Especially the main course of Salt and Chilli Pepper King Prawn with Rice which was, if you will,
more than a touch '
cor blimey!' In both looks
and taste.
The plus points of the day were, in no particular order: It was, in all, a splendid day out in Th' Toon with Young Malcolm doing shopping, banking, more shopping and, then, eating and socialising. Minus points, however: This blogger ended the day with a rotten sore bad back from carrying around his backpack full of consumables, Blu-rays and other assorted purchases. Also, the weather was
filthy and Keith Telly Topping's poor plates-of-meat ended up soaked though. It was an utter joy, therefore, to get back to The Stately Telly Topping Manor and change into a pair of dry socks before his blogger, blissfully, fell asleep in Andrew The Stately Telly Topping Manor armchair after being warmed right up by a scalding hot cup of milky cocoa and a couple of Rich Teas. Simple pleasures, dear blog fiends, simple pleasures.
Ten days afterw
ards, this blogger and That There Young Malcolm returned to our more regular haunt of late, The Keel Row, for a much-needed working luncheonette. Discussing ongoing projects. And, involving
chips.
And then, a mere but three days after
that, this blogger met up with his old Teeside-based mucker Mick The Mod. Once again, back at Amaysia (for the second time in a month - that's near habit-forming), for a bit of necessary catching up as it's been a few months since we last saw each other. In this case, involving
curry. And, further back-pain related issues but that's another story entirely.
That occurred on Sunday 22 February which happened to be Chinese New Year and Th' Toon was fair rammed with folks wanting to see some dancing dragon action and drumming worthy of Keith Moon on 'Won't Get Fooled Again'. The following photograph, captured that day, features a truly
marvellous and heart-warming example of multi-cultural Britain in 2026 for all to see; Chinese New Year, the Tyneside Irish Centre and Dippin' Donuts
all in one picture. Stick
that in yer cornet and smoke it, Mister Farago.
Also in yer actual Keith Telly Topping's busy social calendar during the period in question was getting the weekly shopping in at Morrison's, stopping only for a breakfast of champions in the café. The eggs weren't the only things feeling more than a bit scrambled that particular morning.
And, a trip to the local takeaway one evening where this blogger had been hard at work on that, as yet secret, project all day and was, frankly,
more-than-a-bit Hank Marvin so he was. Incidentally, if you're wondering how much did this blogger deserve this here plate of Salt and Chilli Pepper King Prawn with Rice on a scale of one-to-ten, with one being 'yeah, he
sort-of deserved it. A little bit. Maybe' and ten being 'oh yus me auld beauty, he really, really,
really deserved it and no mistake', then this blogger is pleased to tell you it was actually an eleven. Borderline twelve. Of course, it was
mad pure lush.
Mind you, this blogger has also had - as he suspects several dear blog fiends may have also experienced - one or two of
those sort of days of late. What do you mean 'what are
those sort of days?' You know,
those sort of days. We've
all had 'em, haven't we?
Yeah, this blogger feels ya pain, brothers and sisters.
Next, an important archaeological find; seeming conmfirmation than Xenomorphs (albeit, little ones) were present and correct on Jurassic-era Earth if this fossil is anything to go by.
It seems that, in days gone by, prizes could and would be awarded for
all manner of malarkey.
Yes,
of course it did, mate. We believe you, thousands wouldn't ...
On a somewhat-related theme, here is a stunning publicity photo of the divine Goddess that was (and, indeed, still is) Madeline Smith accompanied by what appears to be an 'uge chicken in Trafalgar Square. And, it's reposted here especially for everyone whom has ever wanted to see Maddy with a large cock between her legs. What?
What?
It has, in fact, been suggested by one of this blogger's close personal fiends that the feathered beast in question could be a dodo which the divine Goddess that was (and, indeed, still is) Maddy had bought at a pet shop. 'Was it going cheap?' 'No, it was going
SQUWARK!!!!!!'. This blogger will be happy to get his coat and leave, thank you very much.
From that, dearest blog fiends, to
this gorgeous colourised image of Dog Leap Stairs from the 1930s. Once upon a time, yer actual Keith Telly Topping could walk up and down all those without needing to pause for breath half-a-dozen times whilst going in both directions.
Granny, clearly, has exquisite taste. Tea, biscuits and Caroline Munro dancing to Stoneground. What's
not to love?
For those dear
From The North fiends outside the UK, it must be noted that the weather in old Blighty for the majority of the last six weeks has been ... how to put this delicately,
effin' lousy. Yes, that pretty much covers it. Was it
ever going to stop raining, this blogger wondered just as a large ark sailed past The Stately Telly Topping Manor upstairs window.
Jeez, it was fair stottin' it doon so it was and no mistake for
days on end so hard it would make yer heed bleed. And with not a sign of a rainbow anywhere. Depressing doesn't even begin to describe the situation through the majority of February.
And then, y'bugger, as suddenly as it started, one day it stopped. Live and living things were alive and a-livin' outside The Stately Telly Topping Manor. Had Spring sprung, one asked ones very self? It's a bit too early to tell yet, this blogger will get back to you all at a later date on that score. Pretty, though.
Another typical Thursday at The Stately Telly Topping Manor and the viewing list was, frankly, matching the mood of the weather outside (grim).
Still, it could have been worse. We could be at the height of summer.
Some shocks are better absorbed with the knees bent, they say. This blogger is uncertain as to whom, exactly, the 'they' in this particular equation
are. People with knobbly knees, probably.
A bit of a harsh judgement, some may suggest. I dunno, forty years of imaginative use of denim and the same three chords must, surely, count for something? No?
Yer actual arrived back at The Stately Telly Topping Manor after getting his quarterly B-12 booster from the delightful Nurse Elizabeth at Church Walk Medical Centre a couple of weeks ago. Which, as usual, a) knacked like bastard jimbuggery and, b) was in the process of effectively wiping this blogger out completely for the rest of that day via its initial B-12-type effects.
Therefore, anyone that wanted me that particular day, would have found yer actual safely tucked up in Basil The Stately Telly Topping Manor bed, only sleeping. Soundly. And, when he was not only sleeping (soundly), he was - if you will - lying there and starring at the ceiling, considering the inherently ludicrous nature of existence. Life, it's a reet laugh, though, innit?
Amongst the Best Things in Life: The excellently '
Hellow, Laydies' way yer actual looks (and feels) after a late evening shower when his fine head of strawberry blond hair looks almost Be-Atlesque in a certain light. Amongst the Worst Things in Life: The way that same fine head of strawberry blond hair generally looks the next morning after a night in Basil The Stately Telly Topping Manor bed, a-tossin' and a-turnin', the way one does. Just saying.
Moving on, swiftly, to an attractive new, semi-regular,
From The North feature ...
First up, place your bets on the outcome of this tag-team bout at your nearest bookmaker. This blogger's money, if he had any, would definitely go on the Strippers.
Secondly, this blogger is presuming that the very first thing the Smurf in question was asked when he came around in the hospital was 'where are you all coming from?'
Thirdly, well ... lucky intruder, frankly.
Anarchy schmanrchy ...
At this revelation, Terry Nation must be turning in his grave.
One imagines
this pissed off those involved in ducking her in the first place. Especially the chap whom she turned into a newt (but, got better). 'It's a fair cop.'
But, the clear winner of this first in our new, semi-regular, '
WTAF?'
From The North feature goes to, dramatic drum-roll ...
To which there is, simply,
nought one can say, in all honestly, except -
Which brings us, of course, to
the major
WTAF? news event of the last month (if not
decade),
this. The Artist Formerly Known as Prince reportedly also asked for Possession of an Offensive Wife, Lying About His Favourite Pizzeria and Being a Complete and Total Self-Centred Fekker During the Hours of Darkness in a Public Interview to be taken into consideration in the hope that the judge will be lenient.
19 February truly
was a day that occasional Interweb meme creators (like this blogger for instance) only get to experience once a lifetime. Or, these days, once every couple of weeks. Is it just this blogger or does he look, in this photo, uncannily like a chap who has suddenly realised a hamster is running up his trouser leg whilst, simultaneously, shatting himself?
This one, though, this blogger is actually rather proud of even if he does say so his very self.
Meanwhile, the announcement of The Smokin' Mojo Filters reunion was, seemingly, more popular with some members than others. Hey, crack a smile Noel, mate, you're in the presence of
Royalty.
Speaking of Sir Macca (MBE), if only in April 1970 Paul had announced the break-up of Them Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) in
this manner, he'd've probably got a lot less shat thrown at him by the fans.
Of course, it should be noted that music can be - and often is - a really divisive thingy.
Do the words 'those are
far away' mean
nothing to you? Did she die in vain?
Sometimes, dearest blog fiends, when you've gotta go, you've
really gotta go (in this case, to Aldi to buy a sixteen-pack of netty rolls).
Dear blog fiends with a longer memory than most may recall
a piece this blogger wrote some considerable time ago on the subject of the early-to-mid 1970s horror movie strand using the umbrella title
Appointment With Fear which was used by various ITV regions (including this blogger's own Tyne-Tees), usually for their Friday late night film slot. Recently, one of the
title sequences used for the strand was brought to this blogger's attention (although, according to
You Tube it's been online for fourteen years!). Check it out, dear blog fiends if you, like this blogger, grew up on a steady unfiltered diet of Universal, Hammer, Amicus, AIP and Tigon shivering in your bed whilst watching bowel-shatteringly scary films on a fourteen-inch black-and-white portable telly. Is it any wonder we all grew up with the fractured, damaged psyches we all now possess?
All of which bring us to
From The North's Headline Of The Month award. Kicking-off with 'the utter bollocks that only some Middle Class hippy Communist at the
Gruniad Morning Star gives a shat about.' This blogger is genuinely unsure about whom needs a ruddy good, hard slap more in this particular instance: the colander wearing pastafarian,
anybody who wears colanders on their head when getting a photo taken for a driving licence, anyone who - seemingly
willingly - refers to themselves as a 'pastafarian' in the first place, the utter hateful pillock at the
Gruniad who thought this information was worth writing about, at length (and, presumably,
getting paid for) or this blogger for giving it the further oxygen of publicity by including it here. Remember, dear blog reader, trees
died to bring you this story.
Next, 'some utter bollocks that only an overpaid stenographer at the
BBC News website (which used to be run by
adults) gives a shat about.'
And then there's 'some utter bollocks that only an alleged 'journalist' at
the Metro (so, not a
real newspaper) whom, one assumes, her parents are jolly proud of, gives a shat about.' Once again, dear blog fiends, the death of trees was involved in revealing this so-called 'news'.
Following that trio of 'usual suspects' an 'actually, quite amusing piece of juvenile humour reported by
Devon Today.' It's funny, see, cos the (disappointingly, AI-generated) graffiti is shaped 'just like a thingy.' But, it's the rather disgusted look on the poliss-lady's face looking at it which makes it
art.
Somehow we appear to have reached that point in the year where the only news is that there is
no news (unless you're The Artists Formerly Known As Prince, obviously - in his case, from his point of view, there's rather
too much) so, we'd better
talk about the weather instead. We're British, it's
what we do. That and drink tea.
Lastly some banal abject trivia which no one - not even the four readers the
Journal still has left - gives a flaming monkeys about. This, dear blog reader, is what constitutes '
news' at Eldon Court these days.
And now, one for everyone who thought 'Re-Rewind' singer Crayyyyyg Dayyyyvid was dead, happy news. He
isn't. Although whether headlining at the Wychwood Festival in Cheltenham is a fate
worse than death is another matter entirely.
As distraction techniques from 'so, Mister President Rump, exactly how many of The Epstein Files that you were named in
haven't you released yet, then?' go, if you do a Google Search on
this one you'll find it right up there along with Eddie Izzard's suggested way of
jumping queues in supermarkets - 'is that
a badger with a gun, can you see?' This is not so much a case of 'look over there', more 'look
up there'. Maximum points for effort, Mister President Rump.
And finally, dear blog fiends,
From The North will return to Interweb its very self. Providing Mister President Rump's bombing of Iran as a further distraction technique from 'what's in The Epstein Files relating to him' doesn't start World War III, obviously. And, on that
cheery bombshell ...
Right, blog signal activated, let us get this very show on the Coast Road to Whitley Bay, as it were with a necessary public service announcement. 
Welcome, all, to yet another From The North bloggerisationisam update, live and direct from The Stately Telly Topping Manor. We kick-off, big-style, with a special From The North 'makes y'think, dunnit?' moment. Because, let's face it, one can never - not no never - have too many of those. 
Followed, as if by magic, by yet another one. Makes y'think, dunnit? 
That's the point where you, dear blog fiends, as if with one voice, cry aloud 'enough of all this malarkey and kerfufflement yer actual Keith Telly Topping, previous us with stuff that is educational, informative and entertaining as is this very blog's remit.' Your wish, dear blog fiends, is this blogger's command. Since the last From The North bloggerisationism update, yer actual Keith Telly Topping has been fortunate enough to find himself in the unusual position of actually getting out of The Stately Telly Topping Manor on a handful of occasions more than his usual 'once a week if he's lucky and the weather's not too bad' routine. Firstly there was an - increasingly rare - outing these days to one of this blogger's favourite old haunts, Amaysia on Stowell Street, with this blogger's fine and dangerous fiend (and, potential collaborator on an ongoing writing project which, for the time being, must remain under wraps), That There Young Malcolm. Proper nice it was too.
