Sod's law, innit? As this blogger is sure all fellow sods will thoroughly agree. It would appear that, just sometimes, the universe
does actually listen to (and even answer) heartfelt pleas from The Multitude for a bit of respite from the never-ending heat.
Tell them all about it, 'Mister Spunk' (see
previous blog update for a, necessary, word of explanation on what that particular joke is all about and how it came to be in the first place).
At one point during August, the heat got so Goddamn serious that on one particularly alarming Saturday evening Britons all received, not one, but two major weather alters issued to their phones by The Government. Which, one imagines, fair shitted-up the majority of the populace as much as it did this blogger when what sounded like a klaxon announcing The Coming Of The Lord sounded in The Stately Telly Topping Manor front room. For an instant, this blogger thought the Bloody Russians had decided to start bombing us instead of Ukraine (or, indeed, Norwich - see below).
The second of these alerts, admittedly, was by
far more serious than the first.
On the subject of the
recent solar eclipse which was visible across large parts of the UK and, specifically, to one particularly numbskull sub-editor at the
i (so, not a
real newspaper, then). Whilst it is important to confess, up front, that this blogger is neither an astronomer nor an astrophysicist it is, nevertheless, Keith Telly Topping's understanding that solar eclipses, generally speaking, tend to take place when the Sun is actually
visible in the sky. And, therefore,
not at 'night'. Under the latter circumstances, whenever it gets dark all of a sudden, that's called '
night'. And, by 'generally', this blogger, of course, means '
always'.
The
last From the North blog update also contained details of this blogger recently aschieving a couple of twenty-two-to-twenty-three-thousand-plus scores on
Geoguesser. And, bragging about it because, partly he's shallow and obvious like that but, also, because he was as every single bit surprised by this happenstance as, he's sure, everyone else was. As of the day of writing this latest
From The North bloggerisationism update, this blogger's daily steak on the geography quiz website now extends to one hundred and thirty eight consecutive days. Recent highlights include, on 19 August, Keith Telly Topping finding his very self a mere but
thirteen short of breaking the previous Stately Telly Topping Manor record with a score of twenty three thousand eight hundred and twenty six. Close, dear blog fiends. Ever so close. But, ultimately, no cigar.
Then, on the following day, mistaking a location in rural Mexico for a location in rural Spain during the fourth round cost this blogger what may well have been a new Stately Telly Topping Manor record and consigned this blogger, rightly, back into the ranks of total mediocrity.
But, also, on 25 August we had a necessary reminder that this blogger remains an often geet clumsy and over-excitable oaf with a far-too-frequent an inclination to dive into something head-first instead of taking his time and considering his (presumably many) options; what occurred thereafter was, clearly, proof of his continued decidedly
amateur status as a Geo-type-individual, an absolutely piss-poor effort and one of this blogger's worst
ever daily scores. A useful reminder that one should never get too carried away when starting to think you've actually cracked something when you, demonstrably, have not. At least, not yet.
Another regular feature of recent
From The North updates has been Keith Telly Topping's picking holes in Google's Gemini AI and the, sometimes 'possibly not entirely one hundred per cent accurate', answers that it gives to what should be reasonably straightforward information requests. You
know the kind of thing this blogger is on about, yes?
However, dear blog fiends, Keith Telly Topping is but nothing if not a fair(ish) man when it comes to people (or, in this case, artificially generated ... things) actually getting requested answers, broadly speaking,
correct. Congratulations, therefore, to whichsoever (presumably) human being it was that fed
this information onto the Interweb so that AI could extrapolate a - more-or-less - accurate answer to a - more-or-less - straightforward question. Jolly well done, there whomsoever (or, whatsoever) you are.
That said, a thoroughly harsh and hopefully flipping painful pants-down-shoeing should be supplied to whichever AI (or non-AI)
plank still hasn't updated this blogger's
Grokipedia page, despite this blogger pointing out in the
last From The North update the several not insignificant errors and omissions that it contains.
Bad AI.
A couple of weeks ago, yer actual That There Keith Telly Topping did a telephone interview with the very excellent Emma Millen of BBC Radio Newcastle and BBC Radio Tees on the subject of writing about horror, science friction, fantasy, mystery and suspense for fun and profit(!), partly as a favour for this blogger's old BBC colleague Nick Roberts who is the
Upload show's producer, partly because this blogger has done a few such pieces with Emma previously and she's dead lovely to talk to but, mostly, because self-publicity is Keith Telly Topping's middle name, rather than 'Telly'. Actually, it's Andrew, but that's really not important right now. Highlights of the conversation went out on the evening of Saturday 29 August on BBC Tees only on this particular occasion as BBC Newcastle, in the shape of another pair of former BBC colleagues of this blogger, Matty Raisbeck and John Anderson, were busy
covering the blogger's beloved (and now, thankfully, sold ... along with half their first team squad) United's visit to Stottingtot Hotshots.
Gyiddip me bonny Toon, by the way. Stick
that in yer two-hundred-grand-plus-a-week pay packet, Mister Tonali, you greedy
filth. Anyway, for any dear blog fiends who wish to hear this blogger's bland, inane ramblings about all things Telos Publishing, his own private and personal history with watching horror movies on telly, how one goes about writing such books in the first place and, special bonus, a couple of bits of utterly
shameless name-dropping, the piece lasts for approximately thirteen minutes spread across three chunks at
this very link, starting at 1:15:30 into the show, followed by 1:28:30 and 1:40:30, each portion lasting about four or five minutes, ending at 1:45:34 just before Republica sing 'Ready To Go' (which, this blogger is reasonably certain that you will be, too, by the end). This will be available on
Listen Again for thirty four days from the date of broadcast (29 August 2026). Keith Telly Topping is, additionally, available for Birthdays, Christenings, Pantomime and Bah Mitsvahs, if anyone's absolutely desperate. This
was a public service announcement. With guitars.
'Cheer up, Sandro. Think about the size of your
massive wage packet; one is sure
that's ample compensation for you currently being bottom of the league.'
It's a Goddamn crying shame, so it is.
As usual, since last this blogger blogged like a big bloggerising thing, Keith Telly Topping has enjoyed at least one thoroughly enjoyable luncheonette up at The Keel Row with regular luncheonette companion, That There Young Malcolm. And, jolly geet lush it was, too. As demonstrated by this photographic evidence.
Which, as usual, went down right proper great. As demonstrated by
this photographic evidence.
When yer actual Desmond Dekker once said '
me git up in de mah-nin' slavin' far brecksa, so dat ev'ry mouse can be fed, woah-hoo, me ears are alight' this blogger is reasonably certain that yer actual Desmond his very self was most definitely
not singing about Morrison's 'three-items-for-a-fiver-plus-a-cuppa' meal-deal. This blogger, on the other hand,
was on the particular day that this here photographic evidence was captured by Carrie, the Stately Telly Topping Manor camera-phone. The fact that the scrambled eggs were, seemingly,
salmonella-free, was a welcome added bonus.
Meanwhile, back at The Stately Telly Topping Manor (Part The First). Shake it all about for the people, baby.
A new semi-regular The Stately Telly Topping Manor mini-series, next, 'Keith Telly Topping watches Wilfully Obscure Christopher Lee Tales of Mystery & Suspense.' Number one: Two hundred and fourteen points and a gold star will be awarded to any dear blog reader who successfully identifies the film that
this comes from. Answers on a postcard.
Meanwhile, back at The Stately Telly Topping Manor (Part The Second). Okay, ladies, one at a time if you don't mind. Please form an orderly queue.
Now, dear blog fiends, it's the 'Woah, Bit Of Politics' segment and some
From The North observations concerning
the recent, thigh-slappingly hilarious Clacton by-erection. Starting off with the fact that The Monster Raving Loonies put up
three separate candidates - Nick the Incredible Flying Brick, Screaming Laud Hope and Baron von Thunderclap (
four, if you count Laurence Fox) - in the process, receiving but twenty eight, eighteen and fifteen votes, respectively. This, it would appear, split the Clacton Raving Loony vote? If they'd fielded only but
one candidate - Nick the Incredible Screaming Thunderclap, perhaps - they would have received sixty one votes at least. Which, as a consequence, would've only put them a couple of hundred votes behind
certified Raving Loony, Fox.
Think about these things next time, guys - if you had done, it's entirely possible that Clacton may well have 'swung Loony.' Also, this blogger wishes to extend his most sincere sympathies to 'Woke Trump Carzee' (possibly
not his real name, Keith Telly Topping is guessing) who, despite getting only but eight votes,
still didn't come dead last in a Kevin Phillips-Bong style. Un-lucky, Mister Carzee.
Seven people, presumably all from his family, thought that Glenn Charles Cummings (Extremely Independent) was worthy of
their 'X'. Only in Britain, dear blog fiends. In other news, one-in-four Claptonites who expressed a preference, would sooner vote for
a bin than for That There Mister Nasty Farago. Who is now, once again,
under investigation for (alleged) general parliamentary naughtiness. There
is a God, it would appear.
This blogger must try the following the next time that he experiences any problems with The Stately Telly Topping Manor Sky TV reception.
'Still no luck catching them swans, then?' 'It's just
the one swan, actually ...'
That, dear blog fiend, would've
definitely been well worth paying good money to watch.
On an only marginally not-in-the-slightest-bit-related theme, this blogger begs to differ with this claim; he, personally, considers that the citizens of Satan-Is-Lord-upon-Wear (or Sunderland as it's otherwise known) would argue counter to this particular assertion.
Meanwhile, back at The Stately Telly Topping Manor (Part The Third). Check out
The Gear.
Next, dear blog fiends, it would seem that there are some places in the world where 'This Sort Of Thing' not only isn't banned but, rather, is actually
encouraged. Whomsoever knew?
'But, I only asked for a shampoo and set.'
Keith Telly Topping feels it necessary at this juncture to restate
From The North's oft-argued mission statement: 'Get a haircut and a shave, you
hippies. And get a wash, y'
stink.' There. Hopefully everyone feels a bit better now with that public restating of this blog's moral compass.
This blogger should say that this is, broadly speaking, a
wise notion.
Here, meanwhile, is the semi-regular
From The North Fashion Corner section. And, you are thoroughly welcome to it.
Style.
Sometimes, dear blog fiend, shop names are writing a cheque that the contents of the store itself don't have the tiniest hope in Hell of actually
cashing.
Back at The Stately Telly Topping Manor (Part The Fourth). And, once again, this blogger acknowledges Major - and, by Major, Keith Telly Topping means
Brigadier-General-type - thanks to the very excellent
Retro Vault Facebook page for their well-groovy inspirations in the areas of interior and exterior design and decoration at The Stately Telly Topping Manor.
All of which veritable stuff and, if you will, nonsense, brings us tottering towards the, by now extremely regular,
From The North Headline Of The Month awards nominations list; starting off with
this linguistic masterpiece from the
Manchester Evening News. This blogger is guessing that the stated lack of hardness in the individual concerned means the stolen Viagra didn't actually work on him? Whether the simple recidivist in questions ended up with a stiff sentence, however, remains unknown.
Followed swiftly by
this, from the
BBC News website (which used to be run by adults). Broadly speaking, dear blog fiends, there is no 'good' way to go. However, dying on the slopes of Mount Enta and it
not being 'drowned in molten lava',
that's really unlucky. (Let it be noted: Rich Hall's infamous
Qi joke about someone who gets struck by lightning being nicknamed 'Bernie' isn't, perhaps, the most appropriate comment to conclude this short segment with ... but it
is undeniably funny so, you know, let's just go with it.)
Next, this is a complete and total guess on this blogger's behalf and Keith Telly Topping freely confesses that he's no biologist or, indeed, a 'scientist' of any description but, could the answer to
this particular conundrum, be that birds possess
wings and, generally speaking, crocodiles do not? And, by 'generally speaking', this blogger means ... Oh, hang on, we've done that one, haven't we?
This blogger has eaten some decidedly odd (if, sometimes, extremely interesting) curry dishes in his time, dear blog fiend, but
curried seagull?
That's, unquestionably, a first.
This, dear blog fiend,
reported by the
Dunedin Herald, is one Hell of a good trick if you can pull it off.
If
this is, (as has been widely suggested), an example of
extreme sarcasm from the
Independent ('it's not been an easy year for Brooklyn Beckham, who has had to borrow his Godfather Elton John's yacht instead of holidaying with his family.' Oh, Brooklyn, our hearts
bleed for you, mate) then it's a premiere piece of ripping-the-actual-piss. But, this blogger has a very horrible suspicion that it, along with
all of these other wastes of good toilet paper about the chap, is supposed to be serious.
This, dear blog reader, is the Twenty First Century.
Meanwhile, it would seem that
police have been alerted to be on the lookout for a Timelord wearing a puzzled expression.
'It's a dirty job, but
someone's got to do it.' Said
the shark. Influencers? As indigestible as ever.
'
Don't hurry back on our account.' Said pretty much
everyone.
Of course, as long-term
From The North readers will know, a
From The North Headline Of The Month award nomination list wouldn't be a
From The North Headline Of The Month award nomination list without at least one contribution from the
Metro (so, not a
real newspaper). Congratulations, therefore, go to 'Live News Reporter' (as opposed, one imagines, to 'Dead News Reporter') one Sarah Hooper for
this piece of absolute - admittedly hilarious - rude
filth. One trusts your parents are really
very proud of you and all your doings, Sarah.
And, speaking of abject filth,
here's another
From The North Headline Of The Month award nomination list regular, the Middle Class hippy Communists at the
Gruniad Morning Star also getting in on the sexy malarkey act.
Next, possibly
the single most distasteful and shitty example of shoehorning a celebrity into a story (a tragic one at that) entirely for the sake of clickbait. Horrible. Just,
horrible.
Tomorrow's potential headline: '
Torygraph Sub-Editor reportedly found extremely dead in "mysterious circumstances"'?
One from that good-old bastion of
always truthful and accurate reportage, the
Daily Lies, now.
Here. Yes, because The Butcher of Grozny has had it right-in for those carrot-crunching bastards ever since The Canaries beat his beloved (though unsellable) Moscow Dynamo in a pre-season friendly in 1986, has he not?
'Errr ... No. No, it isn't.' 'Okay. Thanks for that, Scientist. Next in
The Times, is rice pudding denser than a sense of shame? Laurence Fox investigates.'
'Oh, Jesus,
why do you guys bring religion into everything?'
In the latest 'Shock! Horror! Probe!' 'exclusive' from the
BBC News website (which used to be run by
adults)
some daft plank of a hipster buys something off
Vinted and is then
surprised when it turns out to be 'not, strictly speaking, as advertised.' And we should all be,
what? Outraged on her behalf? Surprised?
Hugely amused? Well, there latter of course. No doubt about it.
'Accusations of "role-playing fantasy" and vandalism at the ancient sites on a Welsh island has turned the air of wonder into an atmosphere of hostility.' Apparently. Well, according to
The Times, anyway. 'There's, clearly, only one way to sort
this malarkey out, right good and proper and no mistake;
fight!'
Another work of
art from the
Metro (so, to repeat, not a
real newspaper, then).
This, clearly, being the - if you will - ahem,
wurst thing that ever happened to the driver in question. Nah, lissun ...
'So, what happened was, I was in the kitchen preparing the vegetables for Sunday lunch, nurse, and then I, err,
slipped. No, seriously,
that's exactly what occurred.'
This blogger isn't sure which is the most amusing part of
this story, once again reported by the
Indi without the merest hint of irony; the crushed hopes of Morrissey and all other 'I didn't vote for him' type anti-monarchists or the line 'Once they realised what had happened, they stopped the files and "panicked and left the premises."' This blogger could go either way on that score.
To which, no doubt, Mozza and his mates will all be furious, discombobulated and chanting, as one ...
One from the archives, now. And proof that
Basingstoke was a well-dodgy gaff back in the 1980s.
'I hear you're a racist now, Father ...'
'Should we all be racists now?'
Next, a demonstration that, living in The Land Down Under ('where women glow and men chunder', apparently), they also
appreciate a quality example from the 'How Ironic Is
That?' column.
On the other side of the Tasman Sea, meanwhile,
weirdness also abounds, seemingly. Involving cucumbers to boot.
Mind you, dear blog fiends, according the
Metro (so, not a
real newspaper),
vegetable abuse is also on the rise on these very shores. Who knew? If you're wondering, by the way, 'stroking his courgette' is
not an euphemism for something else.
Even Barry is at it, it would appear.
Bad Barry.
To cut a long story short he looks, if you will, 'cold.'
True.
This blogger, incidentally, once had the extreme misfortune to have to suffer through Tony Hadley
murdering the National Anthem before the 1998 FA Cup Final at Wembley. As if this blogger's beloved (and, in those days unsellable) United playing
appallingly against a not particularly impressive Arsenal side that day and losing without even a whimper let alone a bang (or a goal) wasn't bad enough.
One trusts it was
'the tight pink' rather than 'the loose brown'.
One of Enid Blyton's lesser-known works gets
the full reissue treatment.
And finally, one from
ITV News for all the billions of Charles Jolly fans out there. And, if you don't know who
he was, dear blog reader, that's what
Google is for.
In today's Stately Telly Topping Manor 'self-help' segment,
this is for any dear
From The North blog fiends who find themselves thoroughly in need of a cuddle.
Today's soundtrack at The Stately Telly Topping Manor, dear blog fiends.
Witchtastic.
'Slightly hearing-challenged cameraman, told to go out an take a picture of "a cult."' True story.
And, all of Them There razzamatazz and shenanigans concludes the latest
From The North blog update. This blog will return when next yer actual Keith Telly Topping deems it necessary to update all dear blog fiends on, if you will, what's goin' down in Groovetown. You feel me?
As usual, let us be all frightfully British and begin any given bloggerisationism conversation (and this one in particular) with the latest Stately Telly Topping Manor Weather Report. For there has been a lot of it about, of late. It's been hot, dear blog fiends. It's been sticky. It's been oppressive. This blogger has been extremely sleep-deprived for much of the last month and, generally, hasn't been this disappointed with life since The Godfather Part III was released.
However, wouldn't you just know it, dear blog fiends? Whereas we have found ourselves knee-deep in the hottest British summer since ... the last really very mad-hot British summer, indeed (2022?) with water shortages and hosepipe bans all in the offing, the second that England's cricket test series against Pakistan kicked-off, it's done naught but piss it down with rain ever since!
