The
Torygraph - repulsive politics but, sadly, probably the best-written broadcast current on sale in the UK (it's infinitely preferable to the Middle Class hippy Communist vegan quiche eating shite regularly on offer in the
Gruniad and the
Indy in terms of prose) - had something of a scoop this week.
Sex, Time Travel, Dolls ... There's No Stopping Ncuti Gatwa is, as the title suggests, a reasonably wide-ranging interview with the new Doctor, which you can check out
here (paywall, notwithstanding). If you're
not prepared to sign up to a newspaper which, seemingly, believes that Suella Braverman is anything
other than a hateful, wretched, odious excuse for a human being, then segments of the Ncuti interview can be read elsewhere. Use your search engines with considerable glee when looking for them.
Doctor Who Fans Think [the] Twelfth Doctor, Amy Pond Are Returning according to a piece of pure speculation based on nothing more solid than a few fan-wish rumours written by someone of no importance at the
Radio Times. Which used to be run by adults. Of course, such a move would not be entirely out of the question in the forthcoming three Sixtieth anniversary episodes and, indeed, were such a thing come to pass this blogger would be exceptionally delighted to welcome back both Smudger and Kazza to the franchise (even if it is likely to be only for a brief cameo). But, this blogger will believe such a conceit only when someone a Hell of a lot more credible than the
Radio Times (which used to be run by adults) suggests it.
'
Doctor Who has revealed the return of a classic series villain, forty years after their last appearance, potentially setting up a story in season fourteen,' according to
a spectacularly over-excited piece on the notoriously 'this lot will believe (and publish)
anything'
Screen Rant website. 'Although the Sixtieth anniversary specials aren't due to air until November, a brand new
Doctor Who webisode,
The Passenger written by Pete McTighe, has been released online. Apparently set after the events of
The Power Of The Doctor, the mini-episode reunites Tegan (Janet Fielding) and Nyssa (Sarah Sutton) after a mysterious summons brings her to a creepy fairground and a familiar looking blue box.' As mentioned on this blog's
most recent update,
The Passenger serves mainly (perhaps
exclusively) as publicity for the release of the
Doctor Who series twenty blu-ray box-set. And,
very good it is too. However,
Screen Rant then claims (with, absolutely
no supporting evidence) that the return of The Mara in
The Passenger 'sets up' a series fourteen story. 'Potentially'. Which it
might - and, again, nothing would delight this blogger more, as a big fan of The Mara's appearances in
Kinda and
Snakedance - but, frankly, the article's headline is writing a cheque which the subsequent story simply
cannot cash. Once again, dear blog reader, let's just wait and see what tomorrow brings.
National heartthrob David Tennant has previously said that he didn't go back and watch any of his old episodes in anticipation of his
Doctor Who return, but has now explained how he
did prepare for the Sixtieth anniversary specials - and it involves his
Good Omens co-star and fiend Michael Sheen. In an interview with the pair for the second series of
Good Omens, Sheen said he helped Tennant catch up on the years between his Tenth and Fourteenth Doctors by 'acting out key moments' from the intervening years. He told
Inverse: 'When we were filming
Good Omens, I just acted out key moments from the other Doctors in between and
that was his research, wasn't it?' Tennant added: '
That was enough! Michael's Jodie [Whittaker] is
particularly good!'
The
Strange New Worlds episode
Lost In Translation: 'Don't punch any more officers till I get back!' That was
funny. Not as funny as the previous week's laugh-a-thon (
Charades), admittedly. But, still, pretty funny.
Strange New Worlds:
Those Old Scientists. '
DON'T TOUCH THE BUTTONS!' was, happily,
another really funny one (three in a row for those taking notes). This blogger
thoroughly enjoyed that forty three minutes of his life which he'll never get back. 'Does he
always laugh or is this new?' But, of course, there is this musical thingy coming up. Which isn't
real Star Trek (apparently) and we should probably all start practicing getting all sour-faced and irritable. Cos,
nothing looks better on Middle-Aged fan-type-persons than getting sour faced and irritable, right?
The next
Strange New Worlds episode,
Under The Cloak Of War, on the other hand was
not a funny one. Not even close, really. And, that was a
good thing. 'The Federation believes everyone deserves a second chance.' Racism, PTSD and living a long-term lie are all subjects that have been dealt with in various
Star Trek ways previously. But this particular conceit felt rather different. Harder. More visceral. 'Some things break in a way that can never be repaired again.' No songs though, which was a somewhat disappointing. 'Give Peace A Chance' or a bit of Culture Club's simplistic take on war being 'stupid' would've fitted in there like ... I dunno, a wet sock on a shower-rail. So, an opportunity missed, one could suggest.
If you're looking for this week's
From The North recommendation for a thoroughly worthwhile online read, dear blog reader, Keith Telly Topping recommends you check out Jonathan Wood's splendid piece
How Did We Start Seeing Things? - Randall & Hopkirk's Journey To Your Living Room at the excellent
Randall & Hopkirk Declassified website. It's
really good.
Which brings us, as if by osmosis, to Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Three:
Doctor Terror's House of Horrors. Christopher Carlos: 'You wrote down the sacred music of the great God Dwambala!' Roy Castle: 'It could be a hit, make a fortune. If you wrote it, we could go fifty-fifty?' Christopher Carlos: 'It belongs to the God Dwambala! Known only to his own people for centuries.' Roy Castle: 'Oh well, if it's
that old then it's out of copyright!' A work of a twenty four carat
genius, dear blog readers! You know
that, right?
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Four:
Night Of The Eagle. Janet Blair: 'I'm sure you're convinced I'm quite insane.' Peter Wyngarde: 'I'm not convinced about
anything. If we were to investigate all the strange rituals performed by women based on their so-called intuition, half the female population would be in asylums. I don't know what to think!' Well,
that one has aged really well, hasn't it?
This blogger's excellent fiend Nick recalled, in connection with Peter Wyngarde, a rather unpleasant online run-in he had with an notorious
uber-fan of the late and much-admired actor some time ago. This blogger had to confess to Nick that he, too, was aware of this individual and had, himself, felt the wrath of their own, particular, bombast. We had some (minor) interaction when this blogger wrote his - this blogger felt, rather decent -
obituary for Peter after his death in 2018. This blogger got a rather terse note from the fan-type person in question saying that whilst they had 'enjoyed' the obituary, the biographical information which this blogger had included as one paragraph was 'simply drawn from
Wikipedia' which, according to the gate-keeping fan-type person, was 'not cool.' This blogger replied - at his leisure - that a) Keith Telly Topping had gathered the biographical information he used from, broadly, the same sources that
Wiki had used, including text links to the majority of them; b) even if this blogger
had taken the information from there, so what, that is what
Wikipedia is
for after all, it's a free online resource, mostly fact-checked and with citations on where they got their information from; c)
From The North is a non-profit blog which this blogger writes in his - increasingly limited - spare time, if he is writing something and
getting paid for it, he'll do things differently; and, d) if this individual disliked that aspect of the piece so much then they were perfectly at liberty to leave
From The North and never come back (only, you know, in less words than that). Curiously, this blogger never heard from said fan-type individual again.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Five:
The Masque Of The Red Death. David Weston: 'You're a mad man!' Vincent Price: 'Yet I will live and you will die. Where is your God now?!' As someone (this blogger forgets whom for the moment) once wrote, the 'most colourful and least boring' movie ever made. Oh, hang on, it was
this blogger all the time, wasn't it? Silly me.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Six:
Horrors Of The Black Museum. Michael Gough: 'No woman can hold her tongue. They're a vicious, unreliable breed!' Yeah,
that one hasn't aged very well, either. Still, as a genuine bonus, at least no crass whinging whinger whinged at length about this blog's
obituary of the late Michael Gough when it appeared in 2011. Small victories and all that.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Seven:
Night Of The Demon. Dana Andrews: 'I see you practice white magic as well as black?' Niall MacGinnis: 'Oh yes, I don't think it would be too amusing for the youngsters if I conjured up a demon from Hell for them!' Another particular chilling favourite of this blogger.
Of course, with the utter inevitably of the utterly inevitable, this blogger posting that Memorably Daft moment onto
Facebook led to a lengthy discussion about the lyrics of
'Science Fiction Double Feature' in which
Night of The Demon and its star are alluded to. It
had to happen, dear blog reader, you'd expect nothing less on this blogger's
Facebook page and from this blogger's immensely marvellous
Facebook fiends and their saucy ways.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Eight:
Behemoth, The Sea Monster. Gene Evans: 'I feel Admiral, what we're facing is a marine animal of tremendous size and strength.' Lloyd Lamble: 'Do you mean to believe that a whale could've smashed through steel plates so high above the water line?' Gene Evans: 'I didn't say a whale.' André Morell: 'Behemoth?' Gene Evans: 'That's as good a name as any for now.'
KLAAK!!!
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Nine:
Doctor Who & The Daleks. Peter Cushing: 'There, my latest invention.' Roy Castle: 'What? A Police Box?' Well,
that idea will never catch on.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Ten:
The Body Stealers. Allan Cuthbertson: 'Gentlemen, if full details of your plan could be on my desk by this evening, I'm sure the Minister would be most grateful.' Robert Flemyng: 'Full details?
That's a tall order.' George Sanders: 'Yes, but it sounded
like an order all the same!'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Eleven:
Village Of The Damned. Martin Stephens: 'I don't think you're going to ... London, father!'
Masterpiece.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s (or, in this case, 1971). Number Twelve:
Quest For Love. Denholm Elliott: 'You and your wars. What war is this?' Tom Bell: 'The Americans. The Viet Kong.' Denholm Elliott: 'I'm sorry, I really don't know what you're talking about. As far as I'm concerned you need drying out again. For God's sake don't let her down tonight.' Tom Bell: 'Let
who down?' Luscious, pouting Joan Collins of course, Tom. You
really don't want to let her down, the audience will
never forgive you. One of the most under-rated films ever made.
'Never heard of this one. Good cast, though,' said this blogger's lovely fiend, Jan, said in relation to
Quest For Love. This blogger was happy to inform her that it was a quite brilliant, lushly romantic 1971 adaptation of John Wyndham's parallel universe short story
Random Quest. And, that it is, happily
extremely available online especially for her as an early Christmas present.
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Thirteen:
Fire Maidens From Outer Space. Anthony Dexter: 'Based on what we've learned, the possibility of life as we know it exists only on the thirteenth moon!'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Fourteen:
The Haunting. Julie Harris: 'Haven't you noticed how nothing in this house seems to move until you look away and then you just catch something out of the corner of your eye?' Claire Bloom: 'God! Whose hand was I holding?'
Some of this blogger's most excellent
Facebook fiends
did query whether this particular piece of dialogue - and, indeed, some of the others featured in this semi-regular feature - were, necessarily, 'daft',
per se. To which this blogger could only reply: 'Something can, of course, be memorable, terrifying, funny, sarcastic, sinister, egregious, soporific, faux naïf, byzantine, moist, onomatopoeic, namby-pamby, soft, dangerous, dastardly, intelligentsia-baiting, horrible, apoplectic or zany and, yet,
still be daft.' Daft is as daft does, dear blog reader.
Now, dear blog reader, here are
the greatest forty four seconds in the history of television. Bar none. It's the unflappable '... when the Governor, there, you can see her' that makes it
art. Sadly, we just don't know what the late Googly Withers made it it all (or, indeed, if she sorted out the 'bit of bother' going on in her jail for that matter).
The temptation to run yer actual Keith Telly Topping's then newly taken passport photo through FaceApp (it was 'a thing' that all of The Cool Kids were doing, apparently) was, seemingly, too great a temptation for at least one Keith Telly Topping's
Facebook fiends a couple of years ago. Which proved, dear blog reader, that Keith Telly Topping's science-fiction twin sister is ... Diane Morgan, seemingly (
if she'd been on the cakes for a few months, that is). This blogger doesn't know about anyone else but, this blogger
definitely would.
The usual Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House weekly shopping tends to be done on a Monday, or a Tuesday (or, sometimes, a Wednesday, if this blogger has been feeling poorly on one or both of the first two) and involves, in most cases, a bus trip to Byker, a short pool visit, this blogger stopping off at the bank to get some coin out and then having breakfast at Morrisons before collecting his groceries and getting back to The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House as soon as the bus will carry him. And then, that's usually him done for the week. Occasionally, though, this blogger may need a few urgent perishables and so, if (and only if) he is feeling up to it, he will limp down to the bus stop and have a short ride in the opposite direction to ALDI on Walker Road. One day last week was just such a day as this blogger found his very self in desperate need of bread, milk, Pringles, Satay chicken on a stick and a bag of jelly beans for those who are taking notes (that is not this blogger's
entire diet, admittedly, dear blog reader. But, sometimes, it's frighteningly close). On getting to the gaff, this blogger was delighted to discover that his local ALDI has charged, bravely, head-first into the second-half of the Twentieth Century and installed four self-service tills a mere but twenty years after just about every other supermarket
in the world did so. You
have to wonder what's taken them so long. Were they frightened of The Inevitable Advance Of The Machines, perhaps? That was, nevertheless, the quickest bit of shopping this blogger has done at ALDI in 'kin years, so good for them.
And so we arrive at that part of
From The North dedicated to this blogger's on-going medical malarkey. Or, strictly speaking,
malarkeys as there are several of them. For those dear blog readers who haven't been following this on-going fiasco which appears to have been on-going longer than the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, it goes like this: Keith Telly Topping
spent some weeks around Christmas 2021 into New Year 2022 feeling rotten; experienced
five days in hospital; was
discharged; received
B12 injections; then
more injections; somewhat recovered his missing
appetite; got an initial
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 B-12 injections; had an
echocardiogram; received more
blood extractions; made another
hospital visit; saw the unwelcome insomnia and torpor
continue;
received yet more blood tests; had
a rearranged appointment for his sick note; suffered
his worst period yet with the fatigue. Until the
following week. And, then the
week after that. Oh, the
fatigue, dear blog reader. The
depressing, ceaseless fatigue. He had a go on
the Blood-Letting Machine; got
another sickie; had
an assessment; was given his
fourth COVID jab; got some
surprising news about his assessment; had the results of his
annual diabetes check-up; had another
really bad week
with the fatigue; followed by one with the
sciatica; then one with the
chronic insomnia; and, one with a plethora of
general cold-related grottiness. Which continued over
the Christmas period and
into New Year. There was that '
slipping in The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House bath and putting his knee through the side' thing; the night-time
leg cramps;
getting some new spectacles and this blogger's
return to the East End pool after over a year of constant inactivity. Only to discover that he remains as weak of a kitten in the water. Or, indeed,
out of it. Feeling
genuinely wretched. Experiencing
a particularly nasty bout of gastroenteritis. Getting a visit from a very pleasant and actually quite helpful
occupational therapist, the 'accidentally going out in my
slippers' malarkey and the
dreaded return of the dreaded insomnia.
This blogger has no idea what's been up with him in terms of the fatigue situation over the past couple of weeks - the regular insomnia doesn't help matters, of course - but Keith Telly Topping has been getting
far more tired during the daytime than he usually does (something that he didn't think was even
possible, frankly); to such an extent that one day last week, this blogger
twice was forced to go back to bed for an hour (firstly around ten o'clock in the morning then, again, about three in the afternoon). One midday-or-thereabouts nap per day isn't
that unusual at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House (in fact, it's becoming a regular occurrence), but
two seemed then and still seems like an over-indulgence.
Mind you, dear blog reader, this blogger's affliction's are but
nothing compared to the hand that what some poor people have had dealt to them. So, here is some useful advice for all those affected by such terrible malarkey. This blogger hopes you all get the help you, seemingly, so desperately need.
This blogger's general temper and well-being was not exactly helped by some ridiculous postal fun-and-games he had to put up with over this current weekend. Keith Telly Topping received an e-mail on Friday informing him that his bi-monthly package of medications from Pharmacy2U, would be delivered to The Stately Telly Topping Manor the following day between 9.30am and 12.30pm. On Saturday morning, this blogger was up bright and early (as usual) and, mid-morning, he received a further e-mail telling him that his package
had been delivered. Which it hadn't. At least, this blogger didn't think it had. Keith Telly Topping thus went downstairs to see if the package had been merely left on the Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House doorstep (which he would have been
very angry about if it had been). But, it hadn't. Checking the e-mail again, this blogger noted that Royal Mail had provided photographic proof of the alleged delivery at a house with a black front door. The only problem there, of course, is that The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House does not have a black front door but, rather, a
red one. A
necessary difference, one feels. Of course, typically, the Royal Mail website is about as useful as a chocolate fireguard in such circumstances, informing anyone that
hasn't received a package they believe they should have that they must contact
the sender (in this case Pharmacy2U) so that
they can then chase up the situation with Royal Mail. Which is a bit like having a dog and barking oneself, frankly. And, of course, both the Royal Mail
and Pharmacy2U's support and complaints departments only work Monday to Friday. So, queue an entire day of this blogger gurning and cursing and, generally, being about as hopping mad as ... a
very hopping mad thing. Ooo, this blogger was pure dead
vexed and jolly cross indeed. In fact, his mad was
right up, so it was dear blog reader. It was, trust this blogger, a sight to see. And then, literally, just as this blogger was writing the above telling all of you lot about what a right shite state of affairs this was, a knock came on the (red) front door of The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. And, a couple of very nice chaps who live at an address several streets away, were outside with this blogger's package which had been delivered to their address in error. All of which goes to prove three things, dear blog reader. Royal Mail Parcelforce employs at least
one brain damaged moron or the victim of a cruel medical experiment who, seemingly, cannot tell the difference between two wholly dissimilar addresses (something of a prerequisite for that particular job, on could argue). There's also the fact that if you're a public service organisation, having a 'support team' is about as useful as something that isn't even
slightly useful if the support that your customers requires happens to be over a
weekend when you guys are not working. And thirdly, happily, there are some people who are just
nice. Which
is comforting to know.
Last Saturday, for us dinner at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House, thanks were due to this blogger's lovely fiend Candy-Jay for suggesting Chicken Supreme (although, technically, since this blogger used some sweetcorn instead of mushrooms, it was more of a Chicken
Fricassee). Method: Boil some Basmati rice for around twenty to twenty five minutes. Whilst that's going on, cook one tin of ASDA chunky chicken (other options
are available), one small tin of Green Giant sweetcorn, some chicken pieces if available, a small amount of cream if required (mainly if the sauce starting to get too thick), ground black pepper, some crushed parsley, oregano, cumin, one small chopped onion or shallot (this blogger didn't have one to hand so he used onion salt granules instead) and, if desired, four small, chopped mushrooms. Cook for approximately twenty minutes. Drain the rice. Heap into a medium-sized bowl. Keep enough rice and chicken sauce in the pan for a second helping at teatime. Serve. And then, try not to spill any on your new laptop whilst eating cos that would be a
real personal disaster.
Exactly one week later, dear blog reader and the heat was very much
on at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. And so, for that matter, was a Pukka Pie. And,
extremely pukka it was, if you're interested.
Now, dear blog reader, here's
From The North's
Headline Of The Week. It's a cracker, isn't it?
Though the Sky News website's
Thief Who Stole Two Hundred Thousand Cadbury Creme Eggs Is Jailed runs that a close second. Bloody right, too. Hanging someone up by their codlings until they
beg for mercy is a more suitable punishment for such a heinous crime.
As for
Birmingham World's
Couple Spotted "Having Sex" On Top Deck Of A Birmingham Bus, dear blog reader,
only in Britain's second city. A couple, reportedly, left onlookers 'stunned' -
and shocked, no doubt - after they were 'filmed appearing to have sex on the top deck of a bus in broad daylight.' The pair were 'spotted romping' on the back of the National Express West Midlands service as it drove past Northfield Leisure Centre in Birmingham. There's nowhere near enough uses of the word '
romping' in the media these days, don't you think, dear blog reader? A woman can be seen 'gyrating and bouncing up and down' on the lap of a man on the backseat while other passengers sit just several feet away. A shocked -
and stunned - witness can be heard repeatedly saying 'what?' as the bus passed along the busy Bristol Road South. Yeah, that's no woman. That'll be David Tennant. Probably. Footage of 'the over-amorous pair's antics,' obtained by
Birmz Is Grime (no, me neither), has since been viewed and shared thousands of times since being uploaded to social media. Mainly by people with nothing better to do with their time. One web user commented: 'She's got a ticket to ride and she don't care.' Which, actually,
is quite funny, admittedly. Well done, you.
And, finally, dear blog reader ...
This, dear blog reader, is a photograph of an area in England sixth largest city, Newcastle Upon Tyne when it isn't raining. Usually in the month of July, that wouldn't be anything particularly extraordinary. But, after the best part of two full weeks with near-persistent deluge, this blogger had to take this image just to remind his very self what dryness actually looks like. 
Someone really did give Saint Swithun something to cry about on 15 July, seemingly. Frankly, dear blog readers, this blogger has seldom seen weather the like of it. And neither, it would appear, has even the professionals. 
Next time that you get one of those really annoying 'prove that you're not a robot' tick-box thingies when attempting to access a website (in search of some porn, perhaps), it is probably worth bearing this in mind. It makes you think, doesn't it? 
Meanwhile, here is a brief observation from this blog's number one spiritual guru (this blogger refuses to indulge in any spirits unless Guru Peter did so first. Often). 'I don't want to go to the theatre to see plays about rape, sodomy and drug addiction. I can get all that at home.' 
'Doctor Who has unveiled the first look at the remodelled Sonic Screwdriver for Ncuti Gatwa's Doctor,' claimed the world famous Good Housekeeping UK website (no, me neither). And, they had the picture to prove it. And here is The Doctor's new sonic screwdriver, dear blog reader. Or, Millie as most of us call her.
On the same day, the Digital Spy website (yes, we've heard of them) had, pretty much, the same story but with one, necessary, difference. They claimed the screwdriver, in fact, belongs to David Tennant's Doctor as would appear in the forthcoming Sixtieth anniversary episodes. 'The BBC has unveiled both a promo shot and a teaser displaying a glossy silver shade for the device along with some gold trim. The sonic energy glows blue in this revamped Screwdriver,' they stated, somewhat more plausibly than Good Housekeeping UK's suggestion. And, pure-dead sonic it looks too. Very handy for putting up some shelves in the event of a Cyber invasion of London.
