Life, dear blog reader. It's a right bloody laugh, is it not? (More on that malarkey later.)
Is it possible, this blogger wonders, that the noted organ of the media The Times Magazine recently used one of its covers to gently (or, perhaps, not so gently) mock a 1985 single by Who Cares? In an infinite universe, dear blog reader, anything would seem to be possible.
One of Miss Jodie's predecessors, yer actual Matt Smith, is currently starring in one of the biggest shows in the world right now, House Of The Dragon. You might have noticed. While promoting the fantasy drama, however, he took time to reflect on his former role in another the world's biggest shows. While speaking to Indulge about the Game Of Thrones prequel, Smudger said that he looks back on his time starring in Doctor Who 'with great affection,' calling it 'a real adventure.' He added: 'I was very lucky that I got the opportunity to work with brilliant friends like Karen [Gillan], Arthur [Darvill] and Jenna [Coleman]. We had such great chemistry and we had such a great time making that show. I'm so proud, to this day, to be part of that world. There is a huge amount of pressure that comes with it, just as there is with House Of The Dragon, but it's very rewarding.'
While Big Russell Davies and the rest of the Doctor Who production team are keeping details of next year's sixtieth anniversary plans under wraps - well, apart from the odd leak - it seems that a third director for the project has been revealed (albeit, by the Radio Times. Which used to be run by adults). According to the CV of hair and make-up designer Steve Smith, the sixtieth anniversary special (or, one of them, anyway) will be directed by Tom Kingsley - the filmmaker behind Stath Lets Flats and This Is Going To Hurt. Kingsley, who was also behind the camera for the BBC's Ghosts, is listed alongside Rachel Talalay and Chanya Button as directors on the special or specials (sources differ).
The Doctor Who serial The Abominable Snowmen was first broadcast in 1967 and is now, sadly, missing from the BBC's archives (bar one episode). However, the six-parter has been recreated for a new release, with animated visuals being matched to the original soundtrack. The story sees The Doctor (Patrick Troughton) and his companions Jamie (Frazer Hines) and Victoria (Deborah Watling) arrive at a monastery in Tibet in 1935, where they battle the robotic Yeti. You knew that, right? Fans may notice that the animated version features radically different character designs for the Tibetan monks featured in the story, with the project's co-director the blogger's old mucker the very excellent Gary Russell explaining that he wanted to 'rectify [the] mistake' made by the live-action original of casting white actors in these roles. Speaking at a BFI Southbank screening, Gary explained that he and the animation team on the project 'looked at [real] Tibetan monks from the 1930s' to inspire the new designs. 'It's actually my only real bugbear about [original director] Gerald Blake's directing: what was he thinking?' said Gary. 'Why did he cast white people to play Asian characters? It's not even "a thing of the 1960s" because there were plenty of Asian actors living and working in the UK and [appearing] on television. The directors and producers of that time say, "Oh well, there just weren't the actors around at the time to do that sort of thing" – absolute rubbish. There were and they should've been given that job. It was never even an issue for me. That was an obvious thing that we were going to do - we were going to rectify that mistake that was made in 1967, because it's just bloody insulting.' Testify, Brother Gary.
There's a rather good interview with From The North favourite Janet Fielding in the latest Radio Times (which used to be run by adults). You can check that out here.
This blogger, incidentally, used to have that exact poster on his bedroom wall at a previous Stately Telly Topping Manor when he was naught but an ... early-twentysomething. True story. As this evidence makes clear.
National heartthrob David Tennant has spoken about his forthcoming drama Inside Man - the much-anticipated BBC series created by The Lord Thy God Steven Moffat (OBE) - with the actor revealing it's 'not really like anything else' on TV. The drama stars Tennant as a vicar, whose life begins to intertwine with that of a prisoner on death row, played by Stanley Tucci and a maths teacher trapped in a cellar. Speaking to the Radio Times (which used to be run by adults) at the opening of Riverside Studios play Horse-Play, David revealed that the four-parter feels like a Moffat title. 'I don't know what I'm allowed to tell you,' he said. 'It's very hard to describe - I know that much. It's not really like anything else I've seen and yet it's very recognisably Steven. But it's really hard to describe! There are all these very disparate elements that he brings together in his usual brilliant, entirely unexpected way.' While a release date for Inside Man has not yet been confirmed by the BBC, it isn't the only project reuniting Moffat (Thou Shalt Worship No Other Gods Before He) with one of his former Doctors, as Peter Capaldi is set to feature in Amazon Prime Video's The Devil's Hour, where The Moffinator serves as an executive producer.
A week simply wouldn't be week, dear blog reader, without another example of From The North favourite Neil Gaiman slapping down, with righteous fury and considerable piss-taking, some worthless online racist knobend. And, this week was no different - though, this time, it wasn't about casting choices in his show but in someone elses. Neil responded to arguments from fans (for which read bigots) on Twitter that casting black actors to play Harfoots, the ancestors of Hobbits, in the Lord Of The Rings prequel series 'goes against JRR Tolkien's original vision' since there were no black characters in his novels. In one tweet, Neil stated, 'Tolkien described The Harfoots as "browner of skin" than the other hobbits. So I think anyone grumbling is either racist or hasn't read their Tolkien. Your mileage may vary.' This blogger believes that is what's know as owning someone's ass. He's so good at it, dear blog reader, he could probably take it up for a living. When another fan (for which read bigot) responded to Neil claiming (with no supporting evidence) that 'browner of skin means tanned white,' the author replied, 'Tolkien didn't say "The Harfoots spent longer in the sun than any of the other hobbits and were a lot more tanned." He said they were "browner of skin."' This discussion was sparked by a GQ interview with The Rings Of Power's Sir Lenny Henry (last, briefly, funny in 1983), who portrays a Harfoot, Sadoc Burrows. In the interview, the actor stated, 'They have no trouble believing in a dragon, but they do have trouble believing that a black person could be a member of the court. Or that a black person could be a hobbit or an elf.'
Someone also thought it was an idea to get Neil involved in a shouting match with another celebrity Tolkien fan, Elon Musk (who, apparently, doesn't like the TV adaptation). Neil, happily, was having none of it.
From The North favourite Samantha Morton and Ruby Stokes will lead the cast in the Paramount adaptation of CJ Tudor's The Burning Girls. The novel has been adapted into a six-hour mini-series by Hans Rosenfeldt which has begun filming on location in and around London. 'I'm so thrilled to be working with such a talented and esteemed team on such an exciting show,' Sam said. The story is set in Chapel Croft, a village haunted by a dark and turbulent history. Morton will play Reverend Jack Brooks, a single parent haunted by a tragedy from her previous church and who bears the onus of her husband's death. Stokes will play her fifteen-year old daughter, Flo, a teenager who 'marches to the beat of her own drum.' Jack and Flo arrive in Chapel Croft in the hope of a fresh start however, they soon find the village rife with conspiracies and secrets, where uncovering the truth can be deadly in a community with a bloody past. Five hundred years ago, Protestant martyrs - including two young girls - were betrayed and burned at the stake. Thirty years ago, two teenage girls disappeared without a trace. And, a few weeks prior to Jack and Flo's arrival, the vicar of the local parish hanged himself in the church. Also in the cast Conrad Khan, Rupert Graves, Elodie Grace Orkin, Janie Dee, David Dawson, Jane Lapotaire and Jack Roth.
Last week's episode of From The North's favourite podcast, Kermode & Mayo's Take featured another classic Mark Kermode assassination of a truly dreadful movie, in this case Michael Flatley's long-anticipated (or, long-dreaded) Blackbird. 'It it worth seeing ... for a laugh?' 'No!' If that still hasn't put you off paying good money to see this abomination, dear blog reader, the Gruniad Morning Star's review (by the usually reliable if, sometimes, a bit up-his-own-arse Peter Bradshaw) should manage it. And, if it doesn't, frankly, there's no hope for you. 'In a way, it is amazing that Flatley is able to fulfil a twelve-year-old boy's fantasy of being a secret agent, with a twelve-year-old's idea of what a secret agent actually does. The acting and writing are like the non-sexy bits that come between the sexy bits in a porn film made in 1985.' And: 'The big scene is when Flatley and Eric Roberts, both lavishly tuxed, play a game of high-stakes poker, a confrontation of alpha-male hombres which is clearly supposed to have the charge of 007 playing Le Chiffre at chemin de fer, but which actually has all the excitement of a nil-nil draw between Grimsby Town and Tranmere Rovers.'
You should probably calso heck out, dear blog reader, the BFI website's video Roger Corman On Making The Masque Of The Red Death made last year at the Glasgow Film Festival with Roger interviewed by Anna Bogutskaya. Trust this blogger, you will hate yourself for the rest of your, not doubt short and sorry, existence if you don't.
Which brings us nicely, dear blog reader to that old, old From The North favourite Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror Movies Of The 1970s: Number Ninety One: Ralph Bates: 'Peg, what you doing out of bed?' Judy Geeson: 'I couldn't sleep. Must be the champagne.' Fear In The Night.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror Movies Of The 1970s: Number Ninety Two: Michael Craze: 'Listen sweetie pie, if you stay here with Ann, the only messages they'll be sending you will be messages of condolence.' Terror.
One of the cheapest films (horror or otherwise) ever made. But, fascinating to watch for the truly demented performances that Norman Warren managed to squeeze out of his cast. Especially dear William Russell looking as out-of-place as anyone in any movie, ever (he seems to walk through the entire thing with a look on his face that just screams 'I was in The Great Escape, you know?').
That said, Terror may, indeed, be cheap and nasty but it's also loads of daft fun. The movie-within-a-movie aspect is especially nicely realised (this blogger thinks that they were parodying Twins Of Evil judging by the tone of the witch-burning sequence).
The Mad Dolly subplot is bonkers as Hell and, consequently, a right good laugh.
It's also got loads of blood and screaming and Glynis Barber getting impaled on a tree - what's not to love?
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror Movies Of The 1970s: Number Ninety Three: Christopher Lee: 'The face of evil is ugly to look upon. And as the pleasures increase, the face becomes uglier.' I, Monster. One of Amicus's least distinguished efforts although, as usual, Christopher and Peter are on splendid form.
This blogger's Facebook page included a lively and, this blogger feels productive, discussion about why this, one of the most faithful adaptations of Doctor Jekyll & Mister Hyde ever made, is faithful in every aspect except for the title and the names of the two main characters. The general consensus of The Hive Mind being that it came out at almost exactly the same time as Hammer's - far superior - Doctor Jekyll & Sister Hyde (October and November 1971) and Amicus wanted to, perhaps, fool people into thinking their movie was something other than Doctor Jekyll & Mister Hyde. Though, to be honest, if that was indeed their intention their poster was a bit of a giveaway!
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror Movies Of The 1970s (or, In This Case, The Late 1960s): Number Ninety Four: Richard Goolden: 'A bomb is finished when it has exploded. But the Golem will go on and on forever, serving or destroying.' Roddy McDowall: 'What do you mean "serving"?' Richard Goolden: 'It will obey whoever places a magic scroll beneath its tongue.' Roddy McDowall: 'Where does one get this magic scroll?' Richard Goolden: 'If I knew that, I would not reveal it to you! Power destroys.' It!
Another movie with a terrific poster. Pity about the film that went with it, though.
It! is, sad to say, one of the very worst films ever made (and not even in a '... and, therefore, one of the most interesting' kind of way). Once reviewed as 'pathetic and obvious', it rips off Psycho to such a crass extent it's a wonder Hitchcock didn't sue. It's not helped by the fact that The Golem looks, unnervingly, like The Man With The Stick from Vic Reeves' Big Night Out.
Memorably Daft Lines From British-American Co-Produced Horror Movies Of The 1970s: Number Ninety Five: Chloe Franks: 'You said she was going to eat us.' Mark Lester: 'She was. Later.' Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? Which is, basically, Hansel & Gretel with Shelley Winters as the Wicked Witch. Well daft!
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror Science Fiction Movies Of The Late 1960s: Number Ninety Six: Robert Hutton: 'Why that's impossible! No propulsion system on Earth could possibly send a rocket to the Moon and back in twenty four hours.' Bernard Kay: 'The system we employ was not created on Earth.' They Came From Beyond Space. Definitely not one of Amicus's finer moments!
'Is that a colander on his head?' asked this blogger's fine Facebook fiend Tim. 'No,' this blogger replied, 'she was just pleased to see him.' Next ...
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror Anthology Movies Of The Late 1960s: Number Ninety Six (In A Series Of But One Hundred & One); Niall MacGinnis: 'You don't mind spending the night here alone?' Michael Bryant: 'No, of course not.' Niall MacGinnis: 'Well, look after yourself.' The Torture Garden. Now this one is one of Amicus's finer moments - especially with that cast.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror Movies Of The 1970s: Number Ninety Seven (In A Series Of One Hundred & One): Peter Cushing: 'Now, in approximately one hour, when the narcosis wears off ... we shall see.' Shane Briant: 'Let's hope it's he who sees!' Peter Cushing: '... "He who sees"?' Shane Briant: 'Sorry.' Peter Cushing: '"He who sees"! I like that!' Frankenstein & The Monster From Hell.
And now, dear blog reader ...
How nice it was to see the late Michael Craze featuring on this week's episode of Gideon's Way as a thuggish young tearaway.
The Cellar Club is back on Friday nights. Gosh, From The North favourite Caroline is still a fine lookin' lady and no mistake. (Thanks to all of this blogger's fiends at the We Are Club website for this delightful photo.)
The first new Cellar Club triple-bill after a summer of repeats included a rare UK TV showing of Bob Hartford-Davis's 1967 sleaze-fest Corruption, a long-time favourite of this blogger.
Impact (Peter Maxwell, 1963).
Third Alibi (Montgomery Tully, 1961).
Ambush In Leopard Street (J Henry Piperno, 1962).
Never Mention Murder (John Nelson-Burton, 1964).
The Abominable Snowman (Val Guest, 1957).
Power Play (Martyn Burke, 1978).
Way back in the short (and rather cold) summer of 1973, dear blog reader, this blogger (then aged but nine) was on a week-long break at his school's Outdoor Pursuits Centre in The Lake District, somewhere near Keswick. As usual whenever he went away from home in those days and encountered a change of air, Keith Telly Topping soon came down with a hacking bout of bronchitis and spent much of the week coughing and barking and wheezing and snivelling whilst all of his classmates went off and go up to exciting Enid Blyton-style larks (with lashings of ginger beer, no doubt). This blogger was not, it must be admitted, the most healthy child, dear blog reader. So, no change there, then. Anyway, on one day we all went in the Wharrier Street Juniors minibus to the shores of Windermere for a day of, in theory, sun and sand. As this blogger remembers it through somewhat-less-than-rose-tinted spectacles, it rained for much of the day and we all got soaked through to our vests (which certainly didn't help with the bronchitis). But, anyway, during one of the few dry spells on the lake shore we spotted a camera crew whom, were were told when we asked, were 'making a filum.' This blogger and some of his mates - Scotty, Mac, Stew, Snug and Wally (pronounced, it should be noted, 'Wall-ee' rather than 'Wally') - hung around for a while as the lights were set up, the camera was moved into position and various people with clipboards ran around looking very important. It was this blogger's first, albeit brief, interaction with the film industry. But, after about twenty minutes, with no sign of Jon Pertwee or William Shatner, the only actors any of us were interested in at that time, we got bored and wandered off for a game of football down on the sands. For years, this blogger never knew what the 'filum' they were making was. Until this very week as it happens. Purely by chance this blogger was - due to his ceaseless insomnia - watching an early-morning showing of Claude Whatman's adaptation of the children's classic Swallows & Amazons. Which starred Virginia McKenna, Ronald Fraser, Mike Pratt (in what this blogger thinks was probably his final film role before his untimely death a couple of years later) and, as the kids, Simon West, Zanna Hamilton, Sophie Neville (as the excellently-named Titty), Stephen Grendon, Kit Seymour and Lesley Bennett. And, blow me, but there, about three-quarters of the way through the movie, was the exact Windermere location we'd been in and the exact scene that they were, no doubt, setting up when we happened by. To think, about a hundred yards away at the very moment the scene was being shot, this blogger and some of his fiends were having a game of 'Three Pots In' completely oblivious to the moment of movie history which was taking place nearby. 'The film was shot on location in the Lake District National Park in Cumbria during the summer of 1973. Actual locations were used to recreate the fictional lake in Arthur Ransome's novel,' notes Wikipedia. Yes, this blogger now knows that, Wiki. Because, he was there!
And so, with the terrible inevitability of the terribly inevitable, we come to that special part of From The North dedicated to this blogger's on-going medical malarkey. For those dear blog readers who haven't been following this on-going fiasco which appears to have been on-going longer than the BBC, it goes like this: Keith Telly Topping spent some weeks feeling rotten; had five days in hospital; was discharged; received B12 injections; then more injections; somewhat recovered his missing appetite; got a diagnosis; had a consultant's meeting; continued to suffer fatigue and insomnia; endured a second endoscopy; had another consultation; got (unrelated) toothache; had an extraction; which took ages to heal; had another consultation; spent a week where nothing remotely health-related occurred; was given further - painful - B-12 injections; had an echocardiogram; had more blood extraction; did another hospital visit; saw the insomnia and torpor continue; returned to the hospital for yet more blood letting; had a rearranged appointment to get his latest note from his doctor; suffered probably his worst day yet in terms of fatigue. The depressing fatigue. The never-ending fatigue. The hateful fatigue.
This blogger attended the doctors a few hours after the last From The North bloggerisationisms update went live last Friday for his latest three-monthly B-12 injection. He got pricked by the divine and delightful Nurse Sarah. Which was both pleasant and really nasty at the same time. Then, he got the bus to Byker, had a three-sausage-brecky (because he deserved it), shopped (quickly, because he was dog-tired). And then returned, hastily, to The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. This blogger's life these days, in a nutshell, dear blog readers.
On Wednesday of this week, this blogger was off to the Royal Victoria Infirmary's Medical Day Care Unit at the break of dawn for a further series of blood tests. Only these ones weren't simply a case of one goes in, gets pricked then leaves five minutes later minus half-a-pint of claret. On the contrary, because they were checking for specific things this time (in an effort to finally get to the bottom of the whole anaemia malarkey) this blogger sat in an - admittedly nice and comfortable - chair and got hooked up to The Blood-Letting Machine (that's not its actual name, dear blog reader, but that's, essentially, what it does). Then, he got some of his blood drawn, got injected with some drugs, waited for half-a-hour, got more blood drawn, waited another half-an-hour, got more blood drawn, then (and, only then), did he finally, get out of the gaff.
Nurse Jackie was really nice and chatty although, poor love, she needed about four separate goes at getting The Blood-Letting Machine needle into this blogger's vein (as this one had to go into the back of this blogger's hand for some specific reason which he was told but then instantly forgot). He has spende the next few days, therefore, with Elastoplasts on the back of both left and right hands - which made typing this bloggerisationism update a bit problematic, as you can probably imagine.
As this blogger was leaving the joint he happened, purely by change, to bump into a chap that Keith Telly Topping used to work with about twenty years ago (a really nice guy called Ian). He was visiting someone on the ward next to where this blogger had just been. Several 'Hi! How you doin's?' were then exchanged. This blogger told Ian where Keith Telly Topping had just been (using The Blood-Letting Machine) and Ian said 'Oh, I hope you're okay.' Then, he paused for a second, before adding 'well, obviously, you're not, people don't go to hospital for the good of their health." This blogger was in like a shot with the reply 'well, actually, you know ...!' We both laughed. Lots. It was, in fact, the biggest laugh this blogger'd had in about a month (since Brentford beat The Scum four-nil). Then, since this blogger had to do a bit of necessary food shopping on the way back to The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House he decided that this was, very definitely, a really deserved three-sausage-day and no mistake. Recovery, inevitably, is taking its time as the exertion of a morning at the hospital has made Keith Telly Topping utterly and completely Jacob's Cream Crackered.
Whilst this blogger was in the hospital he overheard one (male) nurse telling another (male) nurse something which included the words '... has been sacked' but this blogger didn't catch to whom the tin-tacking has, in fact, been done. To be fair, this could have been a bit of in-hospital gossip about one of the doctors having been caught doing something naughty with the Methadone. But, the jokey nature of the conversation which this blogger did catch suggested otherwise. If it had been Brendan Rodgers or Frank Lampard (or, even That There Mrs Truss) getting the old heave-ho Keith Telly Topping would not have been in the least bit surprised, but upon arriving back at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House and discovering it was Moscow Chelski FC's Herr Tuchel that'd been shown the Stamford Bridge door ... that, this blogger didn't expect. Still, at least Herr Thomas will be safe in the knowledge that, when he's lined-up to see the fresh claims advisor at the Central London Job Centre Plus, the following morning with his P45 in his hand, he would be among very select company. 'So, how did you're last employment end, sir?' 'Bitterly ...'
Staying roughly on the same subject, be advised that this is not directed at anyone specifically so, please don't anyone take this - very mild - criticism personally, but this blogger became rather dumbfounded by the number of times over a single day earlier this week that he saw that Thatcher/Truss meme of the twins from American Horror Story popping up on his Facebook home page. Obviously, every single one of them posted by dear fiends of this blogger who thought they were being terrifically witty and original. Okay, well firstly, it's not original now so everyone can, hopefully, stop posting it in my vicinity. But, more importantly, it completely misreads history. Most people will have a view on Margaret Thatcher (this blogger certainly has and it's not a positive one. Hardly surprising given that he grew up on a council estate in Newcastle where the Labour vote isn't so much counted as weighed). But, whatever you thought/think about Thatcher she, at least, had the intellectual heft to be a Prime Minister. She took her party and moulded it in her own image ruling, not by carrot-and-stick but by stick alone. She had a series of policies which she stuck to no matter what happened (by Hell, did she - 'the lady's not for turning' et al) and, most importantly, from the Tories point of view, she won elections. As The Alan Clark Diaries makes clear, she only had a small inner circle and, again something Clark wrote about at length, once she stopped being an election winner and turned into a perceived election liability, the rest of the pack turned on her and ripped her to pieces. Exactly what has just happened to Bashing Boris, in fact (the Tories really do seem to be big fans of history - particularly the repetition of it). Whatever Thatcher's legacy was (a cruel, mean-spirited and greedy one, in this blogger's opinion but that's neither here nor there) she was still a political heavyweight and, already has and will continue to be, judged so by history. Truss - her supposed 'twin' according to this thigh-slappingly hilarious photo - is, or at least appears to be, none of these things.
As this blogger's excellent Facebook fiend, Lucy noted, 'You can call Thatcher a lot of things, but she wasn't stupid. Truss is thick as mince. Literally the only thing they have in common is that they're women.' That was also a point picked up on by another of this blogger's Facebook fiends who noted that there is 'a degree of rather nasty misogynism [sic] in this. No one ever seems to sit down and paste photos of Boris over Ted Heath's head or Cameron into John Major's suit but both Truss and Theresa May were immediately photoshopped into Thatcher like there's only one way a woman can ever be a Prime Minister.' Judging by her leadership campaign, the only idea Truss appeared to have as to how to acquired the job was to promise whatever would appeal to Conservative Party members (particularly the older, Middle Class, Home Counties, Daily Scum Mail readers among them ... which, to be fair, seems to be a majority of party members these days); promising tax cuts during a time of national crisis et cetera. 'Angry of Eastbourne' and the like must've been creaming in their own y-fronts at the prospect and too busy to write a letter to the Daily Torygraph about bringing back National Service and The Birch. What Mrs Truss will be like as a PM only the future knows - this blogger has a feeling she's going to be every single bit as much of a disaster, if not more so, than her immediate three predecessors were. But, to compare her to Thatcher is ridiculous - it's like comparing Herman's Hermits to The Kinks (this blogger is sure Ray Davies would be horrified by what he is in that simile. Actually, this blogger is pretty sure Peter Noone would be too!) Don't get Keith Telly Topping wrong, this blogger believes Mrs Thatcher was an awful, odious, spiteful and nasty individual and this blogger's holds her and her successive Health Ministers directly responsible for the death of this blogger's father, from cancer, in 1991 following a decade of National Health Service cuts that had decimated various screening programmes which may have caught his disease early and saved his life. But, to use a slightly different simile, Margaret Thatcher was Premier League, Mrs Truss is in the relegation zone of EFL League Two. Thatcher knew exactly what she was doing, didn't care whom it upset and said to everyone who didn't drink the Cool Aid 'you can all piss off to the back benchers and plot from there. It'll take you a decade to get anywhere.' Which it did. Truss, this blogger doesn't believe, has either the intellect nor the courage to do that or anything even remotely like it. Time will tell.
Here's what Larry has to say on these shenanigans. Sensible thoughts, as always.
Mind you dear blog reader, every cloud would seem to have a silver lining. Mrs Truss's erection to high office has resulted in two of the nastiest, most vile, odious and wretched specimens of humanity (or otherwise) currently infecting the Tories, Nadine Dorries and Priti Patel, returning to the backbenches. A couple of women who make the rat-faced loathsome wretched odious vile and nasty slavver-merchant, George Formby lookalike (and tit) Gove look almost human (almost, dear blog reader, please note) by comparison. A pair of scum. Goodbye, ladies. And good riddance to bad rubbish.
