaning, not only couldn't this blogger access his page, he couldn't even get into Facebook to let anyone know what had happened.

Keith Telly Topping tried everything he could think of to get his account back, including obtaining a couple of e-mail addresses which were alleged to be for a Facebook 'helpline'. Either they're weren't or, they were but Facebook staff don't consider it necessary to do anything as ordinary as respond to e-mails from their customers; ironic, really, since this was all taking place around the very time they were crassly boasting to the media that their profits had just passed a trillion bucks, annually. Doing so by providing non-existent customer service, seemingly. Anyway, after about six weeks of increasingly desperate attempts to contact the company (this blogger even sent them a letter to their London offices! To which he, of course, received no reply whatsoever, not even an acknowledgement of receipt), Keith Telly Topping finally gave up using the 'if they don't want to talk to me, I'll be buggered if I want to talk to them' argument. This blogger missed the daily banter with his many Facebook fiends, obviously, but he still had this blog to work on as a creative outlet and book to write.

However, in the aftermath of those five days in hospital in February 2022 (when, being able to get onto Facebook to let people know what was actually going on would've been a jolly useful thing), this blogger decided - during a conversation with his sister-in-law - that it was about high time he got himself back onto Facebook. The original Keith Topping Facebook page was gone of course, never to be seen again - fifteen years worth of memories, photos, shared experiences et cetera - all vanished into the never-was. But, screw it, out of sight out of mind. So, this blogger started again, much like in life. You get knocked down, you get back up again. 

A new Facebook page was created and, over the next five year, this blogger built up a decent five hundred odd list of contacts, he had three books published and, broadly speaking, had a fine old time interacting with fiends old and new (many attracted by his recently published works). 

All of that changed at approximately 10am on Saturday 28 March 2026. This blogger had, as usual, gone into Facebook as one of the first things he did each morning to answer any comments which had come in overnight (there'd been three or four). He was in the middle of answering one of these when Facebook suddenly took him to a page he'd never seen before. It was one of those which asked this blogger to prove he is a human being (he is, just in case you're wondering, he has a birth certificate and everything). To prove this he was asked to type six numbers into a box. He did so. He was then taken to another page which requested he provide a photo and/or video of himself. This presented something of a problem as this blogger was on his laptop at the time so it meant booting up his phone, finding this same page and then doing as requested. Nevertheless, he managed it, twisting and contorting his head to the left and right as his was instructed to do. He pressed send and was then presented with the following.

This blogger was unaware that he'd made 'an appeal', why it had been necessary for him to make 'an appeal' or why the blithering Hell any of this was happening in the first place. But, he (impatiently) waited for the promised 'decision'. And waited. And waited. And waited. Then, about an hour later ...

And, that was it. No right to appeal, no explanation as to what Facebook felt this blogger had done wrong (if anything other than that they assumed he was an AI bot), nothing. Just, 'piss off, kid, we don't want you round here no more.' Five further years of memories, links to this blog, links to my publishers, comments on fiends lives and activities, everything just gone. Again. To say I was flabbergasted, tetchy and frustrated in equal measure was something of an understatement. I was, in fact apoplectic. What on Earth were Facebook alleging I had posted which was so 'against' their 'Community Standards' that they had kicked me out? This blogger seldom, if ever, involves himself in any political discussions (he has his own beliefs but, largely, he keeps them to himself); he's certainly never posted anything even remotely racist, homophobic, transphobic or otherwise bigoted in any way, shape or form. Keith Telly Topping took Facebook's bland dismissal of him as a personal - and pretty - horrible insult, frankly. And, his initial reaction was to say 'screw them' and - as this is the second time this had happened (albeit, for different reasons) - 'I'm out of here, permanently.' Or, to paraphrase Bender from an early episode of Futurama when he gets thrown out of a casino on The Moon, 'I'm gonna created my own social media. With blackjack and hookers. In fact, forget the blackjack ...'

But, here we hit the first of several problems; this blogger is an author and journalist, much of the networking he does in his job is done through Facebook. He's also on BlueSky but not everyone he needs to speak to, semi-regularly, are likewise on there and many of those that are use it very infrequently. There were other reasons, too. This blogger liked Facebook, liked the small community of people he had built up as fiends and liked the ease of interacting with them which Facebook provided. So, he bit the bullet and created another account (having to jump through several hoops, not least of which being to create another e-mail address to use). He got back online roughly five hours after he'd been kicked-off and quickly set about trying to contact as many of his fiends as he could. This also turned out to be a problem, however; not only did several of Keith Telly Topping's fiends assume that getting a request from someone they believed they were already fiended-up with was a potential scam but, also, Facebook doesn't like multiple friend requests being sent. So it limits the number that anyone can send in any period. Nevertheless, thanks to some help from a variety of people - David J Howe, Benjamin Adams, Simon J Ballard, David Huckvale, Ken Shinn, Mick Snowden, David McDonald, Andrew J Duncan and Clay Eichelberger amongst others - this blogger managed to contact and refiend (if that's the right word) with over one hundred people by late Tuesday evening.

David Howe, for instance, had gone to all the trouble of phoning this blogger on Sunday morning just to make sure he was all right. A class act from my publisher which will, trust me dear blog fiends, not be forgotten any time soon. This blogger had also done a bit of proof-reading for his old fiend Ben Adams on a new short story he'd written and had been very taken by Ben posting what he described, accurately, as '[an] absolutely brilliant - and quite long - examination of Neil Gaiman's abusive upbringing, his growth into real power over others as a popular writer and transition into abuser. There's no apologia here. Elizabeth Sandifer is even-handed in describing both Gaiman's skill and his ultimate [sick] crimes.' This blogger, of course, had his own dealings with Gaiman, was a fan of his work and was, then, genuinely horrified over the allegations of serious sexual assault made against him in 2024 and 2025.

Keith Telly Topping also posted on a thread about Jack Karlson's infamous rallying cry of 'democracy manifest' being added to an Australian national collection of sound recordings that 'hold historical, cultural and aesthetic significance.' When, back in 1991, he was simply trying to eat his 'succulent Chinese meal' and, at the same time, not have his penis allegedly felt by a police officer.

This blogger also idly wondered when reading this story 'is it so wrong of me to believe that anyone who refers to themselves as "a Social Media Influencer" should get their sorry asses banged-up in the pokey on general principle, regardless of whether they've got a kilo of grass hidden in their knickers or otherwise?'

That all of this malarkey had occurred on the morning after the clocks went forward didn't help matters. Indeed, one of this blogger's first posts back on Facebook and whilst still in something of a groggy state of mind, was a video clip of the divine Goddess that is Professor Hannah Fry ranting - nicely - on that very subject. Testify, Hannah.

This blogger had taken a few moments to list his hobbies on his new Facebook page and was unsurprised to find Facebook's consideration that Keith Telly Topping was 'one of a kind.' That's a good thing, right?

And, he mentioned to his Facebook fiends that if they, like he, were more than a bit disgusted at this blogger's treatment in getting de-Facebooked without so much as a by-your-leave, they could easily 'stick it to The Man' by ordering any or all of this blogger's books on British horror, SF and fantasy movies from those lovely people at Telos Publishing (go here, here and here). Unless, of course, they had already ordered them. In which case, this blogger loved them very much but they could consider ordering them again, this time as a gift for that special someone in their lives ... that they don't like.

All of it good, clean, light-hearted stuff, none of it in the least bit controversial or threatening, none of it advocating hate-speech (examples of which this blogger saw within about ten minutes of being back on Facebook polluting up his feed - none of that, thankfully, from anyone he was either fiends with or interacted with). No mentions of Trump, Putin, Starmer. Nothing except a few posts about British horror films of the 1970s and The Beatles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) both of which Keith Telly Topping is quite partial too.  This blogger even had time, on Tuesday, to celebrate another fortnightly trip to The Gate with his fiend Young Malcolm for a much needed meal and general chinwag noting, that after the few days he'd just experienced Keith Telly Topping, this was the least he'd deserved.

Proper lush, so it was, as this blogger confirmed to several of his newly-reconnected Facebook fiends including Chris and Michelle Rodriquez and Our Maureen. This blogger also had time to repost an excellent and amusing clip from the Jason King episode That Isn't Me It's Somebody Else (1972) of the late, great and saintly Peter Wyngarde fighting with the late, great and saintly Patrick Troughton and then getting kicked, jolly hard, in the Jacob's Cream Crackers by the late, great and saintly Simon Oates which had appeared on Scarred For Life's Facebook page.

So we reach Wednesday morning. April Fool's day. Ho-bleedin'-ho. This blogger awoke from a somewhat troubled sleep (probably the result of England's shocking poor display against Japan at Wembley the previous evening), got up, fell out of bed, dragged the comb across his head, et cetera. Then, he went into The Stately Telly Topping Manor living room and switched on the computer. On Facebook he'd, overnight, had three accepted fiend requests and half-a-dozen replies to stuff he'd posted the previous day. Which he started to read. And then ...

The same abject nightmare all over again. This was, after all, 1 April, so whyever not? Type in a random six figure number to prove that you're human, they instructed; take a photo of yourself to also prove you're human, they badgered. This blogger did both, in that very 'definition of madness' way 'doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome.' We don't want you they, effectively, said. Your 'appeal' (that you didn't realise you were making and that you don't even know what it relates to) has, again, been rejected. So, just bugger off and never darken our door again. Interestingly, this blogger was assumed that had he been paying Facebook a subscription for 'premium content' then a simple e-mail to their tech department would, likely, have had this situation sorted out in next to no time. But this blogger isn't (and has no intention of doing so) thus, Facebook, simply couldn't give a stuff. Nothing in it for them, you see. There, right there, the unacceptable face of Capitalism for all to see.

And, this time, I am taking them absolutely at their word. I'm sick of jumping through hoops for, seemingly, someone else's vast amusement. I'm sick of being poked with a stick to see if I react. There will not be a fourth Keith Topping Facebook page.

Not, not, not, not, not to infinity and beyond. Mark Zuckerberg and all of your worthless minions, you've had - and wasted - a last chance. This blogger is glad you've just got hit with a massive fine and he hopes more people will be taking the legal option in the future. If you're on Facebook it may be time to ponder on the fact that this sort of thing can, apparently, happen to anyone at any time with no human intervention at their side to sort things out properly. This blogger will have to find other ways of remaining in contact with those he's been interacting with, some for close on twenty years (with a couple of small gaps in the middle). But, if anyone reading this happens to be in contact with, in no particular order, Ben Adams, Simon J Ballard, Nick Cooper, David Huckvale, Ken Shinn, Mick Snowden, David McDonald, Andrew J Duncan, Clay Eichelberger et cetera, if you could let them know I've been atomised, again by Facebook, big-style, that I'm on Bluesky where there will be occasional updates about ... you know, stuff and that my e-mail address remains keithandrewtopping@gmail.com same as it ever way, that'd be appreciated.

Keith Telly Topping had hoped this first bloggerisationisam update of Spring 2026 would have been a somewhat more cheerful and upbeat one, listing some of the You Tube channels he's been exploring of late, some of the books he's been reading and the TV he's been watching; further updates on his current work-in-progress book project and what he's got lined-up to pitch later in the year; a few of the usual daft headlines to make you smile in an increasingly tense and angry. Sadly it's a truism that, in life, every time you start to make plans, someone will invariably muck them up. And, that often multi-billionaires are involved.

From The North will return when this blogger feels a little less bruised and angry about life in general.

Question 'Twixt Þe Famous Rhyme And Þe Famous Rhythm Puzzle

Good grief, Christina! Lordy, Lordy, gimme a gnu, somebody! It's the very famous From The North blog signal, so it is. And, so (relatively) soon after the last one. Let there be great and righteous rejoicing throughout the land (and, in all of the other places where From The North is read too as this blogger does not want anyone to feel left out). 

Anyway, enough of such frivolous malarkey and pointless 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? Don't knock it, once the bombs start a-fallin', the petrol runs out and the Interweb stops working, we'll all like as not be speaking to each other like it was the Fifth Century shortly after The Romans buggered off. Therefore ... 

Followed, obviously, by another - equally important - statement for The Ages. Yes, dear fiends, this blogger believes 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 type affair, dear blog fiends, our first 'makes you think, dunnit?' lesson of the week is this. Sort of goes with the territory, one could suggest without any fear of contradiction.

Subsequent to the last From The North bloggerisationisms update and the red-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 for the job. 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 long ago, 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 a big building in West London. They were happy their, doing no one any harm. 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 they found out this had occurred, "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, broad, massive and hard 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 if you must know. Well, if a couple of Pepsis and a couple of Orange Juices count as 'oot on Th' Lash, like'. More '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.' The lucky bastards. 

Sometimes, dear blog fiend, no further words are necessary. But, something they really are. 

Which brings us, more rapidly than usual dearest 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 appear.

Followed by an absolutely necessary bit of advice to all manufacturers of electric toothbrushes. You really should put a warning in red 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 seriously funny goings-on happening down in Wiltshire, it would seem. I mean, we've all got our crosses to bear along with our meaty packages, have we not? This blogger knows he, certainly, has. 

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 image or, could that actually 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 honest here, there is no b, it's just a veritable 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 became an - alleged - journalist in the first place? (I mean, this blogger is using 'journalist' in the widest possible sense of the word since this is the risible Independent we're talking about, here.)

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

Or, indeed, this one. Though one has to wonder where, exactly, these alleged 'scientists' would like us to stick the sharpie in question. This blogger has his own ideas on that issue but theirs (and, indeed, yours, dear blog fiend) may vary. 

Some Middle Class hippy Communist faux-naïf turnip at the Gruniad Morning Star got paid, actual honest-to-God money, to write this. Or rather, 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 then passing it off as your own, one could suggest. And, indeed, this blogger just has. 

Of course, the Daily Torygraph clearly believes that their readership are more concerned about this kind of slappable avarice-happy Upper Middle Class Reform-voting bollocks. And, almost certainly, they are wholly correct in that assertion. A tip sweetheart; if you buy a house with a biodegradable roof, doing be surprised if it, you know, biodegrades. 

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 'oh, woe is me' crap is also alive and kicking at the Daily Scum Mail. So, no surprise there, then.

Still, at least the Scum Mail - for all its many, many, many (and, one can add as many 'many's as one feels comfortable with) faults - doesn't make their online readers pay to have a gander at this sort of 'bring out the world's smallest violin'-style rubbish. Such as, for example, another classic tragically hidden behind the Torygraph's paywall. Ones heart bleeds for you, 'Too Rich' 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 your way any second now. 

And so we reach the serious part of this latest From The North update, 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 arrived. Skynet is going live as we speak and the machines are about to take over. There us, clearly, no stopping them. And this blogger, for one, wishes to welcome our new metallic Cyborg overloads and would like to 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, if you will, clean record. Oh, come on, I'm working with limited material, here ... 

The most mind-bendingly amazing thing about this story is the completely unexpected revelation that they have Greggs in Brighton. Though, also, it would appear the seagulls down there have competition when it comes to nicking people's food from out of their hands.

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 near-impossible (happy) feat of making it art. 

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 quality '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 That There 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.