Monkey man

To make sure I made it to the gig on time I called the local taxi firm. The driver had just started to moan about having to collect me from my room, when he suddenly checked himself and recognised me.

"Bloody hell it's old Damage. It's been one of those weeks for celebrities. That Lord Morris of Manchester was in my cab last Tuesday.

"'Course I've got tickets for tonight," he continued as he lugged my bag of necessities down the eight flights of stairs, not pausing once to complain about my aversion to lifts or having a back problem as seems the usual fare of taxi drivers' patter. "I mean, the chance to see Bloody Stupid live, I thought that would never happen again, not after The Boy died. And you seemed on your way out for a long time too."

He turned to look at me, not minding that at that very point he was pulling the car out into a busy road and just missed some poor geezer in a mini. "It's good to see you looking so well, I read that you'd been in a bit of a state, but of course you've been in the clinic again haven't you, so I guess you've flushed it all out of your system by now. I had to get Jim to cover my shift, as I'm due to work Fridays normally, but I said to him, 'Jim' I said 'I ain't seen Bloody Stupid for 22 years near on' and he said 'OK', on condition that I covered for him on Tuesday, when I usually take it off to see me daughter, but it was worth missing her for a week to see you, and now I get to see you in the flesh, which is even better. Do you mind belting up, I get fined if you don't, see."

I belted up as requested. I usually refuse, but this chap was clearly one of us so I was happy to do as he said, resisting even the chance to make a quip about it being him who should belt up. I was quite happy to lie back and listen to him yakking away, inane conversation can clear the mind.

"To the Concert Hall, yeah?" I nodded. "Bloody Hell, I always seem to see you on the most momentous days. I got my divorce papers through today you see. Not that it was out of the blue or anything, we've been separated for over a year, she's moved in with some bloke called Steve, but it's still a shock to the system to find a set of divorce papers crammed through your letter box."

I nodded sage sympathy. "So what was so disastrous about the first time you saw us - was it the day you got married?" I couldn't help but laugh at my own joke, but wished I hadn't, as the taxi driver's face drained to an empty greyness, as if an elephant had just trodden on his soul.

"The first time" he said, still speaking at saliva splattering speed, "was the day a monkey died." He went silent for a while and I suspected that he was doing his best to hold back tears.

"Must have been some monkey eh!" I thought, though I didn't say it. In the silence that accompanied monkey contemplation we arrived at the Concert Hall and our destiny duly tick-boxed he ventured a grunted "Right we're here then. That'll be four pound and 20 pence."

"You can't kick me out now, you haven't told me about the monkey yet." I saw him glance nervously at the meter reading, conscious that idle talk cost valuable pounds sterling. "You can leave the meter running, I'll charge it all to the tour bill. The accountants are always glad of an additional expense to write off."

"Well, OK then", he said switching the meter back on, "it's not that I don't wanna talk or anything, it's just that I'm only working a short shift tonight so I can't afford to hang around."

I interrupted. "Do you mind if I light up." He shook his head. The dark twilight in the cab was briefly illuminated by matchlight, the no-smoking sign on the door beside me flickered briefly in the light of the flame as I sucked my lung duster to life. As I relaxed into the out of body experience that is a really good fag, he continued his story.

"When I was a boy our house was next to a wildlife park. My bedroom overlooked the monkeys' enclosure. From as early as I can remember the monkeys had been there staring back at me whenever I looked out of my bedroom window.

"I was an only child and both my parents worked long hours, added to which our house was a few miles out of town, so I was on my own a lot more than is good for a young kid. So I befriended the only company there was to befriend, the monkeys.

"Of course I didn't climb out of the window and join them, I was locked in the house see, but I followed their every move, got to know their every mannerism. I also got to know their language, mostly looks, gestures and grunts. The language was rich in ritual, it was all focussed on the mannerisms of eating and mating and power politics; adherence to a strict social structure. If you've ever tried to out-stare a monkey then you know all about power politics believe you me, even from the distance of my windowed room I became a powerful figure in their tribe; no male dared to look me in the face. Of course I was an abstract member, I posed no direct threat and I didn't take part in the mating and eating aspects of the community, which I merely observed from my window.

"As I grew, I came to know each individual monkey from its mannerisms and quirks. I felt I belonged, even from the distance of my bedroom. My frustration grew as I did. Eventually I could resist no more, and one night I unlocked my window, climbed through it, over the fence into the monkey compound. There was some territorial whooping around me, but by this time I was well versed in monkey-speak and simply held my ground, exerted my authority.

One of the female monkeys came over to me, one I'd Christened Ethel. She started checking my pyjamas for lice and I did the same to her, well to her fur, she wasn't wearing pyjamas obviously, it wasn't that sort of monkey house.

I went home soon afterwards, not knowing what to do on a date with a fully-grown, hormonal, female chimpanzee, but it didn't stop me going back the next night, and the night after that. I used to literally hang out with them, climbing trees, swinging on the tyre that the English keeper had placed there. My entourage had grown to four females and one young male, who I named Timmy, who seemed to view me as a father figure. The month of June passed with me mostly swinging in the trees with the other monkeys, for there was no doubt that that was how I saw myself by this stage, one of the chimp gang.

I'd never experience friendship before. Sure I had a few mates at school and we'd kick around the playground, but they never came round more than once, they were scared off by the monkeys and the mysterious noises coming from the animal compound. So Ethel was the first primate to physically touch me since I'd be bathed by me mam when I was a nipper."

The taxi driver paused with just a sigh, knowing what was coming next and scrabbling mentally for the words that captured the events best. Meanwhile in the back of the cab I was thoroughly engrossed in his story, which was like one of The Boy's yarns, only in this case was a true story, not an alcohol inspired flex of imaginative muscle.

"Then one day came a knock on the door" he continued. "It was a Sunday afternoon in July, we'd just had afternoon tea followed by a piano recital. My mother hurried to the door in case it was a neighbour - if you were slow answering a thousand different rumours could circulate as to the reason why. But is wasn't a neighbour, it was a policeman, and not just any policeman, a heavily armed copper, obviously from a crack squad. That really would get the neighbours gossiping.

My mum didn't know what to say so the copper spoke first. "Sorry to trouble you ma'am but we thought you should know, we've just killed a monkey on your lawn."

My mum just gawped at him, finding herself in an unprecedented social situation with no easily repeated social norm to perform. Middle class mothers dread such moments. The copper explained further.

"We had a monkey escape from the local wildlife park, which was considered a danger to society. For the last hour this house has been surrounded by a crack firing squad with a reconnaissance helicopter hovering overhead - I'm surprised you didn't notice."

"But why, if the monkey was so dangerous that you had to kill it, didn't you warn us that it had escaped, or that you had twenty marksmen pointing guns at the house. We've got a small boy, supposing he'd decided to play a game of monkeys and had stepped out of the house making monkey noises."

"Then we'd have had to shoot him ma'am, and serves him right in my opinion, wasting police time like that."

Of course, while this inane yatter was going on the young boy had shot out of the house at first mention of the words 'dead monkey' and I was oblivious to the 19 guns trained on me as I hugged the limp, pathetic form of the late Ethel.

"What made Ethel make a break for it I'll never know, she'd always seemed content. Sometimes I wonder if I was the reason why, she thought she could climb over the fence and enter my world. Maybe she was bored of the company of monkeys, and that the world of man would be more intellectually stimulating for her.

"Whatever the reason the end result of the escape was a limp bloody bundle of fur lying on our lawn.

My mother eventually came and dragged me away from Ethel and forced me to cry and sob on the sofa.

"But why did they have to kill it ?" I asked. "Monkeys aren't dangerous are they?"

"Well a chimp like Ethel is basically harmless. Other monkeys can kill, a full grown gorilla can literally tear a man's head off. The problem is that the police had the same policy for any animal that escaped - immediate destruction, be it a fully grown male lion or a baby squirrel. The punishment for escape was death."

"So what happened next?"

"Well, with Ethel dead I didn't bear to spend time with the monkeys any more. In fact, I didn't spend any more time at my family's home than I needed to and left as soon as I turned 16 to move to London to seek my fortune. I haven't seen a monkey since. There," he concluded, "my life story."

An uneasy silence descended on the cab. I finished my cigarette aware that the cabby's eyes were on me, watching the silence. I should have said my goodbyes and wished him well, as his story was over and that was the only reason I was still in the cab. But I remained intrigued.

"I can't believe you've never seen another monkey. Haven't you ever taken your nipper to the zoo, to see her extended family."

"No mate, you don't understand. I haven't been able to face a monkey again. Not after what happened."

"But you can't just give up just like that. Not if they're important to you. A bit of advice from someone who's seen something of the world" I offered, lighting another fag as I did so, "life is a piece of shit, everything you aspire to goes wrong and everything you love turns against you. Worse things happen in this short spiral along life's mortal coil than a monkey dying. No, if you love monkeys then it's only fair to yourself to see them again. Let's go now, I'm still your fare, take me to monkeys now driver."

The cabbie looked perplexed for a moment, then his face broke into a smile, only to return to a frown in a mental flicker of calculation. "I'd love to Damage, you're right, I'd really love to. But the nearest wildlife park's fifty miles away. I can't do it now, we've got a concert to go to.

"Nonsense," I stole a glance at my watch "we've got loads of time, you'd just be saving me from a tedious warm up. Besides, they can't start without me, I'm the star. Take me to the nearest monkey house straight away."

With a shrug the cab driver consented, and we sped along to the far-distant zoo. Of course, I hadn't really thought about such practicalities as opening times and when we did arrive outside it was all shut up shop for the night. The taxi driver looked at me with a face drooping with gloom. "I guess we'll have to leave it."

"Nonsense, just because you can't stroll in through the front door doesn't stop you creeping in the upstairs back window, as my friend Eric always says. Park round the corner and we'll see if we can't find a gap in the fence."

We crept around the corner and sure enough found a point where the fence was only chest high. "Perfect" I declared "we should be able to jump over this no problem." I tried to leap over the fence by way of demonstration, but alas my legs are not quite so nimble as they were in my youth and I felt them rebound as I sprang off the fence into the taxi driver's arms.

"I think it's a bit high to jump over Mr Damage," he opined, "but you're right, it's small enough to climb." So saying, he clambered over the fence by climbing the nearby statue of a squirrel. Who the squirrel was it didn't say, but it must have been a massively over-achieving squirrel to have justified its own statue.

After a couple of failed attempts and bruising encounters with the pavement, I eventually joined him. I searched around, wondering where he'd got to, as he hadn't waited for me on the other side. Up in the trees, I guessed, as that's where monkeys tend to hang out. Sure enough, three oaks along, there he was swinging from an out-hanging branch, eeking away monkey style and generally in his element.

I sat alone on a bench, in view of the trees but not intrusively close, and lit a bona drag. Seeing the taxi driver made me think you see, dear reader. For a start, here he was with those that mattered most to him, more happy than words can describe. More happy than any words I can spit out anyway, I'm sure Strop would have a choice phrase of fucking Greek origin that eminently captured the joy.

'I've never been as happy as that' I thought, as I saw him swinging and witterring merrily with his newly found monkey chums. 'Not even in our heyday, not even when we were spitting and shouting to the masses in Camden town, raking in money from massive chart hits and generally living in a drink-based cocoon. I've never had a group of monkeys I could swing with, the closest I got was Bloody Stupid, and all we ever did was argue, row, debate, dispute and fight. And make music, it's true. I lit another bona, shivering in the night's cold in those few moments between lit, warm fag.

I don't know how long I sat there, at least a pack of ten I'd guess. By which time the dark clouds approaching from the east were indistinguishable from the general darkness of night. A number of monkeys had already made their way down from the trees, and I reasoned it was time for the taxi driver to leave them be.

We drove home in silence. After all, I guess there are some things it's impossible to share, even to someone as near and dear to you as the ageing punk celebrity in the back of your cab.

I lay in the car enjoying the journey, I can't remember the last time I've just been out for a drive for no reason. Probably one of Skins' trips to the countryside. "The fresh air will do you some fuckin' good Damage. Look at you. You're as fuckin' pale and pasty as the pope's penis", though quite how he knew the condition of the pope's pecker I never did establish.

We parked round the back of the gig. "I'm so sorry" the taxi driver kept repeating "we're late, I was playing with the monkeys for too long, I forgot all about the gig."

"Nonsense, we can't possibly late, I'm not on stage yet, so the gig hasn't begun."

I was wrong though, we walked in to the expected complaints and "where the fuck have you been"s of the roadies.

"Where on earth are they?" I asked Bambi, who was the only one willing to break off his complaining long enough to hear me speak "we're due on stage, they haven't slouched off down the pub have they?" I asked this more in hope, as after a long trip to the wildlife park I'd much rather have a couple of pints, but no such joy.

"They're on stage Damage you fool, it's not as if it's the first time they've played without you."

"Fuck, I'd better get on stage. This is my taxi driver. We've just been to see some monkeys and I've said he could have front row seats to see the band, sort it out will you."

Without any further ado I sprang onto the stage, to a huge roar of cheers from fans, who were bored of being fobbed off with a Damage-free Bloody Stupid. As I appeared Strop was singing "Chewing on Something Nasty" from our Forgotten Testicles LP. I joined in on the chorus and Strop was forced to let me take over, even with his mike turned up I could drown him out. I could feel Skins' eyes burning into my back, but opted not to rise to his bait. "Hello Eastbourne," I said to cheers as the song ended. "I'm sorry I'm late, only I had to take my taxi driver to see some monkeys. Are you glad to see me?"

The resultant cheers showed that the audience understood my errand of mercy, a fact that I repeated to Skins when he tried to bite my bollocks after the show.

I introduced the monkey man to the band and explained my errand. Not that it made any difference, I'd have had more luck trying to sell a thirty year mortgage to a mayfly than persuade the likes of Skins that my duty to wider humanity takes precedence over the band.

Several other people had blagged their way backstage, including a joyous Welshman, who happened to be monkeyman's best friend. He came up to me with a friendly grin and asked for an autograph. "I'm your biggest fan" he said, "I'll never forget this moment."

"Neither will I," I promised, "neither will I. If I ever write my autobiography rest assured that this will feature. What's your name?"

"Gary. Gary Morgan."

"Where you from Gary?"

"I'm from Glynneath, but live in Gorseinon."

My puzzled expression brought clarification. "Wales."

"Well then Mr Gary Morgan from Wales, look out for my autobiography. You'll be mentioned on page 132. After all, nothing much else has happened to me in my senseless life, you'll be the best thing in it by a long way."

(Note to editor - try and make sure that this last bit appears on page 132 of the book, I'm going to look a bit of a cock if I don't manage to deliver my promise. If necessary, cut out the bit where I manage to insult the pope and Sting in the same afternoon, everyone's already seen that in the tabloids).