It's that time again, dearest bloggerisationiosm fiends. Oh, yes it is.
The latest From The North bloggerisationism update begins with a major announcement. At long last, Island of Terror by yer actual Keith Telly Topping is now, thoroughly, available for purchase. Here. Or, here if you absolutely must (although they don't pay enough taxes, let it be noted). Good book, that 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 author copies of his recently published book had arrived. But, as this blogger had left The Stately Telly Topping Manor for an urgent appointment, this was how Royal Mail informed this blogger that they'd delivered the parcel; by dumping it on the (very wet) doorstep of The Stately Telly Topping Manor and then putting 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' 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's due (page six if you're taking notes) ...
As mentioned, at the time of delivery this blogger was not actually in The Stately Telly Topping Manor. He was, in fact, having lunch in town with his close 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, that was.
So, with this author's last book out of the way, we must move - however reluctantly - onto his latest one. And, for those who were wondering wondering, the Bride of a Vault of Horror 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.
Moving on, for those dear blog fiends who remember this From The North update from only but a few months ago, this blogger's casting of Fearing in the Night (Hammer Productions/An Exclusive Film Release, 1955) is now thoroughly complete. Be fair, if we were all in a parallel universe where it was on Talking Pictures TV this very afternoon, you'd watch it too, wouldn't you?
Next, not without developing opposable thumbs, 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. And time marches 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 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 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 the available facts. Note, no socks on shower rails (or, indeed, feet) here from the star of Fearing in the Night.
And, speaking of celebrated pipe-smokers, here's Prime Minister Harold Wilson along with his cabinet at Downing Street in 1975. Ah, what a Foreign Secretary that there Tom Baker was.
This 'exclusive', from the BBC News website, fair caught this blogger's attention. Some of those multigrain healthy Italian subs are pretty rock hard, it should be noted. As an assault weapon, it's certainly more offensive than a Marks & Spencer's soft roll or 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 many binge-watches these days, he's far too busy writing big books about British horror/SF/'mystery and suspense' films. 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 fantabulous) but that series seven has been commissioned. Proof, indeed, that you can't keep a superspy-slob down.
This blogger, he is forced to repeat, doesn't tend to do many binge-watches these days, he's far too busy writing big books about British horror/SF/'mystery and suspense' films. But, he will always make an exception for Trigger Point. Though, in this blogger's 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 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 six-monthly hospital day of blood letting and other stuff (with lots of sitting around being bored in between) mentioned in the last bloggerisationism update 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 about size not being important. Don't tell this blogger she was lying, dear blog fiends?
Also in this week's correspondence.
Everyone needs to have a dream, dear blog fiends. Dreaming (as Blondie once said) 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, isn't it? Doesn't Miss Southampton have any say in the matter?
This wouldn't happen to be 'research' 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. 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 words. 'Shocking footage shows the moment a man suffered burns after trying to launch a firework from his bottom. 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,' notes the article. And, if you're wondering, it's the following line 'instead of rushing to his aid, onlookers can be heard laughing in hysterics' that makes it art.
Next, this ... 'Forgot.' Yes. of course.
Chinny Reck-on. Oh, Jimmy Hill ...
Really? You don't say Sky News. Well I'd never have thought about doing that ...
You normally have to pay extra for this sort of thing you're cruising.
And, finally dear blog fiends, who said the Youth of Today haven't got the sense they were born with?
