Spunky Monkey Magic

Bank Holiday Mon(key)days are for dancing and playing in the dirt with worms. So decrees King Monkey-Doo. We did obey, and thus the morning was spent erotically gyrating around the ceremonial May Pole in the furious drizzle. I did me back in a smidge and was left with an owie in my spine for a good few minutes.

The evening was dedicated to the work of Monkey-Meesh, her tailless minions & their Ecuadorian cousins. We made our way to Westbournemouth's Centre Stage in our matching Pigglyfish unifoms, but had no time for stressed cheese rolls, only warm Ringwood booze. We could do no more but wait for Alphino to take the stage. Or drink. So we drank. Between drinks we enjoyed the brand new stylings of the Ba-Ba-Da song & watched as the colourful fish swam through the space in front of our brains. Jennie-Dee-Bo-Dip-Dip-Dee-Bo-Bo drunkenly shrieked the geeky phrase "Save the monkey save the world!" As she is wont to do. This resulted in an instant Afrobeat classic from a random, sleep-deprived Vic.

There were many other bands, including Tinderbox and Lou somebody, but I was of course too drunk to remember the infinitesimal details of the evening's patterned carpet. All I know is I was hot, baby, apparently, & bore a striking resemblance to the handsome & svelte Mr Jack Black. As I danced, my bladder grew looser as my back grew stiffer, but I couldn't stop, for soon it was time for the undramatic entrance of Jazzy Jon & The Fresh Crabb for our dangerously quiet DJ set. Despite the addition of the traditional Gwen Stefani march & salute, the plug was pulled by the blinking red-eyed noise monster, he was less than appeased. So to bed, with just a slight taxi cock-up to negotiate as we fell into a fitful sleep, safe in the knowledge that the monkeys were alive and well (like the Swiss vampires), yeah baby.


Currently listening: Send Away The Tigers by Manic Street Preachers