Here comes that blog again, dear blog fiends. One of the cutest since Keith Telly Topping doesn't know when, in actual fact ...
Welcome therefore, all bloggerisationism fiends, to yet another From The North update, coming to you live and direct from The Stately Telly Topping Manor. Where you find yer actual Keith Telly Topping, for once, in an outstandingly lovely, cheerful and gregarious mood. Don't worry, he's not going to make a habit of it. Something's pretty much certain to come along any day now to change this blogger's chirpy demeanour right good and proper and no mistake.
First up, let's have Keith Telly Topping's latest State of the Union address. Warning, spoilers ahead.
And, you can take Keith Telly Topping's word for the factuality of that statement, dear blog fiends - he is, after all, a highly-respected best-selling and internationally-acclaimed author, journalist, broadcaster and blog-type individual so you should probably give his words at least a smidgen of consideration.
And, now we're done and you can go back to drinking your tramp juice, smerkin' your tabs and, generally, doing whatever it was you were doing before this blogger so rudely interrupted your precious time. Sorry about any inconvenience caused.
Anyway, on with the show. Since the last From The North update, at the start of this very month much has happened, dear blog fiends. And, if you missed that last update and can't be bothered to click on the link provided to check out what it contained, fear not. For, as with just about everything on The Interweb these days, AI can help. In a roundabout way. With a, not-completely-but-mostly, totally inaccurate summarisation of all the basic available facts.
Now, dear blog fiend, someone is going to try to convince Keith Telly Topping at this point that the Robot Revolution isn't already here and the machine are taking over the joint an inch at a time. That said, this blogger, for one, welcomes our new Artificially Unintelligent Overlords and looks forward to being replaced by them completely. Then he might get a bit of peace and quiet round here for once.
So, where were we? Oh yes, since last this blogger his very self blogged like a big, broad, massive and hard blogging thing, one of Keith Telly Topping's book projects has been extremely completed to page-proof stage and is now back with the publisher and merely awaiting final confirmation of its printing and publication dates (likely to be September or October of 2026). This one, in fact.
Thus, with that out of the way the next of this blogger's book projects, has already well and truly begun with - at the time of writing, near enough a fortnight into the project - the first twelve entries fully written-up by yer actual Keith Telly Topping and work continuing at this blogger's usual lightning-fast pace. That's when he's not taking a few hours off to tell all of you lot about all of this. Obviously.
Or, indeed, to eat. Because, you know how it is, dear blog fiends? Sure you do. You've just started a new book, you're about four days in and it's going really well, you're ahead of your self-imposed word-count (let's see how long that lasts, by the way) and you think to your very self 'you know what I really, really, really, really deserve? This is what I really, really, really, really deserve.' You know that one, yeah? Well, that. Or, indeed, this.
The period since last bloggerisation, of course, also included yet another trip to Th' Toon so this blogger could meet up with his occasional fiend, Young Malcolm, for a distinctly necessary luncheonette. Which, all things considered, this blogger reckons was time well spent. And, broadly speaking, considerably better than a good hard poke in the dong and the Jacob's Cream Crackers with a pointy stick.
So, as usual whilst you all wait - patiently, one hopes - for both of these Keith Telly Topping's forthcoming volumes to appear in all good bookshops (some bad ones and some online ones that don't pay their fair share of taxes), it's time for a necessary reminder; should any blog fiends be of a mind to do so, they can always order one, two or all three of this blogger's previous volumes on British horror, SF and fantasy movies from the genuinely tremendous, immensely marvellous and fantastic Telos Publishing (available here, here and here). Unless, of course, you already have ordered one, two or all three of them. In which case, this blogger loves you all the mostest, baby. You're the greatest collective dear blog fiends that ever there was in all the live-long day and, this blogger, humbly, thanks you for allowing him into your homes.
Right, with the necessary and gloriously self-aggrandising plugging out of the way, let's get on with the actual important stuff of this latest From The North update. A confession: This blogger likes bats, dear blog reader. This blogger also likes cats. But, which is best? There's only one way to sort this out ...
Sometimes, dear blog fiends, you've simply got to bite the bullet and make a necessary, public, confession of your deepest, darkest secrets no matter how embarrassing that may be. For you and others.
This blogger's own deepest, darkest secret involves Keith Telly Topping enjoying a nice, long, hot Steve the Stately Telly Topping Manor Shower each evening last thing a'fore he leaps into Brian the Stately Telly Topping Manor Bed. As deep, dark secrets go, this blogger will admit it's neither that deep or that dark. Nevertheless, he tends to keep it under wraps because, you know, the thought of yer actual Keith Telly Topping nekked as the day he was born. Well, my own safety means nothing, but the innocent must be protected.
Somewhat less of a hidden pleasure, this blogger has always and will always enjoy bein' an important part of The Scene.
That scene, of course, not this scene. Oh, no. You're not cool, Andy, you're a bastard disgrace. Get yer 'air, cut, hippy. And get a shave, you look rubbish.
Always remember, dear blog fiends, hippies are completely evil. And they smell.
Always avoid hippy-types at all costs, dear blog fiends and, if you do encounter any by chance and have doubts about their dubious intentions, always alert the authorities as to their whereabouts and hippy-type doings. You know it makes sense.
Next, does anyone else fancy one of Batman's 'fudge missiles', dear blog fiends? Twelve is simply far too many by half for this blogger ...
Well now, here is a question that this blogger never thought he'd be asked on a public forum, in sight of his peers and during the hours of daylight. Trust Keith Telly Topping, sweetheart, we've all been there. I mean, whom amongst us hasn't been cracked in the crumpet at one time or another?
We've all been there, also, love. It's becoming something of an issue as the Robot Revolution advances, the machines take over and Artificial Unintelligence replaces us all an inch at a time. And it's only going to get worse.
It's worth noting, with regard to this recent story from the Metro (so, not a real newspaper, then) that in addition to inflating their testicles to the size of grapefruits, these nameless - and, almost certainly fictitious - 'men' this article alludes to also appear to be painting said testicles yellow and hanging them on a tree if the photographic evidence provided is anything to go by. It's quite a sight, to be honest.
Makes You Think, Dunnit? Part the first. This blogger will tell you what, though, dear blog fiends. If he was a Bulgarian dissident, then Keith Telly Topping would be really worried for the chap right about now. (One of all dear blog fiends of 'a certain age', there.)
This, here, is Gene Savoy, an American explorer, author and theologian best known for his claims to have discovered more than forty lost cities in Peru during the 1960s. That was, obviously, before he became the lead singer of Yello. Chikka chikka.
Following on from that, here is an, if you will, tragedy.
Meanwhile, this is From The North's latest Thought for the Day. Seems about accurate.
And on a, perhaps, similar theme ...
Which leads us, nicely, to Keith Telly Topping's thoughtful advice to all dear blog readers for the next time that they find themselves threatened by some crass, overgrown school-bully in their forties who thinks they're really it. There are plenty of them about and they, frankly, all need a damned good shellacking as it goes. What you have to say to them, dear blog fiends, right up front, the first time that they start to get a bit uppity with the mouth is that you've spent your life taking down bullies far bigger and more impressive than they (you can use the only good line Colin Baker's Doctor ever got given by his scriptwriters, 'in my time I've been threatened by experts; I don't rate you very highly' if you like). Furthermore, you confront them with the realisation of what they are - a bully - and that, like all bullies, they're aal full of th' gob until someone with a bit of backbone stands up to them; at which point they usually shite in their own pants and run an effing mile. And, finally, you tell them that, if they really want to take this further and put the crass, ignorant and vaguely ludicrous threats of a tasty bit of aggro they've been making to the acid test then you're certainly game a bit of righteous malarkey in the area. In fact, this is the point where you play your trump card and say 'name the time and the place, matey and, I'll tell you what, you can bring your five hardest mates along with you and I'll chin them as well. But first, I'll be chinning you.' It's a jolly useful closing argument and has the added advantage of making you sound, like, pure dead rock hard. Mind you, all of this only applies if their five hardest mates are this lot, here. Otherwise, yeah, it's probably best just to ignore them and they'll go away.
Always remember kids, fighting is totally for zeroes. Unless you're guaranteed to win, obviously. In which case, have at it.
In this latest From The North update's semi-regular feature, here is further indisputable proof, if any were needed, that the past really was a different country.
Though there was fun to be had if you were quick about it.
Stuck for something to buy the kids for Christmas? What about this?
From The North, of course, is here to bring you, dear fiends, all of those news stories that actually matter on a very real and personal level. Take this one, for instance.
With regard to the following story Keith Telly Topping, genuinely, doesn't know which one of the pair of them to feel the most sorry for. Could go either way on this one.
And, speaking of the Torygraph, here's another classic example from them proving that they really have got their finger on the pulse of the nation.
In case you hadn't worked it out, dear blog fiends, were now fully into the From The North Headline Of The Month award nominations. We continue with some ladgeful Middle-Class hippy Communist with a face like the wind changed direction all of a sudden, at the i (not a real newspaper, then), whinging about abject Middle-Class hippy Communist shat that nobody else cares about. So, no change there, then.
Have the record sales declined to such a level that you're reduced to this, Roger? Oh dear. How very, very, very, very, very, extraordinarily sad. You ought to get together with that wanker bassist from Blur so you can do wine and cheese parties for tone-deaf hipsters. You'd make at least thirteen quid between you. Probably.
The Hull Daily Mail, next, 'reporting' (and, one uses that word quite wrongly) about Aliens on Anlaby school roof and ETs sending invisible cars to Goole - the utter and complete horseshite claimed by 'UFO investigator' with too much time on his hands. Still, one is sure Nigel's mum and dad are ever so proud of their son's 'research.' And not in the slightest bit ashamed to admit that, yes, he is one of their family. Oh no, very hot water. Cool illustrative photo, though, I'll give them that much.
And, speaking of dodgy claimed made by people with a significant track record for talking bollocks, here's the Daily Lies with today's edition of 'no he did not, you're printing shite again, Daily Lies. As bloody usual.' Nasty to see them, dear blog fiends. To see them, nasty.
As reasons for why a grovelling apology is not only necessary, it's essential to 'not getting ones arse sued into the middle of next week' this masterpiece of understatement, from the Fremantle Herald Interactive (no, me neither), is somewhat of a textbook example. 'The Herald unreservedly apologises to Ms Anastas and [to] its readers for making the error.' Quite why the readers get included in this when, to the best of this blogger's knowledge, nobody at the Herald described them of being sex workers, is at present unknown. But, if From The North finds out at any stage, this blogger be certain to let all dear blog fiends know.
A, necessary question at this juncture. Do you think this chap looks especially 'outraged', dear blog fiends? This blogger isn't sure he's quite as outraged as he claims. Could be wrong, mind. Outrage is as outrage does, they all reckon.
It's been a while since the Daily Mirra published a headline as thigh-slappingly sexy as Punk Junk Skunks, but Mutant 'Super Pig' population spirals out of control in Fukushima nuclear fallout zone might just be the one to get them noticed again. Does any body else remember when the Mirra used to include accurate reportage? No, this blogger neither, he's only sixty two. Apart from that period when they spent time hacking people's mobile phones for stories and then got caught, obviously.
One has to wonder if this, reported by the Island Echo, is someone's idea of dramatic irony.
And, on a slightly-related theme, is it really too much to suggest to the Irish Independent that the 'Mister Reaper' alluded to in here this story might just, possibly, have slightly more important things to do with his time than removing community signs in Wexford. Reaping, for one.
Only in Texas, dear blog fiends. Only in Texas.
The Abergavenny Chronicle and its constant despite to give the oxygen of publicity to 'semi-professional paranormal investigator' Johnny Turnip has provided many across the Interweb with hours on entertainment. Including, on occasions, this very blog. And, they're at it again. Jolly well done, there, Tim Butters. The nation salutes you and all you magnificent doings.
'Nudity' and 'shockwaves' in the same headline from a small provincial newspaper? There must be a 'y' in the day.
Of course, it wouldn't be a From The North Headline Of The Month award nominations list with at least one contribution from the Metro (so, not at real newspaper, then). This isn't the greatest 'Shock! Horror! Pictures!' 'exclusive' they've ever claimed but it does, once again, highlight the utter shite that some people chose to care about - and by, 'some people' this blogger means neighbours who, frankly, should mind their own sodding business. This blogger also gives the author, Sarah Hooper, extras props for the following: 'But the row in Aberlady has now ended up in court, after Fair was fined for shouting a homophobic slur at Mrs Higgins' son.' Hopefully, more money than he could comfortably afford.
Gloucestershire Live's story proves that there are some genuinely right disgusting fekkers out there in the world. But, importantly, they should be given significant congratulations for not going down the route of using, as their headline, a famous two-word review of a Spinal Tap LP. Just sayin'.
Things that absolutely cannot, under any circumstances whatsoever, makes anyone 'nearly' die, not even in Bournemouth. Number one: Tripping whilst wearing a pair of red crocs. Sorry, but it's The Law.
Dunno, Ipswich Star, what would such a wholly improbable things as Ipswich - a relatively small, if rather nice, city tucked away in Suffolk with a population of one hundred and forty thousand - 'hosting the Olympics' look like? Please do tell us. Using graphs if necessary.
The Exmouth Journal, clearly, didn't realise when reporting this story, that public advice on what do with regard to the social problems of football hooliganism was settled over forty years ago. The majority consensus being that to 'cut off their goolies' was the only solution.
This blogger has been on some pretty crappy family holidays in his time, dear blog fiends. But, he's never been attacked by scorpions previously. Midges, yes. A crazy dog on one occasion, but not scorpions. Next summer, Shibli family of Banbury, maybe try Butlin's instead? Not many scorpions there.
The most world shatteringly significant news to emerge from the media this month, however, by a country mile was the wholly unexpected revelation that faded Glam-Queen of 76, That There Minge Urine out of The Ultravox Group is, in fact, not only still alive but also shopping for designer gear in Swindon. Poor Swindon. Thoughts, prayers and all that ...
This blogger never knew that the science community had a right-wing conservative 'hang 'em and flog 'em' law and order wing. But, since they seem to be out in force and getting very loud and very uppity, he certainly does now. Will somebody please consider initiating a human rights charter for chicken? Or, a chicken rights charter, at the very least.
And finally, dear blog fiends, very definitely not a case of, if you will, piss in our time, it would seem.
From The North will return. Bet y'all can't wait.
