From The North bloggerisationisms update ahoy, dear blog readers. Shivers yer actual timbers and splice the ... thingy for all it is worth; it is time to, as the good and saintly Pirate Bob once wisely said, sail the Bee Bee Sea. Please feel free to join in with the 'yar-har's at the back and, remember, get out yer skull and crossbones and ram it up yer mast.
For this latest From The North update dear bloggerisationisms readers, Keith Telly Topping, having felt it was his duty to perform such a service to humanity, is intent on using in this bloggerisationisms' title, four of the twenty Awesome Historical Words We Need to Bring Back according to this video on You Tube. Or nineteen awesome words, technically, since 'callipygian' should already be in everyone's vocabulary and used on a daily basis. To describe an arse of your choice.
So, dear blog reader, do you ever have one of those days where even the net-bots on the Interweb its very self seem to have it in for you? Oh, come on!
According to noted Mackem geezer Steve Cram when commentating on some running or other during the World Athletics Championship in Budapest last week, 'it's been Muggy today.' And it was, indeed, muggy. Causing this blogger to immediately think to his very self: 'Yes. Tomorrow, it'll be Tuggy followed Weggy and Thurggy...' It was the weather that did it, dear blog reader.
In fact, dear blog reader, the weather in the vicinity of The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House over the period since last we spoke, has been - not to put too fine a point on it - effing bonkers. Blazing sunshine one moment, bone-chillingly cold winds blowing in from the Arctic North the next. And, just when you thought you've had the worst that the elements can throw at you, then came the sort of thunderbolt and lightening that was very, very frightening to the late singer of The Queen Group in that bloody awful song about Galileo. Yes, we will let that one go.
This blog does not, as a rule, take much notice on the internal affairs of other nations, this blogger having enough shit on his own plate without considering the misery of others. Nevertheless, one story in the news this week simply cannot pass without some form of official From The North comment.
Blimey, dear blog reader, Keith Telly Topping is well aware that he was good at prestidigitation and all that but, frankly, staging a military coup against the Vice President of The Magic Circle is, surely, a bit uncalled for (especially as he's been dead since 2009). The counter-insurrection is coming to your aid, Ali Bongo, never fear. David Nixon and Paul Daniels are putting together a mercenary guerrilla magical army as a matter of urgency to quell the revolting masses. They're going to use Tommy Cooper's duck trick as a diversionary tactic. Just like that.
A wide-spread fan theory about the identityt of Yasmin Finney's Doctor Who character has been confirmed. To the surprise of absolutely no one (except some jhournalists at the Independent, seemingly). The Heartstopper actress will feature opposite returning David Tennant, as well as Catherine Tate's Donna Noble, in three special episodes of the BBC's popular, long-running family SF drama in November. In May 2022, it was announced that Finney would be joining the show as a character called Rose. While the nature of Rose's identity has been kept under wraps since then, many fans - including, big drum-roll, this very blog - theorised that she is the daughter of Donna and her partner Shaun (Karl Collins). This was finally confirmed on 30 August, in a social media post marking Finney's birthday and confirming that Rose is, indeed, Donna's daughter. So, whilst the Indy tried, desperately, to make this announcement seem like the shock of the Century, Collider website put it somewhat more accurately when heading their article, Yasmin Finney's Rose Is Exactly Who You Thought She Is In Doctor Who!
New Doctor Who Ncuti Gatwa Poses In Hotpants & A Dress As He Details The Importance Of Representation On Screen & Battling Internalised Hate is, believe it or not dear blog reader, a headline in the Daily Scum Mail. No further comment is necessary, of course, except to say that if you want to see numerous choice examples of 'internalised hate' have a look at the below-the-article comments from Daily Scum Mail readers who, of course, have no sick racist and/or homophobic agenda smeared across their disgusting faces whatsoever. Oh no, very hot water. On the other hand, if you want to avoid needing a shower after reading something on the Interweb, then it's probably best to avoid that like you'd avoid a puddle of diarrhoea in the middle of the road. Marginally less hateful reportage of Ncuti's interview with Elle can be found at the Radio Times and Wales Online. Just to prove that not everyone in the world shares the same odious worldview as the average Daily Scum Mail reader.
All of which nonsense and crass frivolity brings us to Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Thirty Six: The City Of The Dead. Dennis Lotis: 'I'm sorry, Driscoll, witchcraft, black magic, sorcery, to me it's all mumbo jumbo. I'm a scientist, I believe what I can see, what I can feel and touch.' Christopher Lee: 'The basis of fairy tales is reality, the basis of reality is fairy tales. As a scientist you should be familiar with that quotation.' Dennis Lotis: 'I don't believe that somebody in Chicago can die of a heart attack because some woman in New Orleans sticks a pin in a wax doll.' Christopher Lee: 'Maybe you don't, but practitioners of voodoo claim otherwise.'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Thirty Seven: Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed. Peter Cushing: 'Had man not been given to invention and experiment then tonight, sir, you would have eaten your dinner in a cave. You would've strewn the bones about the floor then wiped your fingers on a coat of animal skin. In fact, your lapels do look a bit greasy. Good night!'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Thirty Eight: Quatermass & The Pit. Julian Glover: 'Mars is dead, nothing there but a few scraps of lichen.' Andrew Keir: 'Five million years ago it may have been very different. Suppose at that time there were living beings on it with techniques that let them visit the Earth at a time when the most highly evolved creatures here, our own ancestors, were only a type of Pliocene ape. They may have wanted to found another colony, when their own world was doomed, but couldn't endure our atmosphere, so they experimented.' Edwin Richfield: '... And the insects were responsible?'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Thirty Nine: The Psychopath. Judy Huxtable: 'Doctor Glyn, this is Donald Loftis. Donald's a medical student.' Colin Gordon: 'Well, after twenty years as a physician, may I offer you some advice?' Don Borisenko: 'Yes, please do!' Colin Gordon: 'Take up plumbing!'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Forty: The Brides Of Dracula. Yvonne Monlaur: 'You locked him away? Your own son? Because he is unholy? Oh, this I cannot understand. How can you be so cruel?' Marita Hunt: 'You are judging me, child. Sleep before you pass sentence.'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Forty One: Carry On Screaming. Fanella Fielding: 'Do you mind if I smoke?' Harry H Corbett: 'And, I was trying to give it up!'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Forty Two: Dracula: Prince Of Darkness. Francis Matthews: 'What is your name?' Philip Latham: 'Klove, sir.' Francis Matthews: 'Well, Klove, isn't your master joining us for dinner?' Philip Latham: 'No, sir. I'm afraid not.' Francis Matthews: 'Is he indisposed?' Philip Latham: 'No sir. He's dead!'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Forty Three: Cat Girl. Barbara Shelley: 'To caress me is to invite death!'
To quote this blogger's excellent fiend Clay, '[I'm] reasonably certain I dated her in college.'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Forty Four: Corridors Of Blood. Adrienne Corri: 'Some day you'll wiggle that bottom of yours just once too often.'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Forty Five: The Witches. Kay Walsh: 'I will'd you to come and you came. You came! You came to join us!'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Forty Six: The Flesh & The Fiends. Dermott Walsh: 'We are students of Hippocrates, but some of us are hypocrites.'
Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror & SF Movies Of The 1950s and 1960s. Number Forty Seven: The Kiss Of The Vampire. Noel Willman: 'I will not say that she has not changed in any way, Mister Harcourt. She has, as you may put it, grown up. Tasted the more sophisticated, more exotic fruits of life.' Edward De Souza: 'Oh, my God!' Noel Willman: 'God is hardly involved!'
So we come to the inevitable part of From The North dedicated to this blogger's 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 howling jaws of infinity, 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. Only to discover he remains as weak of a kitten in the water. Or, indeed, out of it. Feeling genuinely wretched. Experiencing a nasty bout of gastroenteritis. Got visited by an occupational therapist. Did the 'accidentally going out in my slippers' malarkey. The dreaded return of the dreaded insomnia and the dreaded return of the dreaded fatigue. The latest tri-monthly prickage in The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House arm. Plus, yet more sleep disturbances of the jolly disturbing kind.
Earlier this week this blogger was in the process of getting his annual diabetes 'squinting stingy stuff in your eyes for a reet laugh' test. Yes, as previously noted, just like what Malcolm McDowell goes through in A Clockwork Orange. Halfway through the procedure and waiting for this blogger's pupils to dilate to the size of a couple of dinner plates, this image was taken. It was a bit like being unpleasantly drunk. Ask a glass of water what that's like.
Anyway dear blog reader, this blogger was at the pool last week, minding his own business and putting his gear into the locker before taking a well-earned shower when a voice came from behind his very self: 'Well, if it isn't Keith Telly Topping, as I live and breathe!' It turned out to be an old mate of this blogger, Ray (yet another refugee from Newcastle City Job Centre) whom Keith Telly Topping hadn't seen since 1997 or thereabouts. We chatted, amiably, about old colleagues and what a shit job it was and how we were both pure dead lucky to have escaped when we did. 'I've seen your Wikipedia page' Ray noted, 'you've done all right for yourself!' This blogger really wanted to reply 'oh, do you bloody think so?' in a sarky, Billy Connolly-style(e). But, then he thought better of it and merely noted: 'For a while, it was all right. But now, sadly, I'm not a well man!'
Indeed, dear blog reader it appears as though this blogger's last chance to be 'with it' has passed (... fifty nine years and one month ago, to be precise).
Though, it turns out, that may be just as well in the great scheme of things.
Speaking of The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them), this blogger supposes it was only a matter of time before the complete - recently discovered - lo-fi recording of The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) playing at Stowe School in April 1963 ended up online. Here, in fact. One wonders how long that'll stay there before Apple gets heavy on someone's ass and it disappears. Perhaps to reappear at a later date having been cleaned up by Giles Martin and that wonderful de-mix technology everyone's so big on at the moment.
Of course, dear blog reader, it must be noted that there is 'with it' and there is 'with it.' Case in point. Ah, now yer talkin'!
Just what y'need with yer Afghan coat and Moroccan hat, this blogger suggests, is a purple suede jacket and a Fair Isle knitted jumper, dear blog reader. Skill. (Though, this blogger does have to wonder what Gaz from Supergrass was doing advertising Zipper Two.)
You know, dear blog reader, the sole problem with having beef tikka masala with button mushrooms, garlic and shallots, wild basmati rice, paprika, black pepper, honey, lemon, coriander and parsley for us dinner at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House is that, afterwards, everything in the entire Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House kitchen (from Keith Telly Topping's best pan to the cooker itself, the plates and most of the cutlery) are a deep shade of red and they're a right bugger to clean.
Moving on, swiftly, to the From The North Headline Of The Week award, let us have a huge round of applause for the Mid-Devon Advertiser for this important and, potentially award-winning, piece of quality reportage.
Sky News, meanwhile, have gone for a more Eddie Izzard-type route with Bee-ware! Drivers Warned After Five Million Bees Fall Off Truck On Canada Road.
The Geelong Times have found the world's unluckiest Elvis impersonator (and, one that looks much more like Huge Jackman than Elvis, frankly. WolvElvis, perhaps?) One is, frankly, forced to wonder if him standing in that particular way is an indication of, exactly, where the snake, the crocodile and the redback spider bit him. Dunno about you, dear blog reader, but that'd certainly be cause for one night in hospital.
Meanwhile, the Oxford Mail are happy to report that police now do have something to go on.
And finally, dear blog reader, a black mark for the Metro (so, not a real newspaper, then) for publishing the following story and not including the suggestion that the villains will be fined hundred and thousands. An opportunity unlikely to come along every day missed, one could argue.
