A Problem Shared Is A Problem Doubled & Everything Is About Something Unless It's About Nothing

Yes, it's (ahem) 'that time of the month' again, you lucky people; From The North bloggerisationism update, ahoy detailing all of the latest goings-on in the utterly unextraordinary life of this very blogger. So, fire up that there bloggerisationism signal, Mister yer actual Keith Telly Toppin and, like, let's get this shit on road, right now. If not sooner. 

Let us kick-off, big-style, with the important news update (well, to this blogger, anyway) from The Stately Telly Topping Manor since last this blogger blogged (like big bloggerisationism thing). The contracts have now been well-and-truly signed and this blogger can now confirm that he has signed-up to write his third book in, roughly, the last twelve months having spent the best part of the previous decade writing precious little except this very blog. Good, eh? Well, Keith Telly Topping thinks it is. 

Therefore ... hands up (no, hands up in the air) who'd like to see/read this - the third part of the Vault of Horror tetralogy(!)? Because - a potential (likely) change of title, notwithstanding - once Keith Telly Topping writes it, you will extremely be able to. On Telos Publishing, sometime in 2026. This blogger has until the end of the year before he needs to deliver the manuscript so that's, roughly, five months of solid work ahead of him. Hideous self-aggrandising plug and fishing-for-sympathy ends. Note: As with Island of Terror, this isn't the cover, it was just something this blogger knocked-up as part of the pitch to David and Stephen. 

Just to mention, if this blogger hasn't approximately seven thousand five hundred and ninety four times already, the much-awaited Island of Terror will be released whilst yer actual is busy writing Taste the Blood of the Scars of the Bride of the Revenge of the Vault of Horror Has Risen from the Tomb, AD2025 Must Be Destroyed - in October(ish). So, that's something to look forward to - consider buying one, several or lots as the perfect early Christmas gift for that very special someone ... that you don't like. 

At the time of writing, this blogger hasn't actually, started writing Revenge of the Return of the Son and/or Daughter and/or Bride of Vault of Horror Has Risen from the Grave, AD 2025 just yet - apart from a little bit of work on the introductory piece, taken pretty much directly from the pitch. Rather, he has been doing extensive preparation, research and the gathering of notes on (to date) the first nineteen of the seventy two films he'll be covering in his usual idiosyncratic Vault of Horror-style. Students of the Telly Topping oeuvre will, nevertheless, be delighted to know that this blogger was only three films into this task (and, had reached (1945) when he managed to work in his very first link/reference to The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them). Predictable? Yer actual Keith Telly Topping? Always.  

One of the thing that this blogger did need a bit of help on from his delightful Facebook massive was a section he was planning on the role of the plain-clothed police detective in British horror movies and thrillers. This blogger mentioned the rationale for having them there in the first place (realism and, sometimes, the introduction of some intergenerational tension). He noted that, in many cases - although perfectly adequately-played by more-than-decent actors - they usually do little to service the development of the plot and, frankly, often just hold up the narrative (several examples were provided). That, as a rule, they should always have a Holmes and Watson-style relationship (in terms of intelligence) with their nice-but-dim sergeants (further examples were provided) and a Holmes and Lestrade-connection to their frequently thick-as-mince superior (one specific prime example was provided). And, that whilst there are several broadly interesting police characters present within the genre who do, actually, need to be there to propel the story onwards (examples were provided) really, only Alfred Marks' Bellaver in Scream and Scream Again and Donald Pleasence's Calhoun in Death Line stand as the high-watermarks of the type. Both being representatives of the kind of wise-cracking Jack-The-Lad DCI soon to become a regular feature (and, ultimately, a parodiable cliché) of much UK-TV police drama of the 1970s. The question this blogger needed to ask his dear Facebook fiends, however, was 'have I missed anything obvious?'

After some terrific suggestions (and, much affirmation), this blogger provided a necessary 'thank you' to everyone who helped with this 'coppers in British films of mystery and suspense' plea. And, to inform them that he had managed to edit the thoughts down to a roughly six hundred word, five paragraph piece (plus a couple of footnotes) called It's a Fair Cop, Guv! Which will go into the book sandwiched - conceptually rather brilliantly, this blogger immodestly feels - between Cover Girl Killer and Hell is a City. This blogger also managed to include references to this trend not being unique to the UK with French thrillers, gialli, krimis and even Hitchcock sometimes suffering from similar problems. So, once again, heartfelt thanks are due to all who contributed; you're all heroes in this blogger's book. And, indeed, you will all be heroes in this blogger's book.

Next, dear blog fiend, when yer actual Keith Telly Topping goes (hopefully not for some considerable time to come) he is stipulating, right here, right now, that this is the music he wishes to have played at the cremation. And, as the coffin goes into the furnace he wants everyone amongst the masses attending to bellow, simultaneously, 'mind the doors'. And, why not?

You know how, sometimes, when you're just idly minding your own business whilst ploughing through every regional newspaper archives you have access too trying to find a review of The Flesh and the Fiends that doesn't mention the word 'bawdy' in it and you find something that makes you go 'Eh? Sorry, run that one by me again ...' Anybody else know that feeling?

The past, as this blogger's excellent fiend Nick noted, really is another country (one with a different dictionary at that). This blogger still recalls his late mother, back in the 1980s, asking what Keith Telly Topping had thought about a particularly fine Edgar Wallace Mystery shown on Channel 4 the previous evening (it was, actually, the superb Game For Three Losers). This blogger said, not unusually, that he 'thought it was great.' 'It had a queer ending, though,' Mama Telly Topping replied. This blogger didn't know what to make of that at all.

Also in the book, your faithful author will be attempting to answer stuff like the following: Logic, Let Me Introduce You To This Window (part ninety seven). In The Innocents, Peter Quint is played by the late, great, Peter Wyngarde (twenty eight at the time of production according to the 'official' version ... although we now know he was, actually, thirty four having knocked six years off his age when he came to the UK in the 1940s). In The Nightcomers, a decade later, a 'younger' version of the same character is played by the forty seven-year-old also late (and, also, great) Marlon Brando, two stone heavier and with a much more aggressively-challenged hairline. Explain that discrepancy in yer forthcoming book, Keith Telly Topping. Using graphs if necessary.

That, frankly is even more discombobulating than the utter implausibility of the respective ages of Adrienne Corri's three children in Vampire Circus. So, let's try that one again to see if makes any more sense than the last time this blogger checked (the answer to which remains, almost certainly, no). To sum up: It is said to be fifteen years since Anna Müller fled the village after naughtily procuring a child-victim for Count Mitterhaus, leaving her young daughter, Dora, behind. Now, she has returned with the titular circus (played by a completely different actress). She has, with her, extremely non-identical twins Helga, played by twenty-one-year-old Lalla Ward and Heindrich, played by twenty-two-year-old Robin Sachs - both of them looking every single inch of it; neither of whom can be any older than fourteen-and-a-few-months even assuming that their mother was pregnant with them when she fled the village. Meanwhile, their supposedly-several-years-older half-sister, Dora, is played by seventeen-year-old Lynne Frederick … who looks about twelve. Anyone? Because this blogger's still struggling. And, no, in the case of one of twins, time-travel is not involved.

Having pitched the book to his delightful publishers (who, as previously noted, clearly have exquisite taste in all things) and having gotten a swift and positive reply, but always cautious not to announce anything publicly until bits-of-paper have been signed (and, not for nothing, money has been paid) this blogger decided he needed to celebrate. 'Had a bit of cautiously good news, today (details only once confirmed),' he told his dear Facebook fiends. 'Therefore on a scale of one-to-ten with one being "yeah, I suppose I sort-of deserve this, perhaps" and ten being "yes, my brothers and sisters, yer actual really, really, really really deserves this right good and proper and no mistake", give us a score.'

In the middle of all these malarkey and shenanigans, however, this blogger was required to start one day last week having to do a complete 'Windows System Restore' due to the Larry the Stately Telly Topping Manor laptop running so slowly that a snail would've outpaced him over one hundred metres. All, of course, occurring when this blogger was busy and eager to get his shit sorted, which was the biggest 'bugger' in the history of, ahem, buggerisation. The reboot took so long, this blogger was forced to go shopping and leaving it running whilst he was out. Thankfully, by the time he returned to The Stately Telly Topping Manor a couple of hours later, it was all finished and it was, indeed, running faster. Not that much faster, if truth be told, but still visibly faster than it previously had been.

A recent recording on The Stately Telly Topping Manor SkyQ-box of Day of the Jackal on Legend (rapidly become The Stately Telly Topping Manor's second favourite TV channel) reminded this blogger that it is a brilliant film based on the fine source-text and with a great central performance by Eddie Fox. It is, however, impossible to watch without recalling the late (and much-missed) John Sessions' memorable assertion on Qi that Eddie is the only actor in the history of acting to possess 'a bicep in his face!'

The same channel's showing of Freddie Francis's Amicus-like Tales That Witness Madness a few days later also reminded this blogger of a Californian cruise more than two decades ago when he was writing A Vault of Horror. And, of a lovely couple of hours spent in a bar in Mexico with the late (and definitely much-missed) Mary Tamm who told this blogger some delightful on-the-record behind-the-scenes stories about her film debut. 'I was in a car crash on the way to the first day's filming. And then, just after I got there, one of trailers burned down. It was like somebody was trying to tell me something!'

Ah! Happy days. That was, in truth, one Hell of a trip, dearest blog fiend (yer actual even had hair back then).

A couple of days after that, this blogger suffered a horribly late start to the day - having hardly slept at all until about 5am (what with the tossin' and the turnin') and then, consequently, massively oversleeping to compensate, he woke-up with a stottin' sore-heed aal-full of cotton wool. Still, at least he had The Night Caller recorded off From The North favourite Talking Pictures TV to watch that very afternoon. Some minor compensation, let it be noted.

Things that, genuinely, keep yer actual Keith Telly Topping awake in his pit in The Stately Telly Topping Manor at night. Number three hundred and twenty seven (in a list which may, well, be infinite): Is Mister Big in yer actual Live & Let Die the same Mister Big whom Rik states is '"in" with the warders' and fears getting raped-in-the-showers by if he goes to Pris for not paying his telly licence? And, if so, did he also have a hit in 1977 with 'Romeo'?

Remember, dear blog fiend, if someone is shooting at you, you're probably doing something right. Well, it's either that, or you're playing an extra-long version of 'Magneto and Titanium Man' and you deserve all the bullets coming your way - this blogger could go either way on that score.

On a somewhat-related theme; 'Hey Paul?' 'Yes, Dave?' 'Do you realise, your jacket's the same colour of the Goose in 'Morse Moose and Grey Goose' and mine is blue, blue, electric blue. What were the chances?' 'Cosmic, Dave.'

Another late-night Qbox-type affair on From The North favourite Talking Pictures TV was Fragment of Fear; a film with many outstanding qualities - a superb cast, nicely shot, a really interesting, atonal, jazz score and a great performance by the pigeon. But, oh my, that ending ... not so much ambiguous and downright encrypted. This blogger is never, ever in favour of filmmakers spoon-feeding their audience all the answer. But, just occasionally, one or two might be quite helpful.

Next, a word from our sponsor. T-rextacy. 

Over, now, to Old Trafford for the latest from the Fourth Test ...

This blogger loves history, dear blog fiend. It's so ... historic, don't you think? 

A confession: The 'immediate post-shower-and-blow-dry' thing is never the ideal look for yer actual, dear blog fiends, under any circumstances whatsoever. Except if he's about to enter his very self into a Father Jack lookalike competition. 'That would be an ecumenical matter ...'

Frankly, there are days (and there seem to be more of them year-upon-year) when this blogger desperately needs a couple of shots of these lil beauties. Because, whatever they are claiming to cure, this blogger had got all of it - in abundance.

Cheap at half-the-price. And, Bobby Chariot advertises the stuff, so it must be good.

Following that, some properly sensible advice for all of those who may be considering swimming across the moat at The Stately Telly Topping Manor to confront yer actual Keith Telly Topping over something-or-nothing. You have been warned.

This current government's enlightened and wholly just BBQ sauce-availability policies (previously discussed, at some length, on this very blog) continues to bring joy and happiness to the entire nation. Truly, we are living in wondrous times.

Finally, dearest bloggerisationism fiends, this blgoger wishes to draw readers attention to a couple of pieces from 'newspapers' (those are things that people used read on a daily basis, of you were wondering) which he, for once, actually agrees with. Stevie Wonders will never cease, it would seem. Firstly, there's That Awful Mangan Woman's Gruniad Morning Star review of Mark Gatiss's sublime Bookish, easily - by about a thousand miles - the best thing produced on British television so far this year (and, likely to remain so for the rest of 2025). That Awful Mangan Woman is - as this blog has highlighted, not infrequently, in the past, a hideous, atypical Gruniadista, a Middle Class hippy Communist vegan quiche-eating gobshite who talks snobbish, slappable bollocks most of the time. But, for once, she actually got the point of something. Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day, this blogger will concede.

Secondly and, possibly, even more surprisingly, James Hall's review of the opening night of Oasis's tour at Wembley from the Torygraph, Enough Tears to Fix a Water Shortage. As a useful, necessary alternative to all of those tiresome, odious, full-of-their-own-importance wankers who've spent vast swathes of the media (both social and actual) telling the world how much they never liked Oasis in the first place and, seemingly, want a funking for their glorious self-sacrifice in this regard (like this arsehole in, of course, the Gruniad Morning Star, to take just one example), a paragraph in Hall's piece deserves to be given its own blue plaque and thoroughly mounted. 'These concerts matter for another reason. The economy's shrinking, taxes are rising, pubs are permanently shuttering, trains are creaking, supermarket food costs so much it's security tagged and Britain hasn't produced a decent mainstream rock band for decades. In other words, the UK feels about as effervescent as Keir Starmer's haircut right now. Reasons to be cheerful? Lionesses and Bazballers aside, there aren't many. So, believe it or not, something as slight as a rock-concert by greying men in their fifties can actually make a difference. Sometimes the shallow end is where the important stuff happens. If last summer belonged to the Swifties, this summer belongs to Oasis and their fans.' Yeah. What he said. Haters gonna hate. Sod 'em all, they - genuinely - don't know what they're missing out on. And, seemingly, they never heeded their mum's advice that, if the wind changes direction, their faces might stay like that.

And that, fiends of the blog, is how we do that. This somewhat sorter-than-usual missive from the luscious splendour of The Stately Telly Topping Manor ends hereabouts. Time, work and 'tales of mystery and suspense' willing, From The North will return with yet more fun-and-games from this blogger's extraordinarily unadventurous but moderately successful life sometime reasonably soon. Ish. As always, it's been emotional.

Laying Down The Law

Once again, dear blog fiends, yer actual Keith Telly Topping welcomes you all to the latest From The North update; coming to you - live, as it were - from The Actual Stately Telly Topping Manor and all that and everything. Also, as usual, it should be thoroughly noted that all of the vaguely amusing remarks and right bleedin' sarcastic twaddle contained within this here blog update will be a collection of oldies ... but goldies. Allegedly.

First up, there has to be - obviously - the semi-regular From The North weather report from The Stately Telly Topping Manor. It's been aal ower the little-shoppe-of-horrors of late, dear blog reader. Well, what the Hell else did you expect? This is, after all, an English summer, manifest strangeness is only to be expected in such times.

Albeit, there have been more than a few occasions recently where this blogger has found it extremely necessary to, ahem, 'keep it cool' within The Stately Telly Topping Manor whilst going about his (entirely lawful) daily business.

Oftentimes, it's simply too damned hot, dear blog fiends. And the drums never cease.

♣♠♥♦ 'Pick a card. Any card. Wrong!' 'That was 'Jacket Hangs' by The Blue Aeroplanes at number twenty eight, pop-pickers, what did you think of that chartbound sound, Roy?' 'They've certainly got dedication, Fluff.' 'Not 'alf. Next 'Don't Fear The Reaper'. Over to you, Doctor Schreck ... ' ♣♠♥♦.

Of course, the really, really really mega-big, absolutely-ginormous-in-the-area, definitely-maybe news to have occurred since last this blogger did blog (like a big ... blogging thing) has been From The North favourites, Them There Oasis, playing their first rock and/or roll jiggs since 2009. Not entirely unexpectedly, dear blog fiends, there hs been plenty of crass sneering from all of the usual suspects. And a plethora of atypical 'oh, I never liked them when they were going first time around and I want to tell everyone that'll listen (and, indeed, anyone that won't) all about this since it's vitally important that you all hear what I have to say on the subject. Can I have a medal for my glorious self-sacrifice in this regard?' nonsense. From, inevitably, Middle Class hippy Communist Gruniad Morning Star reading, vegan quiche-eating wazzocks. They're quite a sight, so they are. Haters gonna hate, dear blog readers, it's a bit of a universal constant. Just like gravity. Or, indeed, gravy for that matter. 'I need to be myself, I can't be no one else.' This blogger's considered review of the start of the tour, in Cardiff? He thought it was fookin' great. And, he is, of course, a highly respected best-selling author, journalist and broadcaster, dear blog fiends, so you should probably take at least a little bit of notice of what he has to say on the subject! Or not, it's still a free country - for the moment.

As for all of the crass, sneering Middle Class hippy Communist Gruniad Morning Star reading, vegan quiche-eating wazzocks, dear blog reader, this blogger has but one, simple, message for posterity to send in their general direction. Stick that in yer vegan-non-leather manbag along with your Waitrose fair-trade brown-bread-and-green-stuff sandwiches and your bottle of ethically-sourced mango pop and your bloody unlistenable Mumford & Sons CD. Where were you while we were getting high? Here endeth the lecture.

Following getting all that off this blogger's forty six inch chest, we have the first in what may be a new semi-regular series, the From The North Word Of The Day. Accurate.

So, have a look if you will at this here face, dear blog fiends. Absolutely slappable, isn't it? But, anyway, That Face is one you sometimes see when one has just done the weekly shopping, needed to spend thirty five knicker or more to get some bonus points on ones in-store card and the total bill comes in at £35.08. To be fair, it could also be That Face when one has just trodden in something extremely nasty, this blogger could go either way on that one. Keith Telly Topping also grovelingly apologises for the right 'orrible state of his hair in this photographic representation, but it was quite windy up Shields Road on that particular day. That's this blogger's excuse, dear fiends and he is thoroughly sticking to it.

Let us, therefore, kick-off this From The North update with the latest in a jolly long line of 'I Will Not Celebrate Meaningless Milestones' blog moments.

From The North recently received its fifteen millionth page-hit since records began (2006). Which, presumably, means that at least one dear bloggerisationism fiend has been visiting here for the last nineteen years, several-dozen times per day, in the vague hope of finding some pornography hereabouts. Sorry for fifteen million bitter disappointments, whomsoever you actually are. And whilst we're about it, put it away, you're impressing no one.

The blog's recent activity (one extremely curious day in mid-May aside) continues to hover around the five-to-eight thousand daily page-hits - as this visual representation demonstrates.

Moving on, quickly, from all of this appalling self-aggrandisement to Monday of this very week, dearest blog fiends, when this blogger had his latest monthly 'let's do lunch'-type summit with the legend that is this blogger's close personal fiend, Young Malcolm. Here was the place where this meeting-of-minds went down (a new venue to both of us, as it happens - and really jolly nice it was too).

This is what we were doing ... in addition to swapping home media and talking, at length, about British movies and television of bygone days and this blogger's recent (and, hopefully, forthcoming) publishing endeavours. So, no change there, then.

This, here, is how the whole thing started.

Followed by The Main Event (which, if you're taking notes and/or considering going there your very self in the future, was proper lush. Both this blogger and Young Malcolm really deserved this).

And then, this blogger indulged himself in a nice, steamin'-hot, cup of Sweet Joe (plus an After Eight, an unexpected bonus).

Once the bill had been settled (including a perhaps-small-but-beautifully-formed tip for service), it was off with the pair of us straight to HMV where this blogger picked up the latest Stately Telly Topping Manor home-media stash. Here.

As usual, dear blog fiends, the whole event was extremely civilised, as well as educational, informative and, indeed, entertaining. And the food was actually angelic (we'll go there again, that's for damned sure). Certainly, it was all something of a step-up from the usual - albeit, geet cushtie and, also, really deserved - Us Dinner-type malarkey at The Stately Telly Topping Manor, 咖喱米飯和晶片.

Next ... Let us hope both of them - left to their own devices - paid their rent.

The sad part of many From The North blog updates these days is this blogger having to both report and reflect upon the shuffling off this mortal coil of several more of his heroes (or, at the very least, people whose work he has admired from time-to-time). Following the departures of Sly Stone and Brian Wilson a couple of weeks ago, we had a perfectly horrible forty eight hours over last weekend where we lost in rapid succession Ken Colley, Gerald Harper, Michael Madsen and Julian McMahon. That's one extremely invested serial-killer, dear blog fiends (and, presumably one with a frequent-flyer ticket).

A necessary Stately Telly Topping Manor confession. This blogger never actually got around to taking his driving test. Shamefully, Keith Telly Topping realises. But, for the singular opportunity to pilot Thunderbird 2, he'd've willingly learned and worn his L-plates with considerable pride.

Meanwhile, this blogger really wants one of these little beauties framed for The Stately Telly Topping Manor living-room wall. Perfect for going underground (at midnight or, indeed, otherwise).

These are the current Premier League standings according to the FA website one day last week. Another disappointing season for Manchester United and (especially) Spurs ahead, seemingly. Plus, a shock first title for Bournemouth, Brentford getting in the Champions League and Burnley in Europe and Sunderland managing to avoid relegation - whom would've guessed?

All of which brings us nicely to what this blogger has decided shall, from henceforth, be The Stately Telly Topping Manor own personal motto. It's certainly fitting. 

As opposed to this - admittedly entirely valid - Stately Telly Topping Manor description.

Remember, dear blog fiends, when in doubt ... 'don't think, just panic.'

'Calling all cars, calling all cars. Quick, lads, Greggs sausage rolls are on-sale at half-price for the next half-an-hour. When they're gone, they're gone.'

A special message, now, for all of From The North's many readers in the Thames TV region. 'Dun-dun-dun-dun, der-der-ter-terrrrr.' And, now we're done. 

Let it be known that yer actual Keith Telly Topping one day last week - and despite not actually feeling all that well that particular day - managed to change The Stately Telly Topping Manor duvet, The Stately Telly Topping Manor pillowcases and The Stately Telly Topping Manor sheets in The Stately Telly Topping Manor pit. Consequently, this blogger exclaimed the following for all the world (or, at least, all of the world that is within earshot of The Stately Telly Topping Manor estate) to hear.

This week's top From The North tip for all dear blog fiends owned by a cat.

If that doesn't do the trick, you could always get them to design something like this. It'll make them a fortune and save you from lots of painful scratches.

From that, dear blog fiends, to From The North's Headline Of The Fortnight nominations. Starting with this cracker (in every sense of the word imaginable) from the good old US of A.

'I imagine some people think the story isn't true,' John told Cornwall Live. This blogger cannot, possibly, imagine why anyone would possibly think such a thing, John mate. It all sounds so utterly plausible.

So, which camp do you fall into, dear blog reader - sceptic or true believer?

After that right load of old cock, another right load of old cock. Seemingly.

Of course, a From The North Headline Of The Fortnight nominees list simply wouldn't be complete without something from The Metro (so, not a real newspaper, then). After all, dear blog fiends, whom amongst us can say, in all honestly, that they have never idly wondered about the state of yer average plod's plates-of-meat? This blogger knows he, certainly, has. Mind you, by that same token, he's never actually gone to the trouble of ringing up the local nick to satisfy his curiosity once, let alone twelve hundred times. 

Yes, Dorset Echo, that'll be the planet Venus as filmed by someone with, seemingly, an inability to keep their mobile phone steady whilst filming upwards. (A tip; usually a good way to spot Venus in the sky in such circumstances is that it's got a big white arrow pointing to it.) Next ...

Things which are not 'like a lake' (or, even, a smallish pond), Worcester News, this puddle. And, whilst we're about it - oi, get a haircut, hippy.

The Great Snoring Bollard Mystery is, of course, without any shadow of a doubt the finest novel that Agatha Christie never wrote.

The Metro (so, again, not a real newspaper) gets a second entry in this blog's nominations list; this one a classic example of their 'do you people ever, actually, report any proper news or is it all abject, worthless horse-crap such as this? Sorry, silly question' oeuvre. Trees died to bring you this information, dear blog fiends.

Of course, dear blog fiends, it's always worth considering that swearing is neither big nor clever. And yer actual Keith Telly Topping should muddyfunking-well know all about such culting slit. As for those who wish to indulge in any blasphemy, please remember that some of the clergy are tooled-up and packin' considerable heat especially for people like you. Peas and rice.

On a similar theme, there's his classic from the archives. Which is a fairly straight piece of reportage about a serious social menace of the 1980s until you reach the third paragraph and the name of the rozzer in charge. At which point, dear blog fiends, all bets are off. He's called what, now?

'I like my coffee like I like my men ... covered in bees.'

When it comes to bees, of course, there is only but merely one thing that you need to remember, dear blog readers ...

'It's the man, it's the man it's the very man.'

'This is a Cheese Shop, isn't it?' 'Yes sir, but it's a bit runny.'

These pants will never stand up in court.

And, after that, a squash which 'looks a bit like a thingie'. A slow news day in Guernsey, was it?

Does anyone else reckon that Keith Pensioner is his actual name?

The next nominee - from the Aberdeen Press & Journal - contains the phrase 'release their bowels.' By which, seemingly, they mean the birds and not the unfortunate couple they are, allegedly, 'terrorising'.

This blogger does not wish to alarm anyone unnecessarily but From The North's advice to all dear blog fiends is to take extra-special care when you're opening any letters you might get.

This, from The Times - yes, that's The Times - seems to be what constitutes 'news' these days. It's that time of the year, seemingly, where there is no news only that there is no news. And, that it's (more-often-than-not) hot and it'll (more-often-than-not) be getting much hotter. 

The next one is for all dear blog fiends who, like this blogger, believe tennis is a right load of old Middle Class shit.

And this one is for all dear blog readers who may, like this blogger, feel all Tesla owners are a bunch of Middle Class hippy Communist Gruniad Morning Star reading, vegan quiche-eating wankers.

If this had been shown on Appointment With Fear on 18 October 1974 instead of Dracula Has Risen from the Grave, this blogger wonders how different his life would've been. Actually, probably not that different, if he's being honest. Like The Count his very self, Keith Telly Topping has always been a lovely little mover when he gets his funk right on. And on that bombshell ...

Finally ... Yes Hits Radio, yes, this blogger really is ready to 'supercharge [his] wee.' For, whom amongst us is not? Stay safe from the heat (and the enormous venomous spiders) dear blog fiends.