This Is The Show That Never Ends (Pipe-Smoking Special)

It's that time jolly old again, dearest bloggerisationiosm fiends. Oh, yes it is.

The latest From The North bloggerisationism update (which would be this) begins with a major announcement. At long last, Island of Terror by yer actual Keith Telly Topping is now, thoroughly, available for purchasing. Here. Or, here if you absolutely must (although they don't pay enough taxes, let it be noted). Good book, Rorret fo Dnalsi by that there Htiek Gnippot. Local author, apparently even though he sounds like a bit of a Johnny Foreigner to this blogger.

As it happens, dear blog fiends, Keith Telly Topping's box of author copies of his recently published book arrived at The Stately Telly Topping Manor on Thursday of this week. But, as this blogger had left The Stately Telly Topping Manor for an urgent appointment in town at the time, this was how Royal Mail informed this blogger that they'd delivered the parcel; by dumping the sodding thing on the (very wet) doorstep of The Stately Telly Topping Manor and then sticking it in the blue recycling bin next to The Stately Telly Topping Manor front door. At least they left this blogger a card informing him of where they'd put it, so some credit to them, this blogger' grumblingly supposes. Some, but not much.

At least it was addressed properly.

The answers to the questions posed in this, here, e-mail if you're wonderful were, a) 'hi yer very self, Royal Mail Parcel Force', b) kindly address this blogger as 'Your Actual Lordship his very self' and c) 'effing lousy, actually. It was a sodding miracle that this blogger got back home to find them where you had left the parcel without being half-inched. Hope this helps you do better in future.'

To be fair, there should be credit where it is due (it's page six if you're taking notes) ...

As mentioned, at the time of the parcel's delivery this blogger was not actually in residence at The Stately Telly Topping Manor. He was, in fact, having a rather splendid lunch in town with his close personal fiend, Young Malcolm at The Keel Row. And, jolly very nice it all was too. Particularly the Chicken Tikka Masala. That was extra-specially jolly very nice.

So, with this author's last book out of the way, we must now concentrate - however reluctantly - on his latest one. And, for those who were wondering wondering, the Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish) editing marathon continues, apace. With the first of two complete read-throughs roughly one-third completed and still six weeks to go before delivery. It's not an unrewarding task although there are time when this blogger feels like he's spent a day starring at The Stately Telly Topping Manor laptop until his forehead bleeds.

For those dear blog fiends who remember this From The North update from only but a few months ago, this blogger is happy to confirm that the casting of Fearing in the Night (Hammer Productions/An Exclusive Film Release, 1955) is now thoroughly complete. Be fair, if we all discovered ourselves stuck in a parallel universe (like the one in which Tom Bell finds himself in Quest for Love) where this was on Talking Pictures TV this very afternoon, you'd watch it too, wouldn't you?

Next, not without developing opposable thumbs they can't, this blogger would venture. Though it'd be a right good laugh to watch them try, admittedly.

This blogger's favourite meal of the day at The Stately Telly Topping Manor, incidentally, has always been and remains breakfast. Especially on those, increasingly rare, occasions when he gets to have a right, good, hard dunk of his soldier into the yoke. It's the simple pleasures that make life bearable, dear blog fiends.

Admittedly, some days, this blogger can't even manage that much from life, however. And time just continues to march on. 

Adverts writing a cheque that the product itself hasn't got a hope in Hell of cashing. Number one.

This blogger, meanwhile, is sure that there's a suitable caption involving The Divine Goddess that is From The North favourite Caroline Munro being welcome to smoke this blogger's pipe any time she'd like to ... but, Keith Telly Topping is struggling to think of a suitable punchline at the present moment in time. So he'll just leave this here. Dangling. Like a old discarded sock on a shower rail in the bathroom.

On a somewhat related theme, some dear bloggerisationism fiends may consider this to be an entirely fair assessment of all the available facts. Note also, no socks on shower rails (or, indeed, feet) here from the star of Fearing in the Night.

And, speaking of justifiably celebrated pipe-smokers, here's Prime Minister 'Darling' Harold Wilson along with his cabinet at Downing Street in 1975. Ah, what a Foreign Secretary that there The Right Honourable Tom Baker was. 

This 'exclusive', from the BBC News website, fair caught this blogger's attention right good and proper and no mistake. Some of those multigrain healthy Italian subs are pretty rock hard, it should be noted. As an assault weapon, one of those is certainly more offensive than, say, a Marks & Spencer's soft roll or even a ham and cheese toastie. Mind you, if it has been a Morrison's pork pie, the chap would've probably got fifteen-to-life in maximum security for assault with a deadly weapon.

An entire year has passed, incidentally, since this blogger's last major health issues all occurred at once. You remember that story, dear blog fiends? Course you do. Keith Telly Topping told you all about it - at great length. It has to be said that the highlight of his five days being kept alive by the NHS remains this. God, it was nice.

So, that explains the hiatus until next Christmas's episode. Come on, Billie - there's no need for this sort of malarkey, it's unbecoming of a Time Lord.

This blogger, he has to admit, doesn't tend to do very many binge-watches these days, he's far too busy writing really big books about British films of horror/SF/'mystery and suspense'. But, he will always make an exception for Slow Horses!

And, he was totally delighted to learn at the end of the recently completed (superb) series five, that not only has series six already been shot (and the trailer looks proper fantabulous) but that series seven has also been commissioned. Proof, indeed, that you can't keep a superspy-slob down.

This blogger, he is forced to repeat to you all dearest blog fiends, doesn't tend to do many binge-watches these days, as he's far too busy writing big books about films of British horror/SF/'mystery and suspense'. He's sure you understand. But, he will always make an exception for Trigger Point. Though, in this blogger's not in the least bit humble opinion, there wasn't anywhere near enough of From The North favourite Kevin Eldon in the recently completed third series. Just sayin', producers.

Two days after this blogger's most recent 'I do not celebrate the anniversary of my birth any more, I'm not twelve' day, this blogger had one of them days. You know them days, dearest bloggerisationism fiends? Sure y'do. Them days are the days when several of the things you've ordered online, any one of which is likely to shatter your fragile bank account into tiny fragments, arrive at The Stately Telly Topping Manor all at once. In life you win some, you lose some. This blogger can, at least, write both of these off against tax as legitimate 'business expenses', so it's not all bad news.

What can this blogger tell you, dear blog fiends? It's his job. He said, innocently.

An early morning phone call from the delightful Nurse Megan followed-up yer actual Keith Telly Topping's recent six-monthly hospital day of blood-letting and assorted other stuff (with lots of sitting around being bored in-between) mentioned in the last bloggerisationism update. This also occurred on that very self-same day. Which amounted to, basically, the following statement or something very like it: 'Mister Telly Topping, we thought you'd be dead by now. But, perhaps surprisingly, you're not. Your blood sugar levels, cholesterol, kidney functions, blood pressure and diabetes markers are all absolutely fine (in a couple of cases more than fine), your weight is steady and your ECG sounded, uncannily, like that Kraftwerk song. So, whatever it is that you're doing, please keep doing it and we'll see you in twelve months time.' Boing, boom and, indeed, tschak.

This is exactly like what this blogger's mother always used to tell yer actual Keith Telly Topping when he was small about size not being important. Don't tell this blogger she was lying, dear blog fiends?

Also in this week's vital correspondence.

Everyone needs to have a dream, dear blog fiends. Dreaming (as Blondie once noted) is free. A Wall's Viennetta, on the other hand, costs a penny under two knicker at Morrison's. Just an observation.

I say, that's something of a leading questions to ask, isn't it? Doesn't Miss Southampton her very self have any say in this matter?

And ... This wouldn't happen to be 'research' which was carried out by the National Brewers Association, would it by any chance?

But, Somerset Live, what public bogs are the dirtiest in Britain? The public need to know.

And now, a public service announcement - never, not never, stuff fireworks up your bottom and set light to them, dear blog fiends. Don't just take this blogger's word for it. Rebecca Guy, senior policy manager at the Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents, says: 'Fireworks are powerful explosives, not toys.' This man, sadly, didn't heed Rebecca Guy, senior policy manager at the Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents' wise and considered words. 'Shocking footage shows the moment a man suffered burns after trying to launch a firework from his bottom,' the article continues. 'A laughing friend ignites the firework using a lighter in the middle of the street, but rather than it taking off, the projectile explodes on the spot causing nasty burns to the victim's backside.' And, if you were wondering, it's the following line ('instead of rushing to his aid, onlookers can be heard laughing in hysterics') which makes it art.

Next, this ... 'Forgot.' Yes. of course. We believe you. 

Chinny Reck-on. Oh, Jimmy Hill ...

Really? You don't say Sky News. Well us Ordinary people would never have thought about doing that to prevent seagulls from nicking our chips. What will 'research' come up with next, one wonders?

You normally have to pay extra for this sort of thing when you're off cruising.

And, finally dear blog fiends, who said that the Youth of Today haven't got the bloody sense they were born with?

"Talent Borrows, Genius Squeals & Screams & Bubbles & Blares & Begs - BEGS - For Mercy"

Here we are again, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, as happy as can be ... Hit that there Blog Signal yer actual Keith Telly Topping and let us get this shat into gear. Or something. 

Or, if you prefer, 'come and have a go if you think you're hard enough, the boys are back in town ...'

Okay, dear blog fiends, welcome you are to the latest From The North bloggerisationism update. Which, as mentioned whence last we met, have been in somewhat short supply over the last couple of months. Due to this blogger's commitments to bringing the world more books about British movies of 'mystery, suspense' and science fiction. It's a dirty job, dear blog reader, but someone's got to do it. And, by someone, this blogger of course means his very self. 

So, to get the inevitable blog plug out of the way to begin with from the very start, this author's long-awaited Island of Terror: A Guide to Sixty Great* British SF & Fantasy Movies, 1936–1984 (* And Not So Great) will be published on 31 day of this very month are remains entirely available for pre-order, now, at this blogger's dearest darling publishers, Telos. Here. And, also from Amazon. Here. Although if you are intending to purchase it - and this blogger sincerely hopes you are and will - then please consider doing so direct from the publisher's website as a preferred option. Mainly, because - as a small publisher - they need all the support they can get so they can continue to produce books like this; secondly, because the author (and they) get (slightly) more money that way and, thirdly, because, unlike Amazon, Telos do actually pay their fair share of taxes. Ooo, highly controversial. Anyway, as previously noted, Island of Terror: A Guide to Sixty Great* British SF & Fantasy Movies, 1936–1984 (* And Not So Great) contains five hundred and ninety eight pages of tasty British SF and Fantasy goodness, covering entries on, deep breath, H G Wells’ Things to Come; They Came to a City; A Matter of Life and Death; Seven Days to Noon; Four Sided Triangle; Spaceways; Devil Girl from Mars; Stranger from Venus; The Quatermass Xperiment; Timeslip; 1984; The Gamma People; Fire Maidens from Outer Space; X The Unknown; Quatermass 2; The Trollenberg Terror; The Strange World of Planet X; First Man into Space; Behemoth, The Sea Monster; Village of the Damned; The Day the Earth Caught Fire; The Day of the Triffids; Unearthly Stranger; Children of the Damned; H G Wells’ First Men in the Moon; The Earth Dies Screaming; The Ipcress File; Help!; Dr. Who and the Daleks; Invasion; The Night Caller; Island of Terror; 2001: A Space Odyssey; Fahrenheit 451; Daleks’ Invasion Earth 2150AD; The Terrornauts; They Came from Beyond Space; The Night of the Big Heat; Quatermass and the Pit; The Body Stealers; The Mind of Mister Soames; Zeta One; Moon Zero Two; Scream and Scream Again; Trog; Quest for Love; Doomwatch; Phase IV; The Mutations; The Final Programme; The Land that Time Forgot; The Man Who Fell to Earth; At the Earth’s Core; Prey; The Medusa Touch; The Boys from Brazil; Alien; Flash Gordon; Inseminoid and Lifeforce. And it is, even if this blogger does say so his very self, sexy as funk. Though, to paraphrase the late Mandy Rice Davies. 'well, he would say that, wouldn't he?'

This author, as previously noted, has a severe salt and chilli pepper King Prawn habit and a growing family of DVDs and Blu-rays to support. Thank you for allowing this blogger into your homes. Speaking of which, by the way, lordy, lordy, gimme a gun, somebody - just how much did Keith Telly Topping deserve this on the night last week when he had it delivered? Let him count the numerous ways. Errr ... sixteen. That's how much.

Except on those evenings when this blogger feels like Lemon Chicken tonite. Obviously. 

Which may, or may not, have been occasioned by some current Stately Telly Topping Manor reading. This blogger could go either way on that particular score. 

Makes you think, doesn't it?

31 October, incidentally, is almost exactly a year to the day since this author's previous work of (alleged) literary genius, Return to the Vault of Horror: A Guide to Fifty Eight Great* British Horror Movies, 1956–1978 (* And Not So Great) was published. Which is also still extremely available. Here. Longer-term dear blog fiends with good memories may recall that was a period when this blogger spent five days being kept alive by the excellent NHS staff of the Royal Victoria Infirmary and the Freeman when he got hit with a couple of nasty viruses that, combined, var nigh knocked him into the virry grave itself. As detailed here. Oh, that was a fun week, to be sure.

There appears to be something about this time of the year which always spells malarkey and shenanigans for this blogger. No idea why.

All this blogger can observe is that there's been a lot of that sort of thing about of late, right good and proper and no mistake. Take this, for instance. 

From Return to the Vault of Horror: A Guide to Fifty Eight Great* British Horror Movies, 1956–1978 (* And Not So Great) to its, inevitable, sequel. Honestly, this blogger assures all dear blog fiends that this seemingly endless parade of crass self-aggrandisement and ceaseless plugging will be ending shortly(ish). This blogger can confirm the following: After nearly two months work, two hundred and ninety seven thousand four hundred and ninety seven words, two hundred and sixty three footnotes, seventy eight entries (seventy two British, six Johnny Foreigners), two short essays, one Dedication page, one Acknowledgements page, one Introduction, one extensive Bibliography and one About the Author biog, writing on Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish) - the third part of the Vault of Horror tetralogy - has come to a pause. Of course, it isn't finished as yet. Oh no, deary me and bless yer cotton socks, no. Now the real work starts in earnest. Taking probably the next six or seven weeks editing it until it squeals and screams and bubbles and blares and begs - begs - for mercy. Editing it to within an inch of its life (and then, editing it some more). Editing it until it bleeds. That's what's on this blogger's plate at the Stately Telly Topping Manor between now and, roughly, Christmas (when this blogger's plate isn't full of salt and chilli pepper King Prawns or Lemon Chicken, obviously). That and working out what Keith Telly Topping intends to try pitching to his ever patient and considerate publishers next. But, in the meanwhile, just to let all eleven of you who've expressed an interested so far know that Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seven Two Great* British** Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish) is now completed to an, at least reasonably satisfactory, first draft level.

And this is how it ends (at least, at the moment, anyway).

This blogger is also happy to report that he (much to his own surprise) managed to get a little bit of work done on Bride of a Vault of Horror even on a day when he had to attend the hospital for the chore of his latest series of health tests. The following was written (in longhand no less) during the ninety minutes between this blogger getting unhooked from The Blood-Letting Machine and his 'it's certainly got a good beat to it' electrocardiogram. And then, later, was written up properly - on Leonard The Stately Telly Topping Manor laptop - between snoozes once this blogger returned to the warmth and comfort of The Stately Telly Topping Manor. It's a couple of paragraphs that Keith Telly Topping had been wanting to include in the introduction, Scream & Scream (Again), but hadn't got around to at that stage. About why the films covered in this series of books have such a hold on, not only this blogger, but others. So, again much to Keith Telly Topping's own surprise, that day wasn't a complete loss after all . Here it is in all its full unedited, first draft glory (ignore the one spelling mistake, that's gone now).

That couple of days during the second week of October were always going to be mad-busy-crazy-apeshit-bonkers. This blogger's six monthly hospital diabetes appointment on one day, which (in theory at least) meant an entire day pretty much written off (however, see above because it, actually, wasn't); then, on that Friday Keith Telly Topping had a very nice chap coming around to do some (minor) alterations in The Stately Telly Topping Manor bathroom and on the stairs, which would - he estimated - only take but a few hours to complete though this blogger was not holding his breath on that score. This blogger noted on Facebook to his dear fiends there that if yer actual got pretty much anything done on the book much before Saturday, then it would be a bleedin' miracle. Still, miracles do happen (there was that time Leicester won the league, for one). And, even if they don't, as at that stage this blogger only had roughly twelve films left to go and eight weeks until he needed to deliver, he was somewhat ahead of schedule anyway.

On the Friday, as it happens, this blogger's - very personable - working chap, Neil, arrived nice and early to get the minor amendments to the hall and the bathroom sorted out. Which, he again assured Keith Telly Topping would take a couple of hours maximum. And, it turned out, he wasn't lying, neither. Which was good. This blogger loves skilled manual labour, dear blog fiends. He can, honestly, sit and watch other people do it all day.

And, then it was all sorted. Which was nice.

This blogger also recently received his sixth monthly Covid and annual influenza jab(s). Which as usual, knacked like Jimbuggery but, at least they're over and done with. Until the next ones.

On, now, to more mundane worldly matters and, it would seem, they'll sell anything in Costa Coffee these days. Goes down nice with a cuppa, Missus. Apparently.

Let us move, therefore, swiftly to the latest From The North Thought For The Day.

And, on a somewhat similar note, we also present an extra-special bit of time travel and the From The North Thought For Tomorrow (or, perhaps, next Saturday). Valid, this blogger would've said.

And, for that matter, here's a Thought For Whichever Day Dear Blog Fiends Fancy Using It as that particular Thought For The Day. This blogger will leave this one in your own capable hands.

Of course, when you put it like that ...

There was a distinct Autumnal nip in the air one particular recent Monday morning when this blogger was oot and aboot in Byker getting the weekly Stately Telly Topping Manor shopping sorted. Well, it was after all, late September (and this blogger really should've been back in school). So, in such circumnavigation, whom y'gonna call?

It's either that, dear blog reader, or consider purchasing one of these little beauties.

Returning, briefly, to Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish). On the day that this blogger was about to write the entry on the epic demented masterpiece that was Freddie Francis's Craze (1973), one thing this blogger needed assurance on that he was not going as mad as Neal Mottram is in the film under discussion. No none - not IMDB, not Kim Newman and Sean Hogan doing the (superb) Cruel Britannia Blu-ray commentary on the film, not even noted expert on the movie, this blogger's fiend Simon Ballard had identified the actress playing Sexy Suzy Kendall's flatmate, Myrtle (the one who would be available for threesomes but only after three o'clock as she's visiting a sick friend). Tell me, dear blog fiend, is Keith Telly Topping as crazy as Crazy Chris McCrazy, winner of the Crazy Bastard of the Year award or is that or is that not Nita Lorraine from Zeta One and Curse of the Crimson Alter? If it is (and this blogger is pretty sure it is), then that was one of the few films she appeared in where she didn't get her tits out. Despite the fact that, in that one, it would have made perfect plot sense if she had.

Oh yes and not one but two of these notorious toiletry items (bottles of Brut 33 and Pagan Man by Jōvan) were featured in Neal Mottram's bedroom. If that wasn't proof that he was a psychopathic madman all along, this blogger don't know what is.

Another point about Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish): A (self imposed) house-rule on all of these books is that the title this author goes with, in every case, is the one that was used by the production company on release in the country of origin even if a different title is what the film is better known as. Hence, in this book, it'll be La Maschera del Demonio, not Black Sunday; La Residencia, not The House That Screamed; L'uccello Dalle Piume Di Cristallo not The Bird with the Crystal Plumage; Blind Terror not See No Evil; Grip of the Strangler not The Haunted Strangler (and, in previous books in this series, The Corpse, not Crucible of Horror, Incense for the Damned and not Bloodsuckers and The Fiend not Beware My Brethren) et cetera. Only once has this author wanted to change this rule, which occurred towards the end of the current book because Scream ... and Die! is such a shite title for José Ramón Larraz's 1973 exploitation chiller in comparison to the more widely used The House that Vanished. Which is much better. But, this blogger is nothing if not consistent and so, in the book it's going to be called ...

There was also one day when this blogger had to redo a large chunk of the last two Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish) entries he'd completed after discovering that three pages of his extensive notes had, somehow, been missed by some abject idiot and twenty four carat raas clot (that, ahem, would be me) when writing them up.

Oooo, this blogger was right vexed, so he was. He was jolly cross and in something of a strop over such kerfufflement. 'Bother, blow and fiddlesticks,' he said to his very self. 'This is a right shite state of affairs and no mistake.' He was in a flippin' bad temper. He had his mad right up! Flames. 'Flames on the side of my face ...' You feel me, dear blog fiends?

To be fair, though, dearest bloggerisationism readers, there were days when this blogger wondered if all of this aggravation to get Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish) completed was worthwhile. And then he watched a film wherein nine Santas get horribly murdered in increasingly deranged manners - including one being castrated in the netty - and he thought to his very self 'yes, Keith Telly Topping. Yes it is worth it.'

The following, however, will not be featured in Bride of a Vault of Horror: A Study of Seventy Two Great* British** Tales of 'Mystery & Suspense', 1933-1986 (* And Not So Great), (** Plus Two French, Three Italian & One Spanish). Tragically. Well, Suspiria very much will be. But Zoltan, Hound of Dracula ... not so much. And neither, for that matter, will French Tickler. Tragically. 

Last week also saw one of yer actual Keith Telly Topping's periodic (and, hopefully, in the immediate future, more frequent) summits with that there close personal fiend of this blogger, Young Malcolm. This time, it was at The Keel Row in The Gate for a meeting of minds, food, drink and, then, a stole across to HMV for some home media purchases.

Moving on, now, to Monday of this very week. It was a strange and misty morn to wake up to at The Stately Telly Topping Manor so it was.

It was like something out of Legend of Hell House, no less. Especially with this looking, menacingly, though the kitchen window.

Next, dear blog fiends, this blogger will just leave the following here for no reason whatsoever. Hanging, limply, like a sock on a shower-rail. No, siree, Bob - very hot water ...

If, as Mister Bachman, Mister Turner and the Right Reverend Overdrive once suggested 'you need educatin', y'oughtta go school' and you're looking for a place of education that might be right up your collective Größe Hauptstraße, may this blogger humbly suggest the following fine establishment?

This blogger is, he's very much afraid, gonna be thinking about the following all day.

Did you know, dear blog fiends, that pork sausages make a delicious alternative to vegetarian sausages? Well, you do now.

Awroit, all o'Slade? Have yer Cuppasoup with pride (and crisps).

Why didn't you tell us sooner, doctors? Now, it may be too late for, ahem, 'some people.' Mentioning no names, obviously.

'Should've gone to SpecS ... oh, you did? Jolly well done.'

Next, we're in third week of October, dear blog fiends and, already, we're getting this sort of crap in the newspapers. We'll be having effing Wham on the radio, next, mark my words. It's just wrong on so many levels (especially Wham on the radio ... under any circumstances).

All of which stuff and nonsense brings us, as if by the magic of Christmas, to the From The North Headline(s) Of The Month award(s). Starting with this from BBC News. Yes, that's BBC News fer Christsake. 'I can't even look at a cola bottle now,' he claimed. Dude, you're looking at some right now.

Staying in the country of South Yorkshire, with important news from the Sheffield area.

And, still on the Penis news ...

And, still on the Penis news ... (What else would one expect, in all honesty, from the Bangkok Post?)

And still on the Penis news ... God bless you, the Metro (so, not a real newspaper). What would we do without your Pulitzer prize-winning journalistic endeavours?

'So, there I was, judge. Just innocently going about my business finding some cheese to cut with my axe when bang, bang, in bursts The Filth and start fittin' me up with the naughties. Yer honour, this is not my biscuit. Or, even my cheese and biscuit.'

Spooky goings-on which 'has people talking' occurring in the Greater Merseyside area, it would appear. And, this constitutes 'news', apparently.

Things in which it is extremely unlikely that anyone's life will be 'put in danger'? Number one: A 'pitch and putt' establishment without a fence. Hope this helps, Basingstoke.

And, in today's 'excuse me, I have several questions at this juncture about your story' piece, this.

Slow News Day on the 12 October was it, BBC News?

Slow News Day up North of the border on 10 October was it, the Daily Record? One trusts that the parents of 'Emilia Randall, GAU Writer' are really jolly proud that - thanks to the no doubt great hardships they endured to give her an education worthy of the name - she now had a job writing horseshit like this? Well done, Mr and Mrs Randell.

Slow News Day on 29 August 2016, was it the Metro (so, not a real newspaper, then). 'Ah, Mr and Mrs Morley, I'd like you to meet Mr and Mrs Randell. Your daughter, Nicola, is in exactly the same business as their daughter, Emilia - writing absolute effing bollocks and getting vastly overpaid for it. You've got so much in common ...'

A 'We don't have enough clickbait for all of our Middle Class hippy Communist readers already at the Gruniad Morning Star, kindly write more' Day on 10 October, was it Australian Gruniad Morning Star? It would appear very much so. 

The ultimate indignity, not only did he have his mugshot taken but, also, a mug x-ray! Try not to smile for the camera. 

Yoko Ono's art instillations get weirder by the year. The latest one can be viewed by the Ad-Lab, Tewkesbury for a limited period only.

And speaking of whom, it is now time for From The North's 'Makes you Think, Dunnit?' moment on the current blog update. Makes you think, dear blog fiend. Dunnit?

Penultimately, for this present blog update-type malarkey, some sage advice this blogger feels.

And finally, dear blog reader, a short poem.
"The Grand Old Duke of York,
he had twelve million quid.
He gave it to someone he'd never met,
for something he never did."
Allegedly.