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. Pull up a chair.
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-type malarkey breaking out, From The North will, of course, be reporting live from the front-line. All of the blog's other regular features will be unaffected. Well, at least they will be until such times as The Stately Telly Topping Manor sustains a direct hit from something bigly 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 protesting people, pictured below, to learn how to spell the word 'with' before considering retaliation against the vile and odious Mango Mussolini and his grubby spawn of rascals (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 that feels. Stranger things have happened.
On the 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 being 'schadenfreude' and, this blogger's own particular favourite, 'verschlimmbesserung' (a suggested idea, designed to improve a situation, which only ends up making it 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 in urgent need of a damned good, hard, slap on general principle.' Feel free to use this word in your everyday lives as much as you feel is 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-sexy-hot-thing with heat drizzled, sexily, all over its inherent hotness.
'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 a twentysomething 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. 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 in this photograph of not one but two fans. Because, as previously noted, The Stately Telly Topping Manor remains too damned hot!
Apart, that is, from last Saturday afternoon and Sunday evening when the virry heavens themselves opened. In the greatest (two) display(s) 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 large, squarish-style racing yacht with plenty of room for pets.'
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 surprisingly little. 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.
Right, on with the blog update. Here's the From The North Thought For The Day.
Moving on, sadly, to a considerably more serious subject. That vile and odious Harry Bloody Potter woman, appears to be in danger of losing some of her former big-name celebrity supporters, including probably the most high-profile one of the lot. 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.' If the vile and odious Harry Bloody Potter woman's new beast fiends at the Daily Scum Express and the Daily Scum Mail (you know, the very people that had a huge hate-on over her when she was claiming, unconvincingly, to be a socialist a few years ago) are casting their vile and hypocritical 'sneer' upon you, that proves this is something you probably should have been distancing yourself from several years ago. When the vile and odious Harry Bloody Potter woman first starting making public her thoroughly unpleasant, objectionable comments about trans people, perhaps. Ditto Boy George, though, at least, his comments this week in reply to another hateful, sneering piece of Interweb vomit from 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 subject, for those who may be wondering, remains absolutely unchanged. To quote one of yer man George's somewhat lesser works 'people are stupid.'
One final point on this issue, spotted online earlier this week which is, perhaps, worthy of dear bloggerisationism fiends' consideration. No one is innocent. But, some are more guilty than others. This blogger should probably stop getting all sanctimonious and discombobulated about the subject at this juncture as he's in danger of saying something even more unpleasant and disobliging than the vile and odious Harry Bloody Potter woman. And, that would be so cheap and unworthy in bringing this blogger down to such depressing levels.
On a completely different topic, this blogger gets exactly the same reaction as this whenever he hears anything by Phil Collins. It's Keith Telly Topping's very own cross, dear blog fiends, he'll do his best to bear it. Proudly.
Also ...
Meanwhile, here's one for all Moon Hoax conspiracy-theorists to ponder. 'So, I came down the ladder of Apollo 11, mate and this chap was waiting for me.'
This week also, co-incidentally, 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. Which will please at least one regular dear blog fiend.)
Yer actual Keith Telly Topping would also love to claim it was, in fact, he that was responsible for the delicately-manicured current state of The Stately Telly Topping Manor lawns, dear blog fiends. But, sadly, he cannot tell a lie (well, he can, but he's not going to). 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 the answer) as to whom, exactly, the 'Exclusive Man' at Supermac's shop was designed to cater for. It was left to this blogger to point out that 'the Exclusive Man 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! the next day because Tyne-Tees cameras had decided not to bother covering the game and, instead, take Yorkshire TV's programme - Leeds United's rather drab one-nil victory over Ipswich Town). 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 ball past Mark Wallington before they'd even let you into the gaff.' True story.
Let us, quickly, move on from that 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 only one possible story that anyone in the press should have been covering this very week as the planet teeters on the very brink of nuclear obliteration. And it is, of course, this one.
Or, at a pinch, this one.
Meanwhile, down on The South Coast, trouble is a-brewin' and someone has been 'protesting' in a jolly interesting (and, not in the slightest bit childish) fashion ...
In Welsh Wales, on the other hand, it's all, apparently, 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 here, 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 Puritan 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) that Edgar Wright's 2007 masterpiece doesn't have the perfect quote for? 'Neeeeew!'
BBC News are having a particularly fine run of absolute bollocks 'that's not news or anything even remotely like it' 'stories' 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 something from the Daily Lies. Who, as usual, really have their finger on the pulse of the nation when it comes to bullshit 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.
Well, this 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 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, seemingly, sweeping the nation and which From The North 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.
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.'
'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 tripe no one with half-a-brain in their skull gives a flying-funk about' headline awards list goes 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.
