Monkey Business

Monkey Business — comical short story, for adults. Written 1999.

It isn’t very often that orangutan come to stay at the bed and breakfast, but last week, in the midst of the slow winter to spring period, that is exactly what happened. It was a lovely morning, with a vast blue sky daubed with the occasional white fleck. I went out to collect the crate of milk and yogurt, breathing in a generous amount of the crystal sharp air which would soon be thawed by the midday sun. Two little girls strolled past the front gate with their mother; both of them had an ice cream.
“Some kind of breakfast that is!” I remarked, winking at one of the children.

“They won’t eat a full English breakfast, and I don’t allow them to eat butter or margarine ’cause of trans-fatty acids,” replied their mother, a little morosely, as she passed on the way down the crowded street of Victorian terraced houses.
I paused, trying to think of a reply to make the exchange a little neater, and then countered with, “There’s milk in them ice-creams; your girls will grow up with fine smiles, as long as they keep brushing their teeth!”
I don’t know if she heard all of this but they all chuckled anyway. I whistled an uncanny little tune that I’d heard on the Radio on the way back up to the front door, and a tiny blackbird sang the perfect counterpoint.
I went back in to the house to get started with the guest’s breakfast, cracking eggs and throwing bacon onto a spluttering frying pan. The coffee jar was empty, so I opened a new one, taking pleasure in breaking the seal with a teaspoon. The smell of coffee was rich and enchanting, better than any perfume. Lovelorn, I imagined myself going for walks by the coast with the woman from the Kenco adverts, each of us supping coffee from plastic cups, brown on the outside and baby blue on the inside. My companion’s hair would move in time with the sun light flickering leaves, and wafting from it would be this rich smell of coffee. The couple in residence weren’t down yet, so I made a cup for myself. The light shone on the surface in a widow’s peak and the steam coiled up to the ceiling past my chin like a cat’s tail.
I heard the usual bickering which signalled that the Peppards, an elderly daughter and her even more elderly mother, were down for breakfast. They had been staying here for three weeks now and all they had done, while I was in earshot anyway, was split hairs over the most inconsequential things: the temperature of the shower, the consistency of their poached egg etcetera etcetera. The younger Peppard’s favourite word was “sniffy”, she kept saying, “I’m not being sniffy but…” All this achieved was to give her the “sniffy” tag. One time, I turned up the radio at almost full pelt to drown out their incessant requests. When I went past the doorway which joins the dining room and the kitchen, I noticed that my audaciousness had actually brought them together against a common enemy. They whispered conspiratorially across the rack of toast, casting vexed glances in my direction. However, when I went back out to collect their plates and leavings they were hyper- friendly and sycophantic. I wondered if they realised that anyone without a hearing aid could hear them spouting off.
I summoned up the energy to go out and greet the Peppards once again, exchanging the usual plastic pleasantries about the weather etc. Thankfully, the door bell rescued me from psycho-somatic torture. The bell didn’t seem to be ringing properly; it would start off as normal and then sort of fizzle out. Through the frosted glass panel of the door I couldn’t see anyone and wondered if the local kids were making me the butt of their jokes again, but it was too early in the morning for truant high jinx. On opening the door I was confronted with the most curious thing I’ve seen in my life. An orangutan was standing on my doorstep and he greeted me with a look that conveyed semi-intelligent emotion. He was only about two foot tall on his hind legs which explained the difficulty in reaching the bell. I scrutinised the scene before me which was framed by the door: it looked like something out of a cartoon strip: there was the monkey peering up at me with an eager to please smile, a taxi was reversing behind him, the sunlight making spectral spikes on its silver bonnet. His only possessions were a piece of driftwood, gnawed at one end, and a bum bag round his waist. I was totally speechless, what on earth do you say to such a creature? I went into autopilot and used my usual opener for guests, ‘Welcome to Lily pond Guest House, could I furnish you with a room?’ I heard myself say these words, but it felt like I was floating around the ceiling looking down upon myself. The orangutan replied, with exemplary pronunciation while my head was spinning round and round. “Yes, I would be most grateful if you could fit me into your fine establishment,” he said, adding courteously, “If you have it, I’d really like a room which faces onto the street.’
It felt like a black bear was pushing me down onto the ground; my whole body convulsed and eventually it gave in to the unbelievable pressure. I was roused from my temporary shutdown by the cut glass vowels of the orang, “Sir! Sir! Are you all right?”
He was panicking. I heard him mumble confused instructions to himself, “What do I do! Better check the book.” He unzipped his bum bag and began flicking through the pages of his little notebook, muttering, “Where is the damned thing! I, J….aha, here it is, under K…..Kissing, I wonder if that would resuscitate. Mmm, let’s see… you insert the tongue and wiggle it about vigorously, occasionally changing pace. How odd. Well, I suppose it’s worth a try!”
I felt his cold, podgy hands placed on my cheeks; the thought of being snogged by a monkey held no attraction for me and I sat up quickly. The orang fell back, his hairy legs waving in the air.
“I’m getting up, don’t worry! I’m getting up!” I shouted.
There have been lonely, frustrated times when the thought of a wet snog from any mammal I would have gladly accepted, but on this day I felt a bit more choosy. This second shock had made the first one more palatable and I was quite willing to accept the existence of a talking primate.
“I beg your pardon, but you’ll probably admit that you are a very, eh, special creature; it isn’t very often that I hit the deck, let me assure you.”

‘Oh, that’s quite understandable Sir, I do get the odd furtive look in my direction occasionally, but you get quite used to it. In fact ever since I arrived on these shores most people tend not to notice me at all. I’ve read about the reserve and eccentricity of your people, so I suppose a marriage of these two qualities works in my favour!” The monkey allowed himself a little guffaw, before asking if he could be shown up to his room with some haste because he was tired with the long journey. “
Sure!” I said, immediately warming to my new guest, “I was just wondering how you travelled here. Did you get the ferry?”
“Nothing as fancy as that I’m afraid. My only means of travel is this bit of driftwood under my arm. I’m completely at the mercy of the thing, as well as the sea currents. You’ve probably noticed the teeth marks at one end. It’s quite embarrassing, but on my journey here I spent hours adrift, never knowing if I was going to find land. My Jaffa cake rations ran dry very quickly, and there were a few close calls when I was so famished that the driftwood actually became an appealing source of nourishment. The mania associated with hunger plays tricks on your mind, and you can truly believe that the float is a nice sausage, or a thick piece of steak.”
“Scrumptious I’m sure,” I said ironically, although secretly empathising with such madness. We walked up the stairs, past the yellowy picture of me sitting on a high wall with a mopey expression. “By the way, Mr…” I hesitated.
“Oh, where are my manners, my name is Jake by the way. Or I should say that is my human name, if I told you my real name it would just sound like the ravings of a crazy animal.”
“So Jake, I was wondering what caused you to take to sea in the first place. Did you fall off a boat or something while in captivity?”
“Not at all. I was totally free back home; the part of the forest where my species comes from was undiscovered by human explorers. I think that was part of the problem for me, I’d heard so much about the civilised ways of distant human tribes that it made me curious to find out as much about them as I could. Initially I asked the elder orangutans, but they just rolled back their gums and showed me their yellowy teeth. One day, I decided that my destiny was to be amongst the smooth skinned peoples. I looked out to sea, where the waves were breaking on the fine golden sands. The high rolling waves seemed to be a warning: our species are frightened by water in the main. However, since life was becoming so dull amongst my own I decided to put myself at the mercy of the wide blue yonder, as someone once called it.”
“That’s very brave,” I said.
“Not at all,” he countered. “My hairy brood have been living the same way as long as I can remember. The same routine and the same hopes and fears: Will there be bananas, or will there not be bananas? I realised that it would be cowardly not to go off in search of adventure.”
“What an interesting story. You know, I can really empathise; occasionally I have wild longings to do something adventurous, but my solar plexus gets the better of me. I wish that one day I could stop being such a big bundle of nerves and get out there and do things.”
It occurred to me how easily I could speak to my new guest; in fact, I could open up my soul to this orang more than any human I had ever encountered. I felt like telling Jake this, but thought that such candour would embarrass the primate. At that moment, I made a promise with myself to become great friends with the orang, and perhaps together we could free ourselves from fear and ennui.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” said the orang looking down at his hairy fingers, “but I’d really like to get a day’s sleep before the morrow. I’ve got a lot of plans.”
“Oh yes of course, I was enjoying your story so much that I forgot about your weary spirit. I’ll leave you at once.”
I walked to the doorway, when the orang called back.
“Thanks a lot for your hospitality by the way. It is very much appreciated. I really admire you for not turning me away at first meeting.”
“Not at all, although you could see that I was rather perplexed at first. Breakfast is between nine and ten in the morning, by the way.”
“I’m sorry Ted, but I’m afraid I haven’t quite grasped the clock thing yet. Back home the sun follows a particular course through the sky, which is a signal for all sorts of things. Could you set the alarm, just so that I don’t miss breakfast?”
“Of course,” I answered, “It’ll probably be a pleasant change not to have to pick out the splinters.”
We laughed free and easily. The orang watched me closely when I was setting the alarm, while jotting down some stuff in his notepad and making little interested noises. I left the room while the orang shut the curtains and crept into bed.
It was a new morning, and the sun spilled crimson across the tender sky. I looked out of my curtains and saw that the pavement was dark with rain. A little westie plodded miserably up the road, its fur all sodden. The owner, a stout man clad in denim, was following behind. He caught me looking and I had to hold my gaze so that I didn’t seem like a voyeur. The Peppards were down for breakfast as usual. I greeted them, trying to hide my contempt behind my gritted teeth. “Good morning again, I’m afraid the weather has taken a turn for the worse. If you decide to venture out, remember there are a lot of spare umbrellas in the hat stand.” Guests would always forget their umbrellas, at the end of each month I’d usually take about two down to the Oxfam shop.
When I had served the Peppards their salmon and scrambled eggs I retreated to the kitchen. I was longing to see my new friend at breakfast. Ten minutes passed and I got worried that he’d slept in, so I rushed upstairs and chapped on his door, but there was no answer. Impatiently, I banged my fists on the door, denting the wood slightly, but still there was no answer. My curiosity got the better of me. I reasoned that Jake would be sorely disappointed if he missed breakfast. My hand shook slightly as I fitted the key in the hole; with a quick, sharp turn, the door was ajar. I pushed it open gently and surveyed the room. To my surprise there was no sign of the orang, other than the crumpled bed linen. I searched under the bed and in the bedside drawers to see if there was any trace of the bum bag or the drift wood, but all I found was an old copy of Woman’s Own (A woman with hair like dry grass and receding gums grinned out at me). I felt scared; scared of losing a person with whom I could feel so comfortable. In a rage, I punched the bed, and felt foolish for doing so.
Depressed and confused, I straightened the bed covers and closed the door on my friendship. When I got downstairs, the Peppards complained that they had waited too long for their coffee. Such problems seemed pointless in the face of a lost friendship, so I barked a reply, “You know where the kitchen is, why don’t you get it yourself.” Both Mrs and Miss Peppard seemed stunned by my outburst, but not as much as I was. I immediately apologised and made up a lie about having to attend a cherished aunt’s funeral in a few weeks. They were really sympathetic, and kept asking me questions about it. It got to the point where I had fabricated a mini life-history. When they asked, rather stupidly, if there was anything they could do, I was about to politely decline, and thank them for their understanding, however, I realised that they might have seen Jake on their way to the bathroom or something that morning.
“Have you seen our latest arrival today?” I enquired.
“No. What do they look like?,” asked Miss Peppard, pouting her lips and widening her eyes somewhat like an arch schoolteacher.
“Pretty much like an orangutan, although his eyes convey a peculiar clarity of thought. If you saw him, you wouldn’t forget.”
“Pardon?” said Miss Peppard. Who glanced at her mother when she thought that I wasn’t looking.
“Oh, it sounds pretty strange I know. Orangs are notoriously dumb compared to homosapiens, but this one is as smart as you or I.”
The Peppards mumbled that they hadn’t seen him, although if they did, they’d be sure to let me know. This gave me a lifeline and cheered my spirits a little. Ironically, just when I was feeling better, old Mrs Peppard asked if I had been feeling well lately. “I’m as fit as a fiddle,” I assured her. They headed upstairs, speaking under their breath as usual.
In the kitchen, I scraped the Peppards’ leavings into the bin; it was a sickening task that I could do without. The plates still had some residue of tartar sauce, so I took them over to the sink to give them a rinse and a rub. The hot water exaggerated the fishy smell and I tried to hold my breath for as long as possible. The kitchen window looked onto the back garden, where my poorly cultivated plants were prostituting themselves to the plump bees. It made me contemplate my love drought of the past ten years. I would have given everything for her company at that moment, for a kind touch, or just a chat that didn’t involve banal pleasantries. The day my wife left had become a blur; I can’t even remember what we were arguing about in the end, in fact, I am beginning to forget what she looked like. What I do recall is that we exchanged many harsh and cruel words, but they were the symptom of a deep and irreconcilable problem. Looking back I can understand her frustration; she was a very direct person, although warm and gentle too. It was infuriating for her to see me brooding over something and then never let her in on the problem. I guess I was a little agoraphobic. She called it anti-social. Her last words before she slammed the front door were that “she was leaving me to become an embittered old fool.”
Strangely, it was all water off a duck’s back to me at first. But after two weeks alone, I realised that without any substantial contact with the outside world, I was becoming less of a person. I stopped reading books, watching T.V. or going out for a walk along the promenade. One day I felt really low (I’d been warned about my appearance and slack attitude by my bosses; they said that I took my job as night-watchman literally) and began to dream my way out of the mess I was in. The apex of my thoughts was to meet someone who would retain me in their memory for just an instant. It was so depressing staying in the big house all day on my own; it was then that I got the idea of starting a bed and breakfast. I could leave my job at the paint factory and be my own boss and if things turned out as planned I would meet lots of strange and interesting people. That was five months ago now and business ever since has been quiet. Most people who come to stay are widowed old men and women, or holidaymakers who stay at my B&B for a day and night until they find somewhere better. In the guestbook, people always write their comments in polite block capitals, usually using the word “Fine”. What annoys me is that if they find it so “Fine”, why do they feel the need to move on all the time? But enough of this prattle.
I went for a walk to the local pub, hoping that Jake would be back in his room by the time I got home, but as I strolled down the high street, there he was, eating a bag of pickled onion crisps. Pretending to be casual, I asked him if he fancied a pint, and he did indeed!
We stood outside the ‘Stable Inn’. Jake seemed rather impressed with the wood carved sign, as well as the gargoyle holding a frothy pint placed just above the door. I was a little more hesitant than usual about going in, I wasn’t sure how the regulars would take to the presence of an orangutan. Trying to think positive thoughts, I pushed open the door and entered the place, holding the door for Jake in case it was too heavy for him to push. We stood side by side, as if waiting for someone to comment, but only one man who sat at a table with a woman looked up from the newspaper spread out in front of him. The thing took up most of the table and the woman didn’t have any room to place her sherry glass down.
“Are you going to stand there all day Ted, or are you going to order a drink,” said a gravely, playful voice. It was Joan, the barmaid. This connection put me at ease. I strolled up to the bar and ordered a pint of best bitter; the orang, who had climbed up to the barstool, asked quietly for a shandy. In case Joan didn’t hear this request I repeated it.
“And a shandy for the monkey? You’re really a scream!” said Joan, who laughed so much that she spilled some of my pint and had to fill it up again. “Did you hear that Tony,” she said, straining to get out the words, “He wants a shandy for the monkey!” Tony who was collecting glasses, gave her an indulgent smile and said sardonically, “There’s always one.” He was trying to be laid back for the benefit of two girls who slurped their wine at the bar. I wondered why they found his request so amusing; couldn’t they see my hairy friend? Perhaps she had overlooked him because he was sitting so low down on the barstool.
“You sit down in your usual place Ted, I’ll bring your drink over”
“That’s very kind of you, but make sure that you don’t forget the shandy, we’re both parched.”
The smile slipped from Joan’s face and she gave me a concerned look.

We sat down in the dark and snug corner of the pub and Joan brought over our drinks. I could tell that Jake was a little hurt by the barmaid’s laughter.
“Don’t mind her, she’ll laugh at anything that one. One time I sneezed in the middle of saying goodnight and she was in hysterics.” Jake smiled a little and thanked me for being so understanding. I felt a pleasant, warm contentment rushing through my body, but as usual it wasn’t long before outsiders came to disrupt things…The two girls who propped up the bar asked if they could sit down at our “snug” table. I could hardly say no to these sluts. There was an embarrassing silence. Jake declared that he was going to the toilet and shifted out of his seat, brushing against the leg of one of the ladies. After he was gone, the one nearest me, who was pretty but had deep laughter lines in a kite shape around her mouth and crinkly eyes, began to rib me about Jake, “
“Do you want me to spank your monkey?” she said, biting her thick bottom lip. Although a little scared by this question, I felt oddly jealous that the monkey had pulled and not me, even though the girls were not to my taste. Then, the other one shifted her chair so she’s nearer me and placed her hand on my knee. I noticed her chipped red nail polish. In the blink of an eye, her hand was wandering slowly in the direction of my crotch so I got up suddenly, accidentally bumping the table and knocking my empty pint glass to the floor.
In the gentleman’s toilet I looked around for Jake but he was nowhere to be seen; noticing that one of the cubicles was engaged, I presumed that he was in there. The company of the two ladies had made me come out in a cold sweat, so I decided to go wash my face at the sink. There was no plug hole and the taps were those ones where you tentatively press down with no joy, and then press firmly so that a powerful rod of water is flicked up by your cupped hands onto your trousers. Hoping to avoid an embarrassing wet mark, I pressed with the right amount of firmness, using both hands. I realised that I’d need another hand to wet my face, so I pressed again with my right, and, bending down, flicked the water up to my face. I stared at myself in the mirror and every wrinkle and laughter line seemed ten times deeper. I stood upright and continued to stare at myself, I wanted to look away but my eyes were locked onto their reflection. My legs went weak and I felt like I was going to fall over. “Jake!” I cried, but there was no answer. The mirror seemed to ripple like an upright pool and I felt an overpowering desire to let myself fall in. Falling forward, I expected to feel my face kissed by the cool and welcoming waters but instead my forehead hit the looking glass which must have knocked me out.
When I surfaced back into reality, I found myself slumped on the toilet floor. Joan was dabbing my forehead with a wet cloth and asking me if I needed an ambulance. I struggled (“like Bambi,” Joan said.) to get up, and Tony, who had been relieving himself at the urinal, zipped his trousers and came over to give me a bit of extra support. “That’s it good man, slowly does it. I tell you, you and your monkey must have consumed a skinful before you got here, eh”’ he nudged me jocosely, then said to Joan, “This boy’s been round the monkey bars!” They were still in hysterics about this when I left the Tavern. I walked slowly along the promenade which looks down onto the beach; a sea mist was drifting slowly in over the moonlit sands.
A flock of seagulls sailed along on the air currents above; it was soothing to watch them float along at the mercy of the wind. I used to think that they were rather lazy animals for not flapping their wings as much as other birds, but one morning, when I was walking along this same path on the way to the local newsagent, I realised that they resist from flapping their wings because they are so large, and to do so would be both painful and tiring. On hitting upon this, I felt really happy and somehow sated; it was as if by finding this out I had eased away the pain of the unknown that lurks around every corner. The sensation was short lived, by the time I got back home and settled down in front of the television, the discovery had become a fact and I blushed a little at my stupidity and ignorance for getting so excited about something so obvious.
Further along the road, I could make out a dark figure on the beach. It looked like a large rock, but I hadn’t noticed it before. The gulls seemed to notice it as well, because some of them dived to the ground and pulled up just before making contact. I was startled when the figure began to move around a little. One gull landed beside the strange silhouette, hopped over towards it and began to peck. The figure ran around in circles and I realised that it certainly wasn’t human: humans don’t trail their arms on the ground. It had to be Jake! I went further along the path to a place where the drop wasn’t quite so big, sat on the edge and used my arms to push me over. I landed on the soft sand and then ran over to Jake, shouting, “Shoo! Shoo!” The seagull cleared off before I had even got within ten metres of it. There was wild screeching from up above, so I used my body to shield the wayward orang in case of another attack. The gulls flew back towards town. Jake who was crouched over, raised his head and said, “I guess they don’t appreciate a newcomer to the local foodchain.”
I held out my hand and pulled Jake back to his feet.
“Where did you go,” I asked breathlessly.
The orang stared sadly to the sea and replied “Sorry for leaving you, but I had to get away from those vulgar women. I escaped through an open window and sat on the bench over the road waiting for you. Some children began to throw pebbles at me, so I went to the beach.”
Jake then unzipped his bum bag to reveal the shells he had collected. “Aren’t they great!” he exclaimed. I picked one out and examined it; the outer surface was covered with little white circles, while the inside was smooth to touch. It was a funny coincidence, because I too enjoy collecting shells and have an impressive collection of unusual shells and flotsam and jetsam stashed away under my bed; I thought to myself that this coincidence was surely indicative of the common bond that we shared. “Come on, we’d better get back to the flat.”
I was wearied but so glad to find my monkey and to find that I wasn’t going loopy. The occasional taxi passed and resonated like a breaking wave.
Back at the bed and breakfast, I was surprised to find a note left on the checking-in desk; attached to it was a cheque for £20. I picked it up and saw the spiky, efficient handwriting of Miss Peppard. They had decided to “take their custom somewhere else”, and bemoaned all that was lacking, including myself, who was described as “heading for a fall”. I had never been so insulted in all my life, but at the same time, I had never felt so pleased and exhilarated in all my life as well: anything was better than ‘Fine’. I wondered whether their comments and criticisms marked a new and adventurous chapter in my life.
“What is that all about,” asked Jake, wondering why I was looking so pleased with myself.
“The Peppards have dosed me with the perfect tonic!” I replied.
Now that the Peppards were gone on their merry way, it was just me and Jake left in the house. After I had a shower and Jake had taken notes on the day’s experiences, we went down to the T.V. room. I usually avoid going there when guests are using it. The leather suite is particularly creaky (I had meant to get it replaced for ages), so you and everyone in the room becomes conscious of the slightest movement. It was like when you eat a packet of crisps in the cinema and have to let them soften in your mouth before you can crunch and digest them. The news was on. We sat in silence that wasn’t pregnant but rather spoke of our mutual understanding and eternal bond. After about half an hour, Jake began to stretch and said that he was going to retire for the night; I wished him a good night’s rest and asked him to promise that he’d tell me if he was going on any more early morning excursions. He nodded kindly and then went off to his room. I stayed on, watching the late film, “The Karate Kid”, and felt stronger and braver than ever before.
At about 5am, I was stirred from sleep by a phone ringing. I got up suddenly and realised that it was coming from the television: some cheap American sitcom was on. I looked around me. The orang had left his piece of driftwood in my living room and I felt really happy and optimistic, this unusual felicity was heightened when I remembered that there were no guests to pamper. I stretched out and millions of multi- coloured fragments cascaded before my eyes, they were like the sacred dust of happiness and I reached out to grab them, and then chuckled at my foolishness. I drifted back to sleep and woke up at 7. Instead of calling his room telephone, I decided to walk upstairs to Jake’s room and tell him that his breakfast was ready. The door was a little ajar, so I opened it slowly amazed at what I was seeing.
The orang was furiously shoving his pillows under the blankets, then moulding them into some kind of shape. It struck me that he was trying to create the deception that someone was sleeping there. But why on earth would he want to pretend that he was in bed? Was it me who was to be the victim of this ruse? Surely not! Things had been better than ever since the orang had chanced upon me and my downward spiralling life. That night we sat and watched T.V. gave me contentment unprecedented since my now misty childhood. I remained watching, the silhouetted figure of the monkey framed by the doorway. He hadn’t noticed me yet, although I was sure that the pounding of my heart would give me away. But he was too occupied with preparing his departure to notice me. His eyes darted from the bed to the bedside table where he had put his bum-bag; scattered around it were a few of the shells collected before the attack of the seagulls. He pushed them off the end of the table into his little hand and put them carefully into the bum bag. Next, he walked over to the window and paused reflectively at the scene below. After a muffled cough, he turned sharply and gasped when he saw me standing in the hallway.
He reached out his arms as if to seek an embrace and said, “Jake, are you restless too,” unable to conceal his irritation at being discovered. “I see we both have trouble getting to sleep then,” he remarked with affected good humour.
I slumped down on the armchair near the bed and under the yellowing watercolour of the seafront that my wife had painted in happier times. “Jake, I want you to be honest with me, were you going to leave again without telling me?” Jake looked to the floor and kept shifting the weight of his body from one foot to the other. The pause was stillborn. “I’m waiting for a reply, I think that it’s the least I deserve.”
Jake raised his head and screwed his eyes at me. I heard him mumble, “I know what you deserve,” under his breath.
“What did you say?” I screamed, unable to believe that I had raised my voice to him. Jake bared his teeth at me and cursed me with as many profanities as one primate could learn in the space of a few weeks. I felt as if I was pressed against my chair when I heard him attack me in such a demeaning way, most of it wasn’t repeatable and some of it was said with such venom as to render it incomprehensible. When he finished the barrage, he panted heavily. After regaining his breath, he coughed and began to lecture me on all my faults, weaknesses and inconsistencies. He strutted back and forth across the room like a self-righteous school teacher, waving his arms around wildly to illustrate his abhorrence for every fibre of my being. His words were the most cutting indictment of my character, and had the ominous ring of an epitaph.
“You’re a fucking fruitcake mate, maybe you should dive off that pier that I scaled after years at sea and the fickle finger of fate will lead you to the land of the monkeys where you can live in perpetual harmony. Even I, your imaginary friend leaves you; I’m basically you only with a baboon’s arse! Don’t blame me for leaving you, you secretly willed it to happen because you can’t resist your little solitary universe. You complain about being called “nice” all the time, but you do it just to keep everyone at their distance! God, of all the people that I could have been an imaginary friend to, it had to be you, a grown man for god’s sakes; most people hand over their invisible pals back to the fairies along with their baby teeth. And what’s more, you didn’t even make me human, you hateful bastard! Can’t you get on with anyone close up? I’m surprised that you didn’t befriend the man on the moon. You really are a sad act Ted Goulding, a sad act indeed…” And with that, he strode past me like a brooding storm cloud and I haven’t seen him since.
I suppose I should finish this story now. Like the orang I am going to take to sea. I am standing at the end of the town pier and hopefully by letting myself drift along the warm currents I will reach the island where Jake came from; although our friendship didn’t work out, I feel that his home is my spiritual home.
July 24th 1999