This blogger wishes to welcome, once again, all of From The North's ever-increasing audience to the latest bloggerisationism update in these parts. Hello, you lovely people.
We kick-off this latest urgent bloggerisationisms update with the following; this blogger is merely putting this link here for absolutely no reason whatsoever. No siree, Bob. Very hot water ...
With this in mind, allow this blogger to confirm that, in the event of any sudden (or, indeed, gradual) thermonuclear global-annihilation-event breaking out across the days ahead, From The North will, of course, be reporting live on this from the front-line. All of the blog's other regular features will be unaffected. Well, at least until such times as The Stately Telly Topping Manor sustains a direct hit from something atomic, obviously. Then, there may be a short pause whilst this blogger reassesses the situation. And, you know, melts. He does this, dear blog fiends, so you don't have to.
This blogger would also advise the people pictured below to learn how to spell the word 'with' before considering retaliation against Mango Mussolini and his grubby spawn (particular as some perfectly innocent people might get in the way in the event of such a course of action). Chill-the-funk-out, people. And, try not killing each other if you can possibly help it. You might find you actually like how it feels.
On the very subject of abroad, German is such an expressive language when it comes to needing but one word to sum up a potentially complex conceit, dear blog fiends. The obvious examples, of course, being 'schadenfreude' and, this blogger's own particular favourite, 'verschlimmbesserung' (a suggested idea, designed to improve a situation, which only ends up making it much worse). Earlier this week, yer actual learned a new one which, he reckons, might get quite a bit of usage in the days, weeks, months and years to come. 'Backpfeifengesicht' means, literally, 'cheek whistle face' or, more figuratively '[someone with] a face that need a damned good, hard, slap. On general principle.' As in, for example, 'don't you think That There Keith Telly Topping has backpfeifengesicht?' Feel free to use this word in your everyday lives as much as you feel appropriate, dear fiends.
As with the last From The North bloggerisationism update, this blogger - being British - feels it necessary to inform all dear blog fiends about the weather. It's been hot at The Stately Telly Topping Manor, dear blog reader. Hot as a big-funky-hot-thing with heat smothered all over it.
'By the six thousand terrors of Hell are you anointed. By the seven Lords of Darkness, are you damned. And seven times seven damned again.' So to sum up, then, Stephanie Beacham has regenerated into Joanna Lumley and, in the process, Jessica van Helsing has gone from an early-twenty-something groovy-Chelsea-kiddie running with a desperately dodgy wannabe crowd of (alleged) pot-smoking and (definitely) coca-cola-drinking over-entitled Middle Class hippies down at The Cavern Coffee Bar on The king's Road into a completely different character entirely. A red-haired, somewhat frumpily-dressed scientist. Then she goes off exploring on her own and is menaced by Count Dracula's (several) vampire brides, trips over her own feet and twists her ankle, thus needing to be rescued by Michael Coles of Special Branch. Good old Jess - some things never change. Also, note please the presence of not one but two fans. Because, The Stately Telly Topping Manor remains, currently, too damned hot!
Apart, that is, from Saturday afternoon and Sunday evening when the virry heavens opened in the greatest display of thunderbolt and lightning (very, very fright'ning indeed) since That There Noah thought it was looking a bit overcast and said, 'I know, a speedboat.'
These were, apparently, over two thousand lightning strikes during Sunday night/Monday morning over the British Isles. The majority of them, seemingly, were across Cumbria and Northumberland. Which helps to explain why this blogger was seeing flashes around every twenty seconds, but hearing nothing. Much like most nights when this blogger is in The Stately Telly Topping Manor pit but can't get off to kip because his insomnia has kicked-in again, let it be noted.
Right, on with the blog. Here's the From The North Thought For The Day.
Moving on, sadly, to a somewhat more serious subject. That vile and odious Harry Bloody Potter woman, appears to be in danger of losing several of her former-celebrity supporters, including probably the most high-profile one. To which this blogger, a big fan of the chap in question on both humour and humanitarian grounds, can merely note: 'about funking time, Stephen, frankly.' If the Daily Scum Express and the Daily Scum Mail are casting their vile and hypocritical 'sneer' upon you, that proves this is something you probably should have been saying several years ago when the vile and odious Harry Bloody Potter woman first starting making public her thoroughly unpleasant, distasteful and shameful comments about trans people. Ditto Boy George. Though, at least, his comments this week in reply to another hateful, horrific, sneering piece of Interweb bile by the vile and odious Harry Bloody Potter woman were beautifully articulated. Best thing George has written since 'Church of the Poisoned Mind', frankly. Good on ya, brother.
From The North's opinion on this very subject, for those who may be wondering, remains absolutely unchanged. To quote one of yer man George's somewhat lesser works 'people are stupid.' Yes, that sounds about right.
One final point on this issue, spotted online earlier this week which is, perhaps, worthy of dear bloggerisationism fiends' consideration in this regard. No one is innocent. But, some are more guilty than others. This blogger should probably spot getting sanctimonious and angry at this juncture as he's in danger of saying something more unpleasant that the vile and odious Harry Bloody Potter woman. And, that would be so cheap and unworthy in bringing this blogger's very self down to such uncomfortable levels.
Except to note, o the same general theme, this blogger gets exactly the same reaction as this whenever he hears anything by Phil Collins. It's keith Telly Topping's cross, dear blog fiends, he'll do his best to bear it. Proudly.
Also ...
Yes, that sounds accurate. Meanwhile, 'so, I came down the external ladder of Apollo 11, mate, and this was waiting for me.'
This week also saw a Stately Telly Topping Manor visitation from a Man In Black. Probably. (At least, this blogger has the merest traces of smile on his normally frown-pre-set mush.)
Yer actual Keith Telly Topping would also love to claim that it was, in fact, he that was responsible for the delicately-manicured current state of The Stately Telly Topping Manor lawns at the start of this very week, dear blog fiends. But, sadly, he cannot tell a lie. For it was, in fact, Nicky, The Stately Telly Topping Manor gardener who, again, came to this blogger's rescue when he was in need of some serious strimmage.
Has this blogger mentioned, recently, how much he hates flower children? Get yer hair cut, hippies.
When the following photograph recently appeared on this blogger's Facebook timeline, the question was asked (by someone who, seemingly, didn't know) who the 'Exclusive Man' at Supermac's shop, in fact, genuinely was. It was left to this blogger to point out that 'the Exclusive Man in question was anyone who saw Wor Malcolm's stunning thirty-five yard volley against Leicester City at St James' Park in August 1975 (the one that wasn't featured on Shoot! because Tyne-Tees cameras had decided not to bother covering the game and, instead, take Yorkshire TV's programme (Leeds United versus Ipswich Town - a rather drab one-nil victory for The Peacocks) instead. Everyone else was banned from shopping there. You had to take along a copy of the match programme and then describe, in detail, the build-up to the goal involving Irving Nattrass and Mickey Burns before Wor Malcolm spanked the funker past Mark Wallington before they'd even let you into the gaff.' True story.
Let us, quickly, move on to the From The North Headline Of The Week nominees. Starting with this beauty.
There's only one thing to say after that, dear blog fiends, is there not?
That one is followed, inevitably, by another from the 'it'll never stand up in court' defence. Be warned, dear blog fiends, it can happen to you if you're not careful.
Sorry, what's that you say, Mister Judge?
Fair enough.
There is, let us be fair, only one possible story that anyone in the press should have been covering this very week as the planet teeters on the brink of nuclear obliteration. And it is, of course, this one.
Or, possibly, this one.
Meanwhile, down on The South Coast, trouble is a=brewin' and someone has been 'protesting' in a jolly interesting fashion ...
In That There Welsh Wales, on the other hand, it's all kicking-off big-style. And, all because they didn't play 'Albatross' as an encore. Oh, well ...
One should, however, give Wales Online some considerable credit for the following, helpful, clarification in their photo caption.
Still in the land of song, it's probably worth someone informing the Abergavenny Chronicle that the likely answer to the question they pose heres, is 'no, it almost certainly is not.' Hope this helps, guys.
In Hong Kong, on the other hand, hey-hey, The Monkees are revolting.
'Far-right' Charity Director Says His Nottinghamshire Temple Religion Is Not Racist: The religion denies that it is only open to white people after its director was pictured at a rally calling for mass deportations claims the Nottingham Post. Accompanying the story, one feels compelled to note, is a photo of the chap-in-question looking, uncannily, like one of Peter Cushing's band of witch-burning Puritanist nutters from Hammer's Twins Of Evil (1971). Which, it has to be said, is not a great look if you're trying to convince everyone that you're perfectly normal and wholly subscribe to the traditional, 'come in me auld mate and have a cup of tea' Church of England doctrine.
For, does the Bible not command of us to 'loveth thy neighbour ... unless he's not-from-round-'ere, in which case persecute his sorry immigrant ass. In thy mercy'? Book of Scumbags, 1:1. Probably.
Here endeth today's lesson, dearly beloved blog fiends.
Next, hands up anyone who believes the younglings featured in this story from Somerset Live were in the slightest-bit bothered by an extra day off school for not wearing their uniforms? In this blogger's day, the reaction to that outcome would've been 're-sult!' Not only from this blogger but, also, from the teachers.
Yes, well, that sort of thing would, likely, tend to put a bit of dampener on things in general.
A tip to the Southampton mum involved in this story; prisons tend to be protected by something considerably more secure than 'a piece of tape.' Just sayin'.
'No luck catching them swans then?' 'It's just the one swan, actually.' God bless Hot Fuzz. Is there a single alleged 'news' story in the Metro (so, not a real newspaper, then) that Edgar Wright's masterpiece doesn't have the perfect quote for? 'Neeeeew!'
BBC News are having a particularly fine run of absolute bullshit 'that's not news or anything even remotely like it' bollocks of late. Take this one, for instance. One imagines that Robert Boddy's parents are so proud of him, getting paid licence-fee-payers money to write abject, worthless, twenty-four carat crap such as this.
Or, to put it another way.
Or, to put it another another way ...
Next we have the Daily Lies. Who, as usual, really have their finger on the pulse of the nation when it comes to shat which no one cares about in the slightest.
Quite right, too, pal. You should also stop pretending to know any pop songs the younglings might be familiar with and whistling them, tunelessly, as they cross the road and never, under any circumstances, use the words 'dude' or 's'up?' On punishment of the sack (and the general ridicule from anyone over the age of fifteen). And, get those sunglasses off whilst you're about it, it's not summer. Oh, hang on ... apparently, it is summer. Okay, the shades can stay. Dude.
'Driver Tony Brooke described the move as "rules gone mad".' Not that anyone actually asked him for his opinion on this matter, but this is Yorkshire we're talking about after all.
Well, that was wholly unexpected.
And, of course, a From The North bloggerisationism update wouldn't be a From The North bloggerisationism update without something from some waste-of-space slappable Middle Class hippy Communist at the Gruniad Morning Star, would it? Rhetorical question, dearest bloggerisationism fiends.
Following that, the latest instalment concerning the 'shitting in the streets' epidemic which is currently sweeping the nation and which From The North recently highlighted in a previous update.
See, it would appear that everyone's at it.
As usual in these circumstances, the police say they have 'nothing to go on.'
This blogger knows that, dear blog reader. But society is to blame. From that, to this. Which constitutes 'news', apparently (or, at least it does on Merseyside, anyway).
Any other dear blog fiends reckon The Rising Bollards is the best, as yet unused, name for a popular beat combo? Just Keith Telly Topping, then? Fair enough. (This blogger, incidentally, as believes The Falmouth Packet is a jolly close runner-up in the, as yet unused, name for a popular beat combo poll.)
Meanwhile, deep, deep in the West Country ... 'it's big and it's hairy and I be a'feared of it.'
Or, to put it another way: 'Nine out of every ten doctors agree that people who don't eat Sunbeam sliced bread will get squashed by elephants ... Mind you, it did take us a long time to find the right nine doctors.'
And the final nomination in the 'absolute and utter tripe no one with half-a-brain in their skull gives a flying-funk about' awards list, congratulations go to the Liverpool Echo for this nonsense.
Didn't the journalist-in-question have, you know, a story about someone who once saw Ringo down the chip-shop to pass on to an eager readership instead of the above tripe?
Next ...
And finally, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, one from rock and/or roll cosmology corner. Get yer hair cut, hippie.
