Fair enough, really. Speaking of pointless appeals to reason, whence last
From The North was updated,
the majority of that update concerned this blogger's recent trails and tribulations regarding
Facebook and their truly scandalous treatment of Keith Telly Topping. In,
twice, deactivating accounts within the space of five days for no obvious (or, at least no clearly explained) reason. Whilst this blogger remains irked, vexed, narked and considerably tetchy about this sorry shovelful of diarrhoea, Keith Telly Topping
has moved on with his life in the interim. You should too, dear blog fiends. After all if the wind changes direction, our faces might
stay like that.
In fact, in a minor postscript to all that despicable malarkey
described last time out, a couple of days after the last bloggersiationism update went live this blogger discovered - purely by chance and much to his surprise - that on his phone, a shell of his
Facebook page
had actually survived Meta's
purge. He is a still unable to access the damned thing on his laptop, however, which is what he uses for the vast majority of the day. So, inconvenient as it is, this blogger has at least been able to alert several of his fiends with whom he wasn't previously in direct contact except through
Facebook to apprise them of the current situation. And, minor bonus, he
can still pop in there occasionally - once per day or so - to see how everyone is getting on and post the odd update. This does not, of course, mean this this blogger is any less infuriated at Meta in general and their full of his own
snot multi-billionaire owner in particular.
In fact, once again, this blogger feels obliged to get quasi-Medieval on their collective ass. Thusly.
How much therefore, you may be wondering, did this blogger deserve
this Stately Telly Topping Manor takeaway on Saturday evening after the extremely trying and stressful week he'd just had? On a scale of one-to-ten with one being 'yes, one supposes he
did, sort-of, deserve it. A bit. Maybe' and ten being, 'are you ruddy serious? Of
course Keith Telly Topping really, really, really,
really,
really deserved it.
Loads.' This blogger would suggest that, on such a scale, he deserved it
eleven dear blog fiend. Borderline
twelve, in fact. And, he feels, there must also be some necessary confirmation forthcoming that it was, in fact,
geet lush in this blogger sight and no mistake, right good and proper. So, there you have it.
Really deserved
and geet lush. A winning combination if ever there was one even at the worst of times.
Speaking of social media run by sickeningly rich and entitled egomaniacs with (one imagines) a
very small penis, this blogger never had
any time for Twixster long before it was fashionable to loathe it amongst
Gruniad Morning Star readers. As longer-term fiends of this blog may recall. That said, even this blogger has to grudgingly admit that at least one
twat (or whatever such postings were called) more-or-less justified that platform's existence. After all, as has been noted, even a broken clock is right twice a day.
As this blogger may have previously mentioned at some stage in the past, The Stately Telly Topping Manor is on a North-facing gable-end and, thus, whenever the Stately Telly Topping Manor Estate gets hit by a right flaming buffeting from any Biblical-style weather event (such as last weekend's
Storm Dave, for instance) the Stately Telly Topping Manor bedroom tends to get the full force of the resulting tempest.
So it was on Saturday evening as, at the height of Storm Dave's righteous and vengeful fury and wrath, this blogger spent a restless night in Bobby the Stately Telly Topping Manor bed. Not only because of the sound of the wind whistling like someone who had forgotten whatever tune it was they were attempting but, also, because Kneale the Stately Telly Topping Manor knocker on Devereaux the Stately Telly Topping Manor door kept on getting rattled by the cyclone with alarming regularity. All whilst this blogger was trying to get some much-needed shut-eye. It was, this blogger is forced to confess,
bloody Goddamn bastard annoying.
There was, clearly, only but
one way sort this stuff-and-nonsense out.
Right, howling wind, do your worst.
This blogger's fiend David Huckvale was quick to apologise on behalf of 'his' storm though this blogger felt obliged to observe that during the wee small hours of a long, dark night of the soul, just about every Dave this blogger could think of (King David, the great and saintly Daveed Ginola, the lead singer of The Monkees, the late, great, Mister Bowwwwwie, the TV comedy channel that recently changed its name, even Trigger's mistaken moniker for Rodders on
Only Fools and Horses) were getting both barrels from Keith Telly Topping's metaphorical verbal shotgun.
Whenever yer actual Keith Telly Topping is returning to The Stately Telly Topping Manor (for example on this most recent Bank Holiday Monday, having just done the weekly shopping at Morrisons), this blogger always indulges in a small, personal, ritual. He imagines his very self being stuck, unwillingly, in a Post-Nuclear Zombie Apocalypse-type scenario and - having been out to collect supplies essential for his survival in such a harsh environment - and with a number of brain-eating monsters close behind him, he gives himself exactly thirty eight second when he reaches The Stately Telly Topping Manor gate. That is the time in which he must get to the door, unlock it, get inside, take the key out of the keyhole at the front of the door, put the key in the keyhole at the
back of the door and then lock the door from the inside before he gets nabbed. Thus, if he manages it, he keeps the bloodthirsty zombies
out and, as a consequence, survives the Post-Nuclear Zombie Apocalypse-type scenario for one more day. This blogger, therefore, wonders does anyone else do this or are you all, dear blog fiends, the sort of people who feel that the best way to thrive in a Post-Nuclear Zombie Apocalypse-type scenario is to just let yourself get bitten and then try to change the system from within? Certainly, less zombies have to die that way so it's probably a kinder course of action in the long run. Keith Telly Topping has thought about this
way too much, haven't he?
That being said, it really was a jolly nice day out on The Estate. Even with a Post-Nuclear Zombie Apocalypse-type scenario in the offing.
In both directions.
The loss of all this blogger's
Facebook memories mentioned last time, as infuriating as that was, would have been doubly so if all of his many
Facebook fiends had also lost their own postings about interactions with this blogger. Fortunately, that wasn't the case and the legend that is Ian Abrahams was on hand to remind Keith Telly Topping that it is
almost exactly two years since we enjoyed a very pleasant and convivial day when he was up in the region to see Hawkwind at the City Hall.
Tempus fugit and all that.
One specific
downside of this blogger's
Facebook travails was the wiping out not only of his fiends-list but, also, equally as important from this blogger's point of view, his block-list. For those who don't know
Facebook, like some other social media platforms (though, seemingly, not all of them) operate a policy whereby if someone appears to be making a nuisance of themselves one can block their content from ones own sight. It's one of the few things
Facebook does that is, actually, quite useful. Anyway, this week a few names started cropping on this blogger's feed that he hadn't had any contact with (or
wanted any contact with) for some considerable time. A specific case in point: As briefly mentioned in the last
From The North update, this blogger once acquired his very own online stalker. This chap was persistently irritating and genuinely unpleasant in the way that a wasp can be when you're trying to eat apple crumble and custard at a picnic on a warm summer's day. He appeared again this week, with all of the unwanted predictability of a bad smell, sending Keith Telly Topping two highly offensive Direct Messages and, instantly, earning himself a deserved place in this blogger's newly-reconstituted block-file. This blogger will merely note, with some amusement, that one of the charges this individual made in his barely coherent rant was the claim that Keith Telly Topping is 'obsessed' with him. A textbook example of The Pot calling The Kettle a somewhat darker shade of pale, one could argue. This, remember, coming from someone who a few years ago spam-bombed four of Keith Telly Topping's
five blog pages with offensive, expletive-filled bombast (he should, one supposes, be given a modicum credit that the one he
didn't attempt to infect with his unwanted comments was the tribute page to this blogger's late-mother). And, all of that, seemingly, because this blogger decided the bloke was being a bit of a bore and that I didn't particularly want to talk to him. That's the Twenty First Century for you, dear blog reader. This blogger considered levelling with this bloke that, on a list of one-to-ten thousand things Keith Telly Topping gives more than five seconds of thought to on a daily basis, this bloke's not even in the top nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety five. But that would have involved actually replying to his rancid comments and also, perhaps, shattering his inflated imaginings of his own importance in this blogger's life. Isn't the Interweb a truly
wonderous - if extremely strange - place?
Remember, use your block-files judiciously if you have the facility, dear fiends. It makes for a much quieter life and it's
so much easier than potential alternatives.
Onto far more healthy and worthwhile topics Keith Telly Topping was but five years of the age when Apollo 8 circumnavigated The Moon at Christmas 1968 and the same age when Apollo 10 did more or less the same thing a few months later and Apollo 11 only bleeding went and
landed at the gaff and found, in Buzz Aldrin's beautifully poetic words, 'magnificent desolation.'
This blogger, as with many people of a similar age around the world, as a consequence grew up fascinated with all forms of space flight and all things astronautical (as detailed, in some depth, in the introduction to his recent book of British SF and fantasy movies
Island of Terror,
available from the publisher's website as well as all good book shops, some bad ones and
one particular wicked online seller that doesn't pay their taxes). This blogger, therefore, has been following the progress of
NASA's Artemis II in its almost-but-not-quite recreation of Apollo 8's 'where no man has gone before' mission. Thus, this blogger was probably as gobsmacked as everyone else waking up on Sunday morning to have
this stunning image as the first item in his newsfeed. Good morning, world. Lookin' good, there.
Or, to put it another way ...
If those sights don't make your jaw drop, dear blog fiend, then you're not quite a lost cause but you're well on that much-trodden road. Similarly, if
this didn't tickle your funny bone then there, genuinely,
is no hope for you.
Next. Oh mate, we've
all been there. Well, this blogger certainly has, anyway.
There have, it would appear, been some seriously dodgy goings-on in London in relation to
tea. As a member of The Media, this blogger feels it his duty to, as it were, grab the wrong end of the stick and start beating about the bush with it. What do you have to say about all
this tea malarkey, then,
Mister McQuickly? 'I have had tea. Lots of tea. Indian tea.
And biscuits.'
Your response, Chief Constable?
Also, dear blog fiends, don't you just
hate it when the people who write TV listings for newspapers crassly give away spoilers about a programme you've just started to get interested in?
In other news, dear blog fiends, as
previously discussed on this very blog, the recent discovery of two long-missing
Doctor Who episodes from 1965 is, at least, one reason to, briefly, turn that frown upside down.
The Nightmare Begins and
The Devil's Planet have both now appeared on BBC
iPlayer and, very good they are too. Particularly Bret Yvon's revelation of exactly were the Taranium that Mavic Chen has supplied the Daleks with to power their Time Destructor actually comes from.
Of course, not
everyone agreed with this assessment.
It's time, now, dear blog fiends, for Keith Telly Topping's Thought For The Day. And, it's this: Sometimes, the past really
was a very different country.
A really,
really different country.
Though, oftentimes, some sensible advice to the curious
was available if you looked hard enough for it.
There was also full employment for even the most unskilled.
They
did, admittedly, have The Drug Problem to deal with. But, there were some innovative legal solutions being proposed so as to discourage the addicted from their lifestyle choices.
And, most importantly, it was safe to walk the streets.
Hang on, this blogger believes he's
seen that particular movie. And it
never ends well.
Perhaps this blogger has said too much. Moving, therefore, swiftly on to other matters ...
Yes, let's do
that. Though, of course, this would
never happen.
Lastly in this extremely lengthy subsection, dear blog fiends, don't you just hate it when
this sort of thing happens? You're just settling down for a nice, leisurely night in with a good book when ...
We now reach the latest
From The North Headlines Of The Month award nominees. Of course, we simply couldn't have a competition
at all without at least one contribution from the
Metro (so, not a
real newspaper, then). And Alice Giddings can, surely, only be applauded for the public service she provides with her article
Why Men Over Fifty Keep Getting Things Stuck Up Their Bottoms. On behalf of all men over fifty, Alice, allow this blogger to express our sincere and bottom-felt gratitude.
In fact, why have a
From The North Headline Of The Month awards with one
Metro nomination when you can have a
from The North Headline Of The Month awards with
two Metro nominations.
Moment Woman Tumbles Into Recycling Bin After Trying To Clean It, by Josh Milton is yet another example of the
Metro's unique take on 'journalism as sneering cruelty'. Jolly well done, there.
Next, why have an example of the
Daily Torygraph's crass bleating on behalf of the sickeningly wealthy and crassly over-entitled,
I Earn £178k And My Wife Works In The City – But We Can't Afford Private School. Ones heart
bleeds for you, pal.
Or, you can have
The Times playing the same world's smallest violin with
No Nannies, No Baths — How Middle-Class Families Are Cutting Back? 'Energy bills, food prices and mortgage rates are all going up because of the Iran war and that means scrimping - but holidays are non-negotiable,' suggests the subheader of this glorious
entitled piece of whinging
crap. Maybe, not employing a nanny in the first place and then
looking after your kids yourself might be a start. Or is that too radical and 'socialist' a suggestion for people who read
The Times? Come The Revolution, dear blog fiends, all of this lot - last fag, up against the wall, bop-bop. Next ...
Definitive proof of the existence of nominative determinism, alive and kicking at the
Doncaster Free Press. Either that or 'Paige' is havin' a laugh and sub-editor wasn't in on the joke. Either way, massive applause all round.
The
Daily Mirra are also regular contributors to the
From The North Headline Of The Month awards and
Woman Smirks In Mugshot After Allegedly Filming Sick Acts At Airbnb Rentals To Post On Adult Sites is well up their usual low standards.
We also can't have one of these lists without a representative sample from the
Gruniad Morning Star. And, if
World's Oldest Tortoise Caught In Viral Crypto Death Scam isn't a twenty four carat example of what a right load of old tripe the
Gruniad considers 'news' then this blogger is struggling to think of a
better example. Though, give him a wee bit of time and he'll probably be able to find you one.
In fact, it took him
less than two minutes to dig
this classic out of the
From The North archives. From 2017 and still every single ounce as brilliant as it was the day Nadia Khomami first wrote it.
The
BBC News website - which used to be run by
adults - are also usually to be relied upon for some quality examples of 'let us stand up and salute the utter shite some people choose to care about' reportage.
This one, for example.
The
Evening Standard also deserve some credit for
Cocaine In The River Thames Is 'Another Problem Eels Don't Need', Says Expert.
The
Manchester Evening News, on the other hand, seem to be
down, down, deeper and down on poor old Rick, Francis and company and all of their amusingly original thirteen-bar blues malarkey.
Then there's the
Norwich Evening News leading
with the following triumph of tact and diplomacy.
On a, not-quite-similar - but, still funny - theme, well done
Kent Online. Didn't you learn in journalism school that context is
everything when it comes to, ahem, sore bottoms?
After sex, it's got to be drugs next, right? So, where else could be possibly be off to but Brighton and the
Sun's breathless
Warning Over Disorientated Seagulls 'On Acid' Wreaking Havoc In UK Seaside Towns Due To Annual Phenomenon. Mega, mega, white thing.
Rock and/or roll should, really, be up next but, instead, you'll have to make do with the
Hereford Times reporting that a church has opened its first toilet in nine hundred years. One imagines all the parishioners were absolutely bursting for a pee by that stage.
These are, of course, troubled and troubling time, dear blog fiends and down the West Country,
Plymouth Live have
an apparent case of fuel hoarding on the go. Whilst, simultaneously, crowbarring the words 'slammed' into their headline. If you weren't aware, that's tabloidspeak for 'criticised' only with less syllables.
Meanwhile, the
Swindon Advertiser have
an entirely new angle of the current tense situation in the Middle East. Won't
somebody think of the aquarists?
And, in Southampton, John Lewis are alleged to be
selling out-of-date pork crackling. Truly, we
must be living through the End of Days.
It's
all kicking-off, big-style, in Westmorland. Anyone else think this had all the makings of an action-packed six-part drama about urban alienation on Netflix?
Always remember, dear blog fiend, if you say something
unfortunate and subsequently find yourself in serious danger of being cancelled, don't worry it does not, necessarily, mean the end of your career. Case in point - this bloke once said
that and he still ended up becoming King.
Even the worst of public confessions can, ultimately, be forgiven. Well, most of them, anyway ...
Avast, ye land-lubbers, rapscallion pirates and knaves, it would appear, have thoroughly invaded The Stately Telly Topping Manor in search of booty and plunder and all that malarkey. What's
that all about, it's not even International Talk Like A Pirate Day until September.
Finally, dear blog reader, apparently this recidivist asked for seven billion other cases of breaking and entering, annually, to be taken into consideration. No mercy, judge. Bang Santa up with maximum porridge, it's the only way these people will learn.
Also, it's never not time for another timely reminded that, should any blog fiends be of a mind to, you can order any or all of this blogger's volumes on British horror, SF and fantasy movies from those genuinely sweet and lovely people at Telos Publishing (available
here,
here and
here). Unless, of course, you have
already ordered them. In which case, this blogger loves you all the mostest, baby. But, remember, you could consider ordering them
again. This time as a gift for that special someone in their lives ... that you don't like.
Hideous self-publicising ends. For the time being, at least.
From The North will return. Anon. If not sooner.
This blogger did consider, briefly, appealing to A Higher Power about such matters. But he came to the inevitable and ultimate conclusion of what any such Higher Power's response to any such appeal would, in all eventuality, be. Which is, basically, this. 
