Virgin On The Ludicrous Or Don't Run A Hard Water Bath

Welcome, all dear blog fiends. It is (as they used to say on Pipkins) time. To wit, it's That Old From The North Bloggerisationism Time yet again. No surprise there, clearly. So, hit That There Blog Signal, Keith Telly Topping, because time is a-wastin'. Quite literally, in fact (as we'll see, below).

So what, as it were, has been goin' down in yer actual Groove Town since last this blogger blogged to you all? Well, firstly there was one of those 'today's mission, Keith Telly Topping, should you chose to accept it, is as follows' days. You know those days. Where you're instructed to 'leave the relative safety of The Stately Telly Topping Manor; limp slowly to the shop; catch a bus; go to the post office; limp, slowly, down the road; makes purchases at another shop; catch another bus; get some money out from the bank; go to another shop; go to yet another shop and, whilst there, meet up with That There Young Malcolm and then have a pleasant, civilised meal and light refreshments at a nearby pub/restaurant; pay for that; limp, slowly, to the bus stop; catch another bus; return to The Stately Telly Topping Manor, abso-paggin-lutely exhausted. And you do all of that, whilst having a sore back and only a couple of paracetamol to keep you going.' Fortunately the blogger's phone did not self-destruct in five seconds. Which he was quite glad about since it meant that this blogger could take a photo of his latest luncheonette with the previously mentioned Young Malcolm at The Keel Row. God, it was well-tasty. 

And the lack of phone explosion also allowed this blogger to make a record his purchases from HMV that same very day.

This blogger also finally got around to watching the latest, sixth, series of From The North favourite Slow Horses. What a show! What a cast! What a soundtrack! What a total effing bloodbath (there was a point where this blogger wondered if any of the characters he likes were going to make it through in one piece)! What a completely unexpected (and, potentially series changing) climax! So, when's series seven coming out, then (particularly given how total-geet-mad-lush the trailer for it looks)? It's also been confirmed that a, subsequent, eighth series has also been commissioned by Apple + (and is, indeed, just about starting filming now). This is good news. This blogger likes this news. Bring him more news of this sort.

Anyway, dear blog fiends, look at what the postman (quite literally) dragged up the garden path to The Stately Telly Topping Manor doorstep. And, please be advised, it took this blogger four separate attempts to take a selfie which was even remotely worthy of being used as yer actual Keith Telly Topping's new Facebook profile pic. This was what he ended up with. It'll have to do for now. 

Yes, dear blog fiends, as previously alluded to during the last From The North update, and on the second most recent From The North update and, also, on the blog update immediately prior to that, Bride of a Vault of Horror - A Book of Seventy Two Great* British** Films of 'Mystery & Suspense From 1933 to 1986 (* And not so great) (** Plus two French, three Italian and one Spanish), a book written by this very blogger, has now been released. And, it is extremely available for purchase from the world's finest publisher, Telos. Here. The back cover blurb states: 'From The Ghoul to Gothic - seventy two British "mystery and suspense" films [plus two French, three Italian and one Spanish making seventy eight films covered in total] which collectively made a lasting impression on the psyche of a nation. Author Keith Topping examines more of the films which shaped his childhood [except for the several that he didn't catch for the first time until he was well into his twenties and a couple that he only consumed during the last decade], taking a wry and often irreverent look [it alleges here] at their triumphs and failings, their stars, their continuity blunders and impact on the genre as a whole. Illustrated with many rare black and white photographs [several of which, frankly, gave this blogger The Horn when he saw them and marvelled at their sheer pure-total marvellousness], this is one film guide guaranteed to raise a smile as we take you back to more memories of yesteryear. 613pp. 6×9 trade paperback, ISBN: 978-1-84583-270-4, publication date 31 October 2026.'

This blogger must confess, he thinks this latest volume sits rather proudly amongst such exalted company on Tarquin The Stately Telly Topping Manor table.

The package was correctly addressed, too. Which meant that, out of puff as The Stately Telly Topping Manor postie was lifted such an' uge package, he still found time to tug his forelock and genuflect before Keith Telly Topping's extraordinary bigness. 

'Hi Lord Keith Telly Topping (OBE),' said Parcel Force in an electronic communique received by this very blogger. 'Your parcel is due to be delivered to The Stately Telly Topping Manor between 9.55am and 1.55pm on Saturday 31 October (and we hope its wow-spooky contents go well for you this very Hallow'een)' they added. Probably. They were, indeed, good to their word - the delivery of the package occurring at exactly 1.44pm. Or, in other words, exactly eleven minutes before it would've been late.

So, Keith Telly Topping now has his authors copies of Bride of a Vault of Horror - A Book of Seventy Two Great* British** Films of 'Mystery & Suspense From 1933 to 1986 (* And not so great) (** Plus two French, three Italian and one Spanish) and you too, dear blog fiend, can obtain this work of considerable literary merit. If you haven't already been kind enough to do so then this blogger pleads with you - with a deep and lasting humility which travels towards the borders of actually begging - to please consider buying one, several or lots of this fine volume. Keith Telly Topping (as well you know) remains a significantly self-unemployed author, journalist, broadcaster and blogger with a growing Blu-ray collection and a salt and chilli King Prawn with boiled rice habit to support. It's a monkey that he simply cannot get off his back - not that he particularly wants to, if truth be told. The book, incidentally, is also available via, cough, Amazon.co.uk here. Though both this blogger and his publisher would, obviously, prefer it if you ordered any copies that you wish to own direct from the publisher's website, here. Mainly because unlike Amazon they do, actually pay their taxes (also, small additional point: because this blogger makes a tiny bit more in royalties from direct sales rather than through a third party vendor. It's only pennies but, this blogger would argue, they're more useful in Keith Telly Topping's pocket than in Jeff Bezos's). Anyway thank you, sincerely, for allowing Keith Telly Topping into your Interwebs (and, indeed, your wallets).

Also, a further reminder (cunningly disguised as horrific self-promotion) should any dear blog fiends be of a mind to do so, they can also order one, two or all three of this blogger's previous volumes on British horror, SF and fantasy films. Also published by the tremendous Telos Publishing and available here, here and here. Unless you already have ordered one, two or all three of them, obviously. In which case, this blogger wishes it to be known that you are, collectively, pure drop dead sexy and, this blogger, humbly, thank you all for allowing him into your Interwebs (and, indeed, your wallets).

As the previous Stately Telly Topping Manor project reaches its long-awaited and much anticipated publication date, meanwhile, the current Stately Telly Topping Manor project, Beyond a Vault of Horror - A Study of Seventy Two Further Great* British Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense' 1936-1981 (* and not so great) - the fourth part of the A Vault of Horror tetralogy (or, technically, fifth if you count Island of Terror) - is now into the final days of its (lengthy) editing process. And is, in fact, about to be delivered to the publishers in the next day or so. At the time of writing this blogger has made his way through the entire manuscript accompanied by a magnifying glass and a fine-tooth-comb, three times (count 'em), in search of spelling and grammatical errors, factual mistakes, logic flaws, non-sequiturs, cul-de-sacs, bits of verbal diarrhoea (of which there are plenty) and the like. He now feels it's as tight as a camel's arse in a sandstorm and is reluctant to fiddle with it any further in case he cuts something that he'll later regret.

Once that is out of the way, this blogger intends to have a nice long, quiet rest - then, eventually, do a bit of catch-up work on a couple of his longer-term projects - before starting to make notes and begin the process of research for the next book that he intends to pitch (which, won't be until into next year). Hey, what can yer actual Keith Telly Topping tell you in mitigation for this right shite state of affairs? It's a dirty job, dear blog fiends, but someone has to do it. And, by 'someone', of course, this blogger means Keith Telly Topping his very self. You feel me?

'Miss Broadchest, you can stand down for the time being, I'll let you know when you're needed again.'

In the mean time, dear blog fiends, here is a list of Nine, Absolutely Sodding Demented British Horror Films Which Keith Telly Topping Implores You To See At Least Once Before You Have Your Throat Ripped Out By A Sexy Vampire In An Argument Over Whether Jack Palance Or Frank Langella Was A Better Dracula. Though, it is bloody Goddamn annoying to see that Incense For The Damned's real title is, seemingly, no longer being used by 'those who, allegedly, know about these things.' The bastards.

For Hallow'een, this blogger chose his own, specific, video nasty.

This blogger's latest adventures on Geoguesser have included a spectacular bunch of distinctly average (or worse) daily efforts, but at least one really good one, which ended up just over one hundred points shy of setting a new Stately Telly Topping Manor record.

These days it seems that barely a week goes by without a significant part of this blogger's formative years in various forms of media leaving us, something From The North has recorded with increasing sadness over recent years. Most of these announcements provoke a feeling of 'oh, that is sad' before this blogger moves on along with the crushing wheels of the machine. However, last week, hearing that Walter Koenig had died at the age of ninety really did hit this blogger hard. As hard as the deaths of David Bowie. George Martin. Christopher Lee. Patrick Macnee. Gerry Anderson. Johan Cryuff. Muhammad Ali. Diana Rigg. Sean Connery. Barbara Shelley. Michael Gough. Edward Woodward. Peter Vaughan. Peter Wyngarde. Et cetera. Et cetera. Chekov was always - by a distance - this blogger's favourite Star Trek character as a youngling. Keith Telly Topping used to imagine him in a parallel universe as a some medieval Cossack warlord murderously sweeping through The Urals causing chaos in peasant villages wherever he went. That's how he should be remembered, not for the character's inability to pronounce the words 'nuclear vessels' properly. Just saying.

Of course, yet another sad passing in the Star Trek community just a mere few days later, that of the late and much lamented Sir Patrick Stewart, garnered rather more media attention than Walter's death. Albeit, few of the many, many published obituaries of Patrick's utterly remarkable sixty year stage and screen career thought it necessary to reference the finest minute of it all. Proper and all that.

Anyway, the unstoppable march of time ticks ever onwards and we, however reluctantly, must go along with it. This blogger, as a consequence, wishes all dear blog fiends who remembered to put their clocks back last weekend for the end of British summertime, an extremely good morning. And, to all dear blog fiends, who forgot to put their clocks back last weekend, an equally extremely good afternoon.

Mind you, if you did forget to do so this blogger won't judge you, particularly as the nation's broadcaster was, seemingly, busy sending out somewhat mixed messages on that particular story.

Consequently, you will also have had the - minor - bonus of not hearing about the deaths of Walter Koenig and Patrick Stewart until an hour after everyone else on the planet. Which, you know, could be considered a good thing.

An additional recent occurrence at The Stately Telly Topping Manor; this blogger finds in necessary to admit that he did rather enjoy the moment when he was accused - in the middle of a foul-mouthed and swiftly-deleted rant by a particularly rude and unwelcome individual who used to be on BlueSky but has now, very satisfyingly, been kicked off by the Moderators for constant misuse of the Community Standards - of being 'a virgin.' As in, you know, that line from The Young Ones 'are you a virgin? I'm not really asking, I just use it as a general term of abuse' type-scenario. Do you know, dear blog fiends, as 'low and common abuse' goes, that almost qualified for wider promotion. Almost. But, not quite.

Indeed, one can merely shake ones head in sadness and ponder on the inherent ludicrousness of existence. Obviously.

Next. Bloody Hell, Johnny, keep yer hands to yourself, will ya?

This blogger does not wish to tempt any of the fates too early just yet but, whilst idly fiddling about on Lancelot, The Stately Telly Topping Manor laptop recently, Keith Telly Topping appeared to have, at least temporarily, managed to reconnect a link to this blogger's Facebook page. Which, for the previous six months, he'd only had access too on Peregrine, The Stately Telly Topping Manor phone following all that annoying malarkey this blogger complained about earlier in the year. It may not last - indeed, it almost certainly won't - but, if by some miracle it does, this will make posting onto Keith Telly Topping's Facebook page for the consumption of his dear Facebook fiends (and, particularly, editing materials this blogger has already posted there) a lot easier than it's been since April. 

It hadn't rained in these parts for weeks, dear blog reader. But the first time this blogger found it necessary to leave The Stately Telly Topping Manor for a medical appointment (B12 jab) last Friday, was the day Storm Boelo hit the UK like a big wet, blowy thing and it decides to piss it down like The Flood all over this blogger. Keith Telly Topping's life, truly, is strewn with cowpats from The Devil's own herd. By the time this blogger got back yerm an hour later, cold and sopping wet like a droon'd rat, he needed a shower to a) warm up, and b) dry off. At least the injection was a bit less painful than usual.

'All right, this has now gone on far too seriously long enough by half. I am now going to phone the authorities. And if they do not give me, within twenty minutes, a helicopter, one hundred thousand pounds, a complete set of steak knives in the presentation box, seven tickets to see the Brazilian National Mime Theatre at the Riverside Studios, a little Cairn Terrier named Bobbie, one of them little black rubber things, you know them little black rubber things that go "neep neep, neep neep", yeah? a big box full of them, the complete memoirs of Donald Sinden ...'

Blimey, Bernard, Stephen and Gillian have got a bit authoritarian since Hooky left, haven't they?

Secret (n) /ˈsiːkrɪt/ 1) Information known by only one or a few people and kept hidden from others, or shared only confidentially. 2) A nuclear bunker in Kelvedon Hatch.

Keith Telly Topping wouldn't describe himself as a Marxist or anything even remotely like it. But he's with the bitter old red on this particular score. Miles offside. 

Current Stately Telly Topping Manor reading matter.

This blogger notes with some alarm that, according to this diagram, the Isle of Wight has seemingly been towed from the Solent onto the middle of the Channel by a big funk off boat whilst no one was looking. You'd've thought such a - literally - earth-shattering event would have been on the news, wouldn't you?

Where else would he 'hide' such things? Even in the Isle of Man. 

Has he tried looking in his hat, one wonders?

Now, for the jolly serious part of this latest From The North bloggersiationism update. It has been brought to this blogger's attention that a photo image he recently posted of That There Mister Nigel Fandango (Bishmillah! Yes, we will let him go) had the misfortune of depicting Mister Fandango looking, uncannily, like the mass murdering genocidal one-balled fascist bastard Madolf Heatlump. This was, of course, entirely unintentional and Keith Telly Topping would like to take this opportunity to hereby apologise, publicly, for any inconvenience, misunderstanding or embarrassment caused. To Mister Heatlump.

And, speaking of That There Mister Farago ...

Moving on to the latest From The North Headline Of The Month award nominees. And, the winner, before we even consider any of the other contenders, is this piece of abject wank from some knobcheese of no importance at the Torygraph. Yes, pal, you most certainly do need 'a reality check'. A damned good, hard, one at that. And, so does every other self-entitled Middle Class tosser that read or writes for the Torygraph. Sorry, but it's The Law. Hope this helps to clarify the situation for you. Now, quit yer crass whinging and get a bloody haircut.

And, as for The Financial Times, you lot can just funk right off on the horse you rode in on as well with your 'being wealthy isn't all shits and giggles, you know' bollocks.

Gosh, steady on, lads. A win's a win's and all that but, surely, there are limits to how one should celebrate? Also, beware dangling apostrophes (particularly applicable when other stuff is, also, potentially dangling).

An oldie, next, but a genuine goldie. From the Metro (so, not a real newspaper). 'Fell on the vegetable. Whilst hanging curtains. In the nude.' Yes, Vic, of course. Chinny reck-on. 

Are you, dear blog reader, a Middle Class hippy Communist who has a question which, if you sent it to any other newspaper would provoke nothing but derisive laughter and the answer 'well, don't play board games with her any more, then, you stupid glake'? If so, then consider trying the Grunaid Morning Star instead, they'll be happy to oblige you with some prime grade waffle bollocks of the highest order.

'A Cumbrian man has called on the public to join his Norse Pagan community after appointing himself as its leader, or Chief Goði. Callum Wager set up the "Roots of Yggdrasil" community in the hope of drawing interest to Norse traditions and religion.' So, to clarify, it just Callum at the moment. But, he's hoping to recruit a few leggy blonde virgins any day now. 'The twenty six-year-old, who is unemployed [no, really?], wants to give the public an alternative to popular religions like Christianity and Islam.' Congratulations to the Cumberland News & Star for printing this vitally important public service announcement without once giggling. Tough as that must have been.

One imagines that caused plenty of screaming.

They probably should've stuck with 'lashings of ginger beer,' dare one suggest.

'You can't park there, mate.'

Like the makers of the 1984 movie The NeverEnding Story the organisers of this 'never ending' cruise are about to receive a subpoena from attorney Lionel Hutz for misrepresenting their product or service.

Well, this certainly explains something that we've all been wondering about for decades.

Hole by name, dear blog fiends, hole by nature.

This blogger is an erudite, sophisticated and extremely well-read individual (it says here). Yet he remain of the opinion that this novel, which he picked up in a second hand King's Cross book shop circa 1980 for ten pence to give this blogger something to do on the train home from a particularly disappointing football match, is still the greatest thing Keith Telly Topping have ever read. In his entire life. Bar none. You can keep yer Dan Browns, Stephen Kings, James Pattersons and Tom Claneys, Eric Ericson, for his delicate prose when describing Satanic virgin sacrifices in the Wiltshire countryside is still the daddy of them all.

And, if Amazon.co.uk is to believed (which it almost certainly isn't), then this blogger is sitting on a bloody goldmine via his copy of the paperback which remains in excellent condition.

And finally, dear blog fiends ...

From The North will return.