Author Topic: Catching up with the Macaques.  (Read 3854 times)


Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #60 on: May 03, 2019, 03:05:30 PM »
I'm still reading! Loving more each one


Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #61 on: May 03, 2019, 04:22:11 PM »
I am also reading these, and enjoying them!

Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #62 on: May 03, 2019, 05:15:39 PM »
We're reading. Don't stop Glebe.


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Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #63 on: May 04, 2019, 07:31:06 AM »
Aw, thanks a million you lot! Reet cheered me up, that has.

More adventures soon!

Fambo Number Mive

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Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #64 on: May 04, 2019, 06:22:04 PM »
I've read each one, loving this story. Making me smile a lot. You have real talent Glebe

Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #65 on: May 05, 2019, 12:28:58 AM »
I savour each update and I’m really jealous of your creativity. I’ve no idea if that sounds like sarcasm but it’s really not.


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #66 on: May 05, 2019, 07:51:32 AM »
Aw thanks folks! Extremely flattered that you claim to be 'jealous' of my creativity, nugget... it's kinda a flow of nonsense at times, innit? There's a lot of very funny, talented people on here and it's just a joy to join in on the fun.

Oh yeah, I feel I must inform you of Macaque Prime, Little Macaque and Michael the Gorilla's theme tunes. I carefully composed and performed them all by myself, but they are so remarkably similar to works of John Williams that I just used some of his music instead:

Macaque Prime's Theme.

Little Macaque's Theme.

Michael the Gorilla's Theme.

Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #67 on: May 05, 2019, 09:49:26 AM »
I would also like to add my praise for this thread. Love reading these updates, Glebe.


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #68 on: May 06, 2019, 01:45:01 PM »
I would also like to add my praise for this thread. Love reading these updates, Glebe.

Cheers Gregory! Must dash now... seems there's another macaqueian update imminent! But before we proceed, a word from Prime herself:

"Hi folks, I'm going to stop using the quotationS when I'm relating the story from now on in my updates themselves! It just gets confusing when I'm quoting speech in my stories! That is all!"


You join me on a recent Saturday morn, as I prepare to take Barbara out for a bit of retail therapy!

"Michael, have you seen the car keys? Oh dear, look at the state of this kitchen!"

"They're on the windowsill, love. I'll tidy up when I'm finished, just going through the bills and that! Is Little Macaque up yet?"

"Yeah, he's in the bathroom... he's been trying to convince me that Little Gorilla/Macaque has been trying to strangle him in his sleep again!"

This had been a worrying development, to be honest. Maybe LM was jealous of the affection myself and Michael had been giving the new arrival, but it's a pretty nasty story to make up, your own half-brother trying to kill you! Anyway, just then the doorbell rang, so I grabbed the car keys and kissed Michael goodbye. But just as I was turning to go, a document on the table caught my eye.

"What's this... 'Life Insurance Policy for Michael 'the Gorilla' Manford?"

"Oh yeah... nevermind that love, it's just a little mcguffin that will possibly play out in a later post."

I ignored this cryptic comment, but suggested maybe we could meet up for a drink in the local later on. "Alright, then!" smiled Michael, "Uncle Barty can mind Little Gorilla/Macaque! We'll say three-thirty then?"

I arrived at our local, The Macaque's Stare, at three-thirty on the dot and discovered Michael sitting in his best suit with a brandy. "Alright, love, where's Babs?"

"Oh, she was tired so I dropped her home."

"Right, well, take the weight off, I'll get you a G&T!" I sat down and smiled. "It's going to be a relaxing afternoon!" I thought to myself. But just as Michael was returning from the bar, a loud voice boomed out from behind and we found ourselves being rather rudely interrupted...

"MANFORD! Good to see you, man! So this is the little wife, eh?"

"SIR PUMPHRIES! Er... hello, sir... yes, this is my wife, Macaque Prime... erm, this is my boss, Sir Pumphries, love!"

"She's a proper little housewife, isn't she? Bet you're a dab hand in the kitchen... and elsewhere, eh, Prime? You don't mind if I call you Prime, do you?"

"If you like," I replied reluctantly. So this was Sir Pumphries. I had never met him 'in the flesh', so to speak, but I had heard he could be a right male chauvinist human pig, and he was ably demonstrating that now.

"Speaking of wives in the kitchen, Manford, I feel I had better give you the heads up... I've decided to have dinner with each and every one of my employees to make sure they're not secretly subversive oddball weirdo-types outside of office hours! And it looks like you're first on my list! I'll be inviting myself around on Monday night, at 8PM sharp. So you'd better be ready with a lovely meal! And get yourself a decent suit, man, that getup is ghastly! Well, goodbye and good luck! Take care, Prime!"

Sir Pumphries gave me a sleazy wink as he left the pub, and I shuddered in disgust. "Oh Michael, what a bloody horrible man! And does he really expect me to cook him dinner?! The swine!"

"Sorry, love," groaned Michael. "I hate to ask, but could you please go along with this? I could get the sack if I refuse!"

I very reluctantly agreed to go along with this charade, just for Michael's sake. In the meantime, he had decided he had better go out and get himself a nice new suit. So he finished his brandy and headed out onto the high street.

Baboon Brothers is one of the fanciest simian boutiques in our area, but we very rarely shop there, because, as Michael once crudely put it, "It costs an arm and a fucking leg!" And this visit proved pretty fruitless, as Michael later related to me.

"I'm almost afraid to take it out, love," he winced, throwing his shopping bag on a chair and popping the kettle on. "What happened? " I asked, intrigued. "Well, I walked into the Male Simian's department, and was greeted by a man who looked remarkably similar to the tall guy with the moustache off of that classic sitcom set in a department store, what's it called? I told him I was looking for a nice suit, and he called for another guy... for a moment, I thought he was calling Sir Pumphries, and I got a shock! But it was a guy who was the living spit of the good-with-colours bloke off of the same much-loved vintage comedy series. He explained that he was "free", and went to measure my leg, saying 'I'll get down on me knees and stick me measuring tape up y'trousers!' I quickly told him that that would not be necessary and that I was a size Large. But I'm afraid to say that all the suits I tried were ridiculously pricey!"

"So what did you do?" I inquired. It took Michael several moments to pluck up the courage to explain. "He told me they had a special on on cardigans at the moment, so I plumbed for that! They even threw a bowtie and dodgy medallion into the bargain to sweeten the deal!"

"Oh, Michael," I gasped, as he took the cardie out of his bag. It was awful... a kind of reddish-brown monstrosity with gold buttons! "It was only fifty quid, love!" He protested. "Fifty quid?!" I exclaimed, "Fifty quid?!" They should be paying you to wear it!" But Michael had made up his mind. "I'm putting my foot down," he grumbled. "I payed for it, I'm wearing it!" When Michael makes up his mind, you can forget about it. "Okay, but be it on your own head!" I told him!

Monday evening arrived, and Michael went upstairs to get changed while I got the meal on, like a "proper little housewife," to quote Sir Bloody Pumphries. Uncle Barty had taken Little Macaque to the pictures, and we had managed to get Little Gorilla/Macaque asleep. Everything was ready to go, when Michael came down in his new clothes. "Don't laugh love!" he said, sadly. I'll tell you, laughter was the last thing on my mind when I saw what he was wearing!

Sir Pumphries arrived "fashionably" late at 9:30PM, stinking of cognac and in bawdy form. "Manford, Prime, how are you! Hope I've not interrupted you during love-making, woff, woff woff!"

To both myself and Michael's astonishment, he actually seemed rather taken with Michael's new outfit! "That's a marvelous cardigan, my boy! Must get one of those m'self! Now fix me a brandy!"

During the meal - I had made a delicious coq a vin that went down well all round - Sir Pumphries insisted on making rude jokes and using all sorts of bad language, including, I am afraid to say, the 'C' word. He was forever knocking things over and by the time I was serving afters he had spilled a whole carafe of wine on the tablecloth. Add to this his leering looks and constant references to his late wife ("That old bag!") and, come the coffee and biscuits, I had had enough. But I managed to hold my tongue... until the old lech only went and made a pass at me!

"C'mere, love, givvus a kiss!" That did it. Rising quickly to my feet, I let loose on Sir Pumphries with an outburst that would give Mount Vesuvius a run for its money!


Michael stood up, and, thankfully, showed the inner goodness that had appealed to me all along. "Sir Pumphries, I would apologize for my wife's outburst were it not for your unpleasant treatment of her! I hereby resign my position at Playmex Radiators!"

Sir Pumphries suddenly went limp, and to our astonishment, gently began to cry. "I'm sorry," he moaned. "I'm sorry for everything. I've been struggling to stay relevant in this Brave New World, but by cracky, you're right... I am a horrible, sexist old dinosaur! Forgive me... my behaviour has been just ghastly. I-I'm going now. Michael, your position at the company is safe, should you choose. Thank you for a lovely meal, Mrs. Manford... I must leave now. Goodbye."

"No... no, sit down, Pumphries. I'll make a fresh pot of coffee. The look of pride on Michael's face as I set about enlightening the old man over the next 40-45 minutes said it all. By the time he was preparing to leave, we had a changed man on our hands.

"Michael, Prime, thank you for a lovely evening! Prime, my dear lady, I'll have my chauffeur deliver fresh flowers, first thing on the 'morrow! Again, smashing cardie, Michael! By the way, we must discuss your bonus... oh, and from now on, I promise to treat all women and female monkeys with respect! How's that for character development!"

You could have knocked myself and Michael over with a feather! "I'm was going to say, get rid of that cardigan, love, but... maybe it's a keeper!" I said, as Sir Pumphries got into his taxi. We both laughed!


« Last Edit: May 06, 2019, 01:59:58 PM by Glebe »

Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #69 on: May 08, 2019, 09:53:02 AM »


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #70 on: May 08, 2019, 01:22:55 PM »
"MUM! He's at it again! He tried to knock me over the balcony with his tricycle!"

"He shouldn't be upstairs on that thing, Little Macaque!" I replied, in exasperation. "Where's Uncle Barty? I thought he was keeping an eye!"

"He's gone over to the Old Folks' Association coffee morning... I said I'd look after Little Gorilla/Macaque, more's the pity! I've been trying to get over my fear of him... to no avail!"

"Oh LM, he's only playacting!"

Just then, there was a knock on the door. It was Barbara, all of afluster. "What's wrong, Babs? Come in, I'll pop the kettle on!"

"Thanks, Prime," said Barbara, following me into the kitchen. Oh, hello, Little Macaque! They shoot up fast, don't they? Oh, and there's Little Gorilla/Macaque! Enjoying your tricycle, love?"

"He's got a new tool in his arsenal now he's learnt to ride that thing, Barbara!" commented Little Macaque, wryly, taking his little brother out to the garden.

Barbara smiled distractly as I made the coffee. "Er, you had something on your mind, Babs?" I inquired. "Oh, yes, of course!" she replied. "I'm losing the plot, here... it's George, Prime. He's been given the sack! He just rang me about ten minutes ago, he's on his way home!"

"Given the sack?! But why, Barbara?"

"He wouldn't say... oh Prime, what are we going to do?!"

"Now hang on, Babs," I said, grabbing a Kleenex. "You've still got your job at the wool factory, and I'm sure George will have no trouble getting another job, what with all his qualifications!"

"But there's so much competition out there, Barbara... and he's 48! I mean, I know that's still young, but tell that to the bosses of this world!"

"I wish I were still 48!" laughed Uncle Barty, popping his head round the door. "No, but seriously, I heard... sorry, Barbara! Here's a coffee cake for you! Mrs. Goggins at the Old Folks' baked it fresh this morn!"

"Thanks, Barty," sniffled Barbara. "Look, I'd better be off, Prime. George will be home soon!"

I was watching The One Show with a bit of knitting when I heard the front door open. It was Michael, looking oddly guilty. "Alright, love?" I asked. "I heard there was a bit of a kerfuffle in work today?"

"Er... yes," replied Michael, wincing. "I suppose Barbara told you?"

"She did indeed. Poor George."

"Yeah. Erm... but, er, on the bright side, I got a promotion!"

"Did you?!? Oh, Michael, that's-" And then the penny dropped. "You've been given George's job?"

He just nodded. "So what happened?" I asked. Michael put his briefcase down and took a seat. "I was in my office this morning when George came in. 'Michael, Michael, have you heard? The Flumpton Deal is up for grabs! Whoever can secure that is on the gravy train! I tell you, if I get that deal I'll be so happy, I'll convince Pumphries to let you have a c'mp'ny car!' (I hated the way George pronounced 'company car'!) As it happened I was on the phone to Flumpton himself, and was in the process of securing that very deal! 'Er, keep it down, George, I'm on the phone,' I whispered, putting my hand over the mouthpiece.

"Just then, Sir Pumphries himself came swanning into the office! 'What are you two simians up to?' he barked. 'Sir Pumphries,' I said, in hushed tones, 'bit of business here...' Pumphries told me to carry on, but sidled up beside me, rather disconcertingly. I noticed that George had huddled up too, an increasingly-concerned look on his face.

"I carried on with the conversation. 'Yes, Mr. Flumpton... 5,000 radiators? No problem! Er, Manford, sir. Yes, I will! And thank you!' It was obvious to all what had transpired as I placed the phone down. 'Roper,' announced Sir Pumphries, straightening up, 'I want you to clear out y'desk... Manford is now the Head of Sales here at Playmex Radiators!' George was gobsmacked... 'B-but, sir... you can't-' Pumphries cut him off in his tracks. 'Oh yes I can! Michael my boy, get ready to move into Roper's office... I'm sorry, George but your fired! Manford here has proved his mettle, while you were left floundering!' So you see, Prime, it's a bittersweet victory for me. I don't think I'll ever be able to look George in the face again... he was the one who got me a job at Playmex in the first place!"

One afternoon, about a week later, I went into the garden to hang some clothes out when I noticed Barbara doing a bit of trowelling in her flowerbeds. We hadn't spoken since that morning in the kitchen, and I have to say, it took more than a little courage just to pipe up and grab her attention. "Barbara! I say, Barbara!" It took a few moments, but eventually she downed tools and looked over her shoulder. "Oh, it's you," she said, sourly. "George told me what happened. He's gotten a new job, don't you know... as a bus inspector! A lousy bus inspector! He's grown a new moustache and everything... I think he's gone off his rocker!" Before I could even reply, Barbara was running into her house, in floods of tears.

Poor George. But that's life, eh? We had two children to support (not to mention an eccentric uncle on a meagre pension!), a mortgage and a life to be getting on with... I hated to admit it, but it was about time our little macaque/gorilla family started 'keeping up with the Joneses', so to speak. It's a tough old game, and it was about time we started moving up in the world. If that meant losing a friend and neighbour or two, then so be it... oh, I knew that was all bollocks! Sod it, but I'm a good-natured macaque at heart and this whole affair had left me feeling lousy. But suddenly, that steely old macaque in me came to the fore. And I made a decision. 'I'm not having this,' I said to myself. And that was that. I would have it out with Michael tonight, and we would sort this whole mess out, whatever the cost!

Thankfully, however, I needn't have worried. Michael had been very quiet that week, and was clearly deeply unhappy about the situation he had landed himself in. He came home that very evening with a somewhat curious expression on his face.

"What's up?" I asked him.

"George has his old job back. I had a word with Sir Pumphries, said I wasn't yet cut out for the job... and he agreed to bring George back into the firm. He even admitted he had been a little harsh on him!"

"Oh Michael, that's wonderful!" I cried, giving him a big hug. "Well, it means I'm back on me old wages... but hey, I'm sure things will turn out all right." But what of he and George? "I'd rather not talk about it right now, love. Hey, any jaffa cakes going?"

The following afternoon there was a tap at the door, and heading into the hallway, I could just make out the outline of Barbara's head through the frosted glass of the door pane. She came in carrying a lovely fruit flan. "That's for a friend," she smiled, giving me a peck on the cheek. She took a seat in the kitchen as I prepared the cuppas, looking quiet and and serene. "I wonder," I pondered, tentatively, "I wonder how George and Michael are going to get along after all this... after all, they have to work together... will their friendship rekindle, as ours has?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," grinned Barbara, taking a bite of flan, "I was on the phone to George this morning, he said to put the dinner in the oven... himself and Michael will be in the pub this evening, setting world to rights over a brandy or three, no doubt!"


« Last Edit: May 08, 2019, 01:41:53 PM by Glebe »


Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #71 on: May 08, 2019, 02:59:50 PM »

Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #72 on: May 09, 2019, 12:33:54 AM »
big laugh

Me too. That damn Mr Pumphries doesn't know if he is coming or if he is going, dementia? Anyway fantastic start to my day Glebe reading this.


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #73 on: May 12, 2019, 07:57:04 PM »
"Here Prime, have you ever... pondered the mysteries of the rich tea biscuit?" wondered Malcolm, holding a single round, sweet-tasting bakes before his eyes.

"No, Malcolm, you sick and twisted nutter," I though, but prudence told me to hold my tongue. "Er... not really, Malc, if I'm honest." I had other things on my mind, what with Little Macaque hanging out with Benny the Bonobo again. Benny was a good kid at heart, but had recently fallen in with a fairly unsettling group of misfits. They're only kids, bless 'em, but they're into that kind of dark, goth-metal thing, and I'm concerned about LM getting all doomy and erratic. He'd patched up his differences with Benny over Melanie the Doom Metal Marmoset, and was palling around with an odd bunch that included Charlie the Crestfallen Chimp and Mandy the Black Metal Mandrill.

I had been hoping his grim new mates wouldn't be putting him in a 'downer' mindset, as it were, but an item I discovered in his bedroom the night before had got me worrying. I now removed the dreaded evidence from my bag and dropped it down on Malcolm's counter, where it landed with a doom-laden thud.

"What's that?" inquired Malcolm, a troubled look spreading across his flipping face. "It's a special 2-LP version of My Dying Bride's The Angel and the Dark River," I explained. I found it in Little Macaque's room... I'm worried about him, Malcolm."

Malcolm merely raised his eyebrows and frowned, distractedly. "Hmmm. Didn't know the kids were buying records again, I thought it was all this 'streaming' and 'iPods'. Is this a new fad, this 'Dying Brides'?"

"No, Malcolm, it came out in 1995. But y'know, it's like us growing up, we were listening to Zeppelin and Dylan and all that, long after they first hit. "I was always partial to ABBA, meself," noted Malcolm. "They're incredibly popular again now though. For a time when they were considered terminally unhip... a bit like me," he added with a sigh. "Is that a naked woman's torso?"

"Anyway, I just wanted your opinion," I remarked abruptly, ignoring his last inquiry and placing the collectable goth rock double-discer back in my bag. "We're going out with Barbara and Malcolm tonight, and I don't want this business to ruin my evening." Malcolm smiled, reassuringly. "Now, Prime, don't you go letting Little Macaque's growing pains spoil your dinner," he piped. "The lad will find his feet, don't you worry. In the meantime, you just go out and relax and enjoy y'self!"

Malcolm was right. As concerned as I was for my lad's wellbeing, I didn't want to mollycoddle him. So with that in mind, I thanked TV's Norris Cole and went home to prepare for the evening ahead.


"Left turn here, love?" Michael had intended to follow George's car, but we were running late and had to make do without the GPS, which was broken. "I think he said left at the old farmhouse... I think that's just a barn," I replied. We were making for The Old Pheasant, an Essex eatery which Barbara had assured us was "quite lovely". But aside from our directional quandaries, there was the matter of Major Cuthbert Tarquin-Smyth to consider. George had recently embarrassed himself when he accused Barbara of having an affair with the Major, who was her boss at the wool factory. Major Cuthbert had wanted to patch things up between himself and George, and so had suggested an evening out. "He said it was 'on him', Prime," Barbara had told me, "Oh he's such a gentleman!" "Easy, Barbara," I had warned. "Remember, it was George's jealousy that caused all this kerfuffle in the first place!"

We arrived at the bistro a mere ten minutes late, and discovered George busying himself about the bar. "Hello, you two! Brandy, Michael? A gin and tonic for you, Prime, I should imagine!"

Barbara and Cuthbert were seated at the table, going over their menus. "She's wearing that blue blouse again," noted George, from the side of his mouth, "he loves that flipping thing... just look at him!" The Major was undoubtedly happy to see Barbara, but again, it seemed like George was letting his imagination run away with him. Myself and Michael took our seats and gave our greetings.

"How are you both," smiled Cuthbert, ingratiatingly. "George tells me you're been embroiled in some 'friendly competition' at Playmex, Michael!" Michael went red, but George saved his blushes. "Hmmm, yes, well you know what Sir Pumphries is like, Cuthbert. He always has to have a favourite!" "Sir Dennis Pumphries, yes..." mused Cuthbert. "We were at Cambridge together, and in the same regiment too, doncha know! Rum sort of chap, if you ask me... and you can tell him I said that!" he added, with a wink. "I don't think I'd have the courage!" grinned Michael.

And it was then that everything went pear-shaped. Looking down, Michael noticed a piece of paper on the floor. "Er, is this yours, Cuthbert?" he inquired, handing the Major the paper. "Oh... er... what? N-no, I don't think so," replied Cuthbert, looking flustered. And it was no wonder. George, who was standing behind Cuthbert making comical 'strangling' motions, leaned in closer and read the just-legible scrawlings on the paper, aloud, for all to hear;

"What's this... 'Dear Barbara, I have missed you so much. I will call you after this evening's festivities... make sure George is not about!'" George turned red with rage. "A LOVE LETTER TO MY WIFE?! THAT'S IT, CUTHBERT! COME ON, BARBARA, WE'RE LEAVING!"

"No, w-wait, Barbara, George, there's been some kind of m-misunderstanding!" stuttered Cuthbert. But it was too late. George had dragged a protesting Barbara from her seat, while myself and Michael just sat there, mortified. "I'm sorry Cuthbert... he's mad!" cried Barbara, as George pushed her out the door.

The three of us, myself, Michael and Cuthbert, sat in awkward silence for some moments. Then suddenly, Michael pulled a face. "Hang on," he noted, examining the incriminating letter, "That's George's handwriting! I know it from work!"

Cuthbert's brow furrowed imperceptibly. "That scheming fool!" he grumbled. "I'm so sorry for all this, you two... I had planned to surprize you all with a week's holiday in Spain, all on me!" he added. "The offer's still available... provided we can sort George's latest humiliation out!"

Myself and George exchanged a wry smile. Knowing George, the chances of an all-expenses paid holiday would be too much to resist!
« Last Edit: May 12, 2019, 08:50:02 PM by Glebe »


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #74 on: May 14, 2019, 08:05:31 PM »
It was a pitter-patter at first, but then came the deluge. I looked up from my Take a Break crossword just as the heavens opened.

"Oh dear... still, nevermind, I'd say it's just a sunshower! Any road, tea's up!"

"Thanks, Malcolm." On lunch breaks or days off from my secretarial job (which I had returned to after maternity leave), and with Uncle Barty babysitting Little Gorilla/Macaque, I often enjoyed popping round to Cole's Cavern, the local newsagent run by my friend and Corrie-star, Malcolm 'Norris Cole' Hebden.

"You still on for this Spain trip, Malcolm? Everybody's going!"

"Yes, of course, Prime... you're getting to be right jetsetters after that New York trip!"

"Barbara's boss, Major Cuthbert Tarquin-Smyth is paying for it... well, Sir Pumphries has thrown a few quid in too, and is coming along 'as a moral booster!' Not short of a few bob, the pair of 'em! The Major and George have buried the hatchet after yet another embarrassing incident... George is convinced that Barbara and Cuthbert have been having an affair!"

"Crikey! Maeve and Sheamus are coming too, I believe?"

"Yes, they're flying in from Shannon and will meet us at Luton. Little Macaque has guilt-tripped us into bring his mate Benny the Bonobo along too. It's going to be a right caper!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Anyway, drink up, y'brew's getting cold... that's Tetley, that... a proper cup of tea, as Brian Glover used to say!"

"It's not a bad cuppa," I said, "although as you know, I'm more of a PG Tips fan m'self."

"The chimp connection!" we both said in tandem, and laughed. "I well remember them ads with the chimps," noted Malcolm, "though I hear PG have a dark and mysterious history behind them!"

Just then the shop door tinged and a customer came in. "Well Malcolm, I'll be off... thanks for the tea!"

I arrived home to find Michael and Uncle Barty sitting in their respective favourite chairs. "Hello, you two... enjoying your day off work, love?" I added a wry smile after this last comment, just in case Michael thought I was being sarcastic.

"Well, I would be enjoying it if it weren't for these bloody sales reports Sir Pumphries has asked me to go over!" he grumbled in reply. "How's Malcolm?"

"Oh, he's alright. Y'know... Malcolm's a Tetley Tea man, whereas we're a Typhoo family... but y'know, it's funny, I always say I prefer the PG Tips! Used to drink it all the time!"

"Well if you want to switch to PG then be my guest, I'm not fussed," replied Michael absentmindedly. There was a brief pause before Uncle Barty lowered his newspaper, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

"PG Tips... PG Tips... now that's a name I've not heard in a long time."

"It's just a tea brand, Barty," I commented. "I'm partial to it because of the old chimp ads, I suppose... we are simians, after all!"

"Yes, but them chimps have a surprizing family connection," noted Uncle Barty. "What's that, Unc?" asked Michael, looking up from his paperwork. "The PG chimps, lad... there's a strange story behind them and it involves your great, great grandfather, as it happens."

"That's amazing!" I exclaimed. "Malcolm was just saying that there's a dark history behind PG Tips... so what's the connection to you and Michael?"

"Well, it's a long story - but I'll try and make it brief," noted Uncle Barty. As he continued, the room went still and we were drawn into his tale; if you can imagine, it was like a moment in a movie, with the camera slowly zooming in on Barty, bathed in an an atmospheric light, and a spine-tingling score heard in the background!

"It all started back in the Great Baboon Wars. My great grandfather - your great, great grandfather, Michael - was a private stationed out in Kilimanjaro. He was a chimp named Charlie the Chimp. I'm going by his old letters here. One day, he was called into the barracks of his regiment's commander, Colonel Peter Raffles - a macaque, as it happens, Prime. Col. Raffles had a particularly fieresome reputation, but was apparently rather kind to Charlie. Anyway, on this occasion, he had called Charlie in to get an update on the regiment's moral levels. 'Ah, Charlie, come in!' he said, 'I'd offer you tea, but we seem to have run low on supplies!'

'Not to worry!' chirruped Charlie, 'I've got me own stash, right here!' And with that, he produced a small tin containing some tea bags. The Colonel took the tin gladly, but gasped when he opened the lid. 'Where did you get these, Private?' he asked. 'I can't remember, Sir, but I've had them for some time,' replied Charlie. 'Why... this is incredible!' gasped the Colonel, 'These are PG Tips tea bags... and not just any old PG Tips tea bags, mind y',but rare, ancient ones!' In what was perhaps a foolish move, Charlie only went and let the Col. keep the priceless tea bags! But many years later, there were to return to our family in a surprizing way."

The suspense was clearly killing myself and Michael. "Go on, Barty," I whispered, "What happened next?"

"It was the late 1970's," continued Barty. "Sir David Attenborough was filming his classic series Life on Earth, and needed a few silverback gorillas to do a bit of extra work. This is where I come in. We had some long days shooting out in the wild, and Attenborough would often hang out with us during downtime. One afternoon after lunch, I was sat minding my own business when Sir David came over and introduced himself. There wasn't much conversation, but after a few moments, he took a look around and piped up.

'It's quiet out there,' he said. 'Too quiet,' I replied. 'I hope the rest of the crew haven't been eaten by wild animals,' Sir David whispered after a minute or two. I laughed at this, but Sir David wasn't smiling. Then suddenly, a quizzical look came over his face. "You look strangely familiar... did you ever have a great grandfather called Charlie the Chimp?' This took me by surprize, I can tell you. 'Yes," I answered, 'He was a soldier stationed out in Kilimanjaro back in the day. But how did you guess we were related?'

'There's an undeniable family resemblance," noted Sir David. Just then, he reached into his jacket and produced something which caused me to drop my bamboo shoot in surprize. 'This tin contains raaare tea bags,' commented Sir David, opening it up. 'The are of the PG Tips variety... and are thought to derive from the very first box of PG Tips!'

"I gasped. 'Charlie wrote about this in his letters!' I exclaimed. 'He obviously didn't realise their true import...'

'...or he wouldn't have given them to his Commanding Officer,' finished Attenborough. 'You look puzzled,' he added.

'Yes,' I replied. 'One thing has always bothered me... PG Tips tea bags were launched in the 1930s, that I know, but that was some years after Charlie was in the army...' Sir David gave me a wry look. 'Yes, they didn't officially appear till then, but their origins are actually quite old... so old, in fact, that they are said to date back to mythic times. Legend has it that an Arabian Prince named Brooke Bond crafted a special casket out of some ancient cardboard paper. And into this casket, he poured the original batch of PG Tips tea bags. And into those tea bags, he wove the souls of a thousand chimps. The Prince later settled in Andalucia, in Southern Spain. There, he built the Al Mandrilla, a great palace adorned with beautiful runes. It is said the box of tea bags was placed within a crypt below the palace... but before the crypt was sealed, a few of those tea bags were removed. They floated around the world for centuries, and ended up, incredibly, in your great grandfather's tin. He gave that tin away... but, through various wranglings, I have obtained them, and hand them back into your care, Barty!'"

Having finished his story, Uncle Barty slowly rose, and went over to the sideboard. He rummaged around for a moment, before returning to his chair with a mysterious object in his hands. He placed the tin - yes, the tin - on the coffee table, and opened it.

"These are the legendary PG Tips tea bags," he announced. "They are imbued with powers from beyond our realm, of that I am now certain. They must be returned to their original resting place, else a great doom befall us."

"Wait a minute," said Michael, "You said David Attenborough claimed they were kept in a palace in the south of Spain... we're going there in just a few weeks!"

"It's quite a fortuitous coincidence!" I laughed. "Well... it seems like this holiday is going to turn out to be one really crazy caper!"

« Last Edit: May 14, 2019, 08:39:52 PM by Glebe »


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Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #75 on: May 24, 2019, 03:35:06 AM »

Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #76 on: May 24, 2019, 06:06:49 AM »


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Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #77 on: May 24, 2019, 04:11:55 PM »

This was the last thing I looked at before going to sleep.

I woke up this morning, opened my iPad and was greeted with this image. Magnificent.


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Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #78 on: May 25, 2019, 09:44:42 AM »
Thanks folks! It's going to a feature-length summer special... I don't say this immodestly, but it believe it may actually rival The Silmarillion in terms of scale and scope! To that end, I've created a handy 'character guide' to keep you on track during the adventure. As you skim through the tl;dr text, you can consult this handy key to refresh your memory as to who's who and that!

1. 'Uncle' Barty Manford: Michael's uncle, who took him under his wing when Michael's parents left him to form a colony when he was only an infant. Gruff yet wise and kindly, Uncle Barty has assigned a special mission for his nephew to complete on the trip (see previous update).

2. Charlie 'the Crestfallen Chimp' Albarn. One of the crowd Little Macaque fell in with when he and his bessie mate Benny the Bonobo went through a recent (and brief) goth phase. Boyfriend of Mandy the Black Metal Mandrill. Doesn't have much to say, tends to hoot ignorantly.

3. Benny 'the Bonobo' Fourmile. Little Macaque's best friend from school. Generally speaking the pair are thick as thieves, but had a bit of a falling out when Benny stole Melanie the Doom Metal Marmoset away from a lovesick Little Macaque. Benny and Melanie have since broken up but remain friends and Benny and Little Macaque have recently patched their differences up. Benny is a good kid at heart, but has reached an age where he tends to 'act the lad' a bit!

4. Michael 'the Gorilla' Manford. Macaque Prime's husband, biological father of Little Gorilla/Macaque and Little Macaque, who is proud to be calling him 'Dad' instead of 'Michael' now. While he has his moods, Michael is really a good egg with a heart of gold. Works at Playmex Radiators, in a position secured for him by his friend, neighbour and workmate George, with whom he has a sometimes difficult relationship. Has a special mission to complete during this holiday trip!

5. Major Cuthbert Tarquin-Smyth. Barbara's boss at Havering Wools, Cuthbert is a well-heeled member of the upper classes but is nothing like as snobbish as he at first appears and actually suggested and very kindly funded this holiday trip (with a contribution from Sir Pumphries). Doesn't get on so great with George, who constantly suspects that Barbara is having an affair with the Major.

6. Barbara 'the Baboon' Roper. Best friend and neighbour of Macaque Prime and long-suffering husband to George, who is constantly accusing her of having a fling with her boss. A bit of a gossip and overbearingly chatty at times, Barbara is nevertheless a kind soul and always comes through for her friends when it counts.

7. George 'the Baboon' Roper. Husband to Barbara and neighbour to Macaque Prime and Michael, George is as neurotic as he is arrogant, but beneath the smarm there's a kernel of decency that has grown in recent times, mainly thanks to the nurturing, forgiving nature of the macaque/gorilla family living beside him! Did a short stint as a bus inspector when Michael briefly usurped his role at Playmex Radiators. The two have since made up, but drama is never far away when George is near, mainly thanks to his mistaken(?) belief that Barbara is getting her end away with her boss, Major Cuthbert!

8. Sheamus 'the Capuchin Monkey' O' Doolin. Husband of Maeve MacAque, Prime's Irish cousin. The pair reside in County Macaqueroom, where they live out a peaceful life filled with gardening and line dancing. Sheamus is, in truth, a rather gruff, unfriendly fellow, but a more personable side may show itself during our Spanish adventure.

9. Maeve MacAque O' Doolin. Prime's Irish cousin, and husband to Sheamus the Capuchin Monkey. Known as the 'Pride of Macaqueroom'! A tiny bit humourless and sniffy, Maeve is otherwise quite a friendly sort. Recently attended Prime's wedding in London, and will be flying in to Luton Airport with Sheamus to meet up for the flight to Spain!

10. Cynthia 'Mother Macaque' Ollerenshaw. Mother of Macaque Prime and husband to Leonard. Gentle and friendly, but can display a mildly waspish quality at times, especially when riled by her occasionally exasperating spouse. Has become somewhat closer to her daughter in recent times, and is very fond of her two grandchildren.

11. Primula 'Macaque Prime' Ollerenshaw Manford. The heroine of the piece, proud mother to Little Macaque and more recently Little Gorilla/Macaque and husband to George the Gorilla. Remaining steadfast in the face of adversary, Prime's latest adventure will surely prove to be the most thrilling episode of her eventful life... so far!

12. Malcolm 'Norris from Corrie' Hebden. Famously for his role as Norris Cole on long-running soap Coronation Street, Malcolm moved into the area a little while ago, cashing in on his success in Corrie by opening Cole's Cavern, which is modelled on The Kabin, the fictional newsie he once ran on The Street. Has become fast friends with Prime, with whom he enjoys discussing his love for plain biscuits. Norris has of course recently made a much-publicized return to Corrie, but thanks to the magic of TV, Hebden managed to film his scenes some time ago, giving him plenty of time to move into the area and open the shop! Currently single, but a holiday romance could be on the cards! Or not.

13. Mr. John Smith (?). A mysterious fellow who will play a pivotal role in our feature presentation, Mr. Smith may turn out to be a somewhat different character from that which he rather shadily purports to be!

14. Mrs. Bridey MacaqueClusky. Headmistress at Ilford Comprehensive, the secondary school attended by Little Macaque, Benny the Bonobo et al. Stern yet kind. Mrs. MacaqueClusky is not part of the holiday entourage, but by fortuitous coincidence, she ne'ertheless may just end up getting embroiled in our holiday caper!

15. Sir Dennis Pumphries. The head of Playmex Radiators, and boss of Michael and George. Somewhat eccentric and scatterbrained, Sir Pumphries is an old-fashion misogynist with some rather dodgy views. Has made some small attempts to change of late thanks to the intervention of Macaque Prime herself! That said, there's sure to be plenty of rum goings-on courtesy of the old bulldog during our forthcoming Spanish jaunt!

16. Melanie 'the Doom Metal Marmoset' Mitchell. She may have been the cause of a rift between Little Macaque and Benny, but Melanie is a monkey with higher aspirations, and won't allow silly schoolboy crushes to hold her back! A modern marmoset with a can-do attitude, don't underestimate her ambitious demeanour!

17. 'Little Macaque' Ollerenshaw Manford. The original co-star alongside proud mum Macaque Prime, we've seen LM grow in stature these past few months, though curiously we may never learn if he was ever given a 'proper' name, as such. In any case, the brave lad is proud to sport the moniker 'Little Macaque', Macaque Prime herself having long forgotten whatever she put on the birth cert!

18. Little Gorilla/Macaque Manford. A new addition to the clan, who, at Michael's suggestion, was almost named Little Gorilla/Macaque Combination, before Prime suggested that may prove a little unwieldy! Meanwhile, having initially convinced himself that the little terror was trying to kill him, big brother Little Macaque has proved to be an honourable defender of his half-gorilla sibling, who will hopefully turn out to be just as steadfast as his fully-macaque brother, with whom he shares a similarly odd moniker!

19. Mandy 'the Black Metal Mandrill' Brahms. Another of the goth set, longtime friend of Melanie the Doom Metal Marmoset and girlfriend of Charlie the Crestfallen Chimp. Has a somewhat unnerving effect on Benny the Bonobo, who believes she may actually be a real-life vampire! A real-life mandrill vampire.

20. Leonard 'Father Macaque' Ollerenshaw. Father of Macaque Prime, and husband to Cynthia. A befuddled and frustrating fellow, but he loves his wife and daughter and will hopefully provide some curmudgeonly laughs for his fellow holidaymakers!

...And that's y'lot! Stay tuned for the ADVENTURE OF A LIFETIME!

[EDIT]I actually forgot another minor character, but we'll say he makes a surprize uncredited cameo!
« Last Edit: May 25, 2019, 10:14:45 AM by Glebe »


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Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #79 on: May 27, 2019, 02:52:50 PM »
Catching up with the Macaques very proudly presents:

Opening theme!

"Anyone seen my phone charger? You can get a toothbrush in the airport, Uncle Barty! Don't forget y'passport, Little Macaque!"

So here we were... the whole lot of us, off for a week on the Costa del Plonka! But before we begin, just a note to say that while I was obviously not present in every scene, the accounts of others, hearsay, white lies and other blunders reported to me have enabled the full recounting of this exciting tale! So let the adventure begin!

We have my good friend and neighbour Barbara's boss Major Cuthbert Tarquin-Smyth to thank for funding the trip, with a bit of a contribution from Sir Dennis Pumphries, my husband Michael and Barbara's hubby George's boss, who also happened to be joining our little excursion! Cuthbert and Sir Pumphries would meet us at the airport, as would my cousin Maeve MacAque and her husband Sheamus, who were flying over from Ireland... and, I'm delighted to say, Mum and Dad, who live in Bedford and had called to say they were already in Luton Airport!

As for us Ilford lot, myself, Michael, our youngest Little Gorilla/Macaque and George's Uncle Barty were going in the family car, while Barbara and George were taking my eldest, Little Macaque, and his friend Benny the Bonobo in their car. And last but not least, there was Malcolm 'Norris from Corrie' Hebden, the local celeb who had moved into the area a while ago and opened a newsagent, and to whom I had become a firm friend. And speaking of Malcolm, it was just then that he pulled up in his little Volkswagen Beetle, dressed in a surprising shade of pink!

"Hello, you lot!" he called, "Just thought I'd stop by to make sure you were all ready to leave!"

"Malcolm, what are you wearing?!" cried George, halfway into his car. Malcolm appeared to be dressed in a pink shirt, scarf and hat combination, with what looked like a ladies' handbag on his lap! "Just thought I'd do meself up fancy for the trip... see you at the airport!" And with that, he drove away. "We'd better get moving ourselves!" said Michael. "You go ahead, George, we'll see yourself, Barbara and the boys at the airport!"

And off we set. All was well, until halfway to the airport I took a brief glance in the rear-view mirror, and received the shock of my life!

"Uncle Barty, why on Earth are you wearing my clothes?!" I gasped. "Oh, sorry Prime," Barty replied, sheepishly. "I've been falling behind on me laundry, and Michael had nothing decent to spare. I'll get meself some proper clobber in the airport!"

"Bloomin' 'eck, didn't even notice that meself!" cried Michael. "What with Malcolm gorn all florid, I'm wondering if the pair of you aren't trying out this transgender thing!" he added with a chuckle. Otherwise, the journey was uneventful. Little Gorilla/Macaque was good as gold and slept all through the drive. Barbara and George on the other hand apparently had to endure something of a noisy journey in their car, and all thanks to that little scamp, Benny the Bonobo.

"Come on, they're gaining on us!" cried Benny, gawping at us from out the back window of George's car. "Oh, do shut up, Benny!" responded George. "I tell you what, Little Macaque, I'd go bananas having a mate like that!"

We arrived at the airport in plenty of time for the flight, and joined Mum and Dad for a coffee. All except Uncle Barty, who quietly sidled off to get himself some hopefully less conspicuous clothing . He came back wearing a heavy coat, of all things, although he was also sporting a rather fetching fedora which Michael was keen to borrow. And speaking of my husband, it was then that a very pertinent question came from his lips.

"Anyone spot Sir Pumphries or the Major?" wondered Michael. "They said to meet them here at The Capuchin Cafe."

"We did indeed!" cried a familiar voice. "How are you, Michael old boy?" chuckled Sir Pumphries, slapping my hubby on the back. He was quickly joined by Major Cuthbert, who greeted everyone with a toothy smile. "Hello all... Barbara..." George gave Cuthbert a wry smile. "Hello, Cuthbert," he said, "You look delighted to see my wife, as ever!"

"George!" scowled Barbara. "Don't forget who's funding most of this trip, dear fellow!" chuckled Cuthbert, patting George on the shoulder in a somewhat patronising manner. It was an awkward moment, but it passed quickly as proper introductions were made all round. "These are my parents, Cynthia and Leonard," I explained. "Delighted to meet you!" smiled Sir Pumphries, shaking them both vigorously by the hand.

Pretty soon we were on our way to the terminal, but just as Malcolm was being stopped by yet another autograph hunter, Little Macaque let out a yell and pointed out at the runway. "Look, Mum! It's Maeve and Sheamus!" "And not a moment too soon," I responded. "I am ashamed to say I had almost forgotten about them!" Suddenly, Michael started to laugh. "Look who they've flown with... 'Ryanair... the 'low fares' airline!'" he howled. "MICHAEL!" I snapped, "Wipe that grin off your face!"

Maeve and Sheamus had joined us just in time to connect with the flight to Spain. "Pleased to meet you all... sure I can't wait to get back on a plane and get another Guinness into me!" grinned Sheamus. "Oh no you don't! scowled Maeve. "There'll be no more drunken onboard shenanigans from the likes of you, husband!" "Oh, sod that!," chuckled Sir Pumphries, "The drinks are on me!"

It wasn't long before we were up in the air, Little Gorilla/Macaque - seated on my lap - still beaming in a amazement after the take-off. Dad wasn't too thrilled about about being seated in-between myself and Mum, however.

"There's no bloody elbow room!" he grumbled. "Oh Leonard, do be quiet!" said Mum, but she was more concerned about the goings-on a few seats behind us. "I hope Michael isn't going to get blind drunk.. every time that trolley comes round, I can hear Sir Pumphries ordering more G&Ts and whiskeys!" Just then, George popped his head round my seat. "Hello, you lot! It's all going on back there! Sheamus is on his third Guinness, and Barty is on his fifth miniature vodka! I suppose Little Gorilla/Macaque is on the gripe water, heh! Where is he, by the way?"

Oh no. I had been so distracted by all the chat and fuss, I had temporarily mislaid my youngest. "LITTLE GORILLA/MACAQUE?!! WHERE ARE YOU?!?" I yelled. "It's all right, miss!" called a kindly stewardess, "Look, he's climbed up here on me head!" Phew, that was a close one!

"Ladies and gentlemen and simians, we will shortly be landing in Spain. Thank you for flying Macaquish Airways."

It was a relief to finally be off that stuffy plane, and thankfully we didn't have too much trouble getting through Spanish customs. We were out of the airport in no time, and quickly piled into the coach that was to take us to our lodgings.

The journey to the hotel was initially rather pleasant, with plenty of chat, song and laughter. Barbara and Maeve exchanged baking tips, Barty and Dad did a few bars of 'Day Trip to Bangor' and Malcolm kicked off a debate concerning the greatest comedy moment ever!

"My favourite's Julie Walters spilling the soups in that Victoria Wood sketch," opined Malcolm himself. "Del Boy falling through the bar or GTFO!" shouted Benny. "It's Fawlty Towers' 'Gourmet Night' for me every time," added Cuthbert. "That's an episode, not a moment, mate!" sneered George, looking rather pleased with himself. The fun continued for some time, and even the few storm clouds that had gathered overhead couldn't dampen our spirits. In the end, it was left to the coach driver to call a solemn halt to the festivities.

"SILENCIO, POR FAVOR!" he cried. To our collective shock, we discovered an armed barricade up ahead. "By Jove, I've not seen the likes of this since the days of Franco!" roared Sir Pumphries. "If this lot give us any trouble, I'm gunna give 'em six of the best! Bloody dagos! Er, sorry, driver."

Actually, as it turns out we were allowed through without much bother... but the incident left us in ominous mood. And it looked like it was only the start of our troubles. It was George who noticed the strange knocking noise first.

"Hell's teeth!," he cried, "Did you hear that... there's somebody in the luggage compartment below!"

"'ell's bells, look at the hotel!" shouted Uncle Barty in response. Craning our collective necks, we got our first look at the rather aptly-named Hotel el Terrible... a mass of scaffolding and piles of brick! "Flippin' Nora, we can't stay here," said Michael, "I mean, what rating do TripAdvisor give for half-finished hotels?!"

And things went from bad to worse when we finally climbed off the coach. George's suspicions were proved right... for as soon as the coach driver opened the luggage hold, three strangely familiar figures came tumbling on out!

"Melanie the Doom Metal Macaque, Mandy the Doom Metal Mandrill and Charlie the Crestfallen Chimp!" I cried. "What are you three doing here?"

"They must have stowed away on the plane," suggested Little Macaque, looking mortified. "Oh for flip's sake, the hotel was one thing, now we have to deal with this little lot!" grumbled George.

"Well look there's nothing for it," said Malcolm, playing the peacemaker as ever. "They've come this far, they may as well join us on this crazy little adventure!"

"The hotel might let them sleep in the broom cupboard," suggested Uncle Barty.

And with that, we gathered ourselves together and made our way into the hotel lobby. Approaching the reception desk, I could feel a sense of trepidation mounting in the air all around us.

"Good evening," said the concierge, "And how may I help you?" "We're the Smyth-Pumphries group," announced Cuthbert. "Yes, and I can tell you we are none too pleased in regard to the apparent condition of our lodgings!" added Sir Pumphries. "Tarquin-Smyth, man, who did you book with?"

"Cheapo Package Hotels," answered Cuthbert, "I've always found them very reliable! Anyway, old man, I certainly hope you're not going to be this grouchy for the rest of the trip, especially considering we have to share a room!"

"That's nothing, me and Malcolm are sharing a bed!" grinned Barty. "Well, if it's good enough for Morecambe and Wise..." Everybody howled, all except Sir Pumphries, who had gone into a right old huff!

Despite all the kerfuffle we soon settled in, with assurances that the hotel would be finished and up and running proper in a few days. Meanwhile, we had decided to club round and sort out Little Macaque and Benny's goth friends with the price of a room for the week. I was just putting Little Gorilla/Macaque in his cot when there was a knock on our apartment door.

"I'll get it," said Michael. It was George. "Evening, you pair... fancy joining myself and Babs for a drink at the bar?" "Er, not really, George," replied Michael, "Got the little one to keep an eye on."

"No, you go ahead, Michael," I said. "Well if you're sure, love... don't want to leave you holding the baby gorilla/macaque." "Not to worry, I don't fancy it anyway," I replied. The truth was I was just happy to pop my feet up with Take a Break magazine and order some room service. I had a feeling this little sojourn was going to prove quite trying over the coming days!


« Last Edit: May 27, 2019, 04:52:47 PM by Glebe »


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Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #80 on: May 29, 2019, 02:06:15 PM »

Opening theme!

"La-di-da....morning, all! Alright, George? Michael? Haha, 'George Michael', I'll have to remember that!"

"You're in chirpy mood, Barty!" remarked Barbara, helping herself to a second bowl of cornflakes. "I'm not," muttered Malcolm, "I had to put up with his blummin' snoring all night!"

With everyone else pouring coffee or buttering toast, it was left to yours-truly to calm Malcolm's dissent. "Now come on, Malc," I said, "We're on our holidays, let's make the most of it! Any plans for the day, folks?"

"I thought I'd take the chaps surfing, actually," answered Cuthbert, taking a seat at the breakfast table and pouring himself a cuppa. "This may surprise you, but I took it up in the 1970's, when I was still relatively young! Can't wait to get out on the water!"

"Don't mention water!" grumbled Sir Pumphries. "Bloody Spanish stuff, you have to boil it!" "I'm talking about the sea, Dennis old chap," remarked Cuthbert "We're going surfing!.

"The sea?!? Surfing? You can hardly expect an old sort like me to stand on a ruddy surf board! And you're hardly a spring chicken y'self, Cuthbert, old thing!"

"Nonsense, it'll be fine!" laughed the Major. "Well you can leave me out of it, mate," frowned George. Cuthbert shot him a sly look. "You're not frightened are you, George? If I can do it, surely you can!" George didn't like this one bit. "Listen pal, anything you can do, I can do better! Sign me up!"

And so it was that, with a little arm-twisting, Cuthbert managed to get George, Michael, Uncle Barty and - yes - even Sir Pumphries down on the beach for a bit of a surf! Malcolm, however, could not be persuaded, but did get a snap of the other men with their boards for posterity! "Say cheese... lovely!"

"You sure you won't give it a shot, Malcolm?" Cuthbert pleaded. "No thanks," answered the much-loved Corrie star, who had thankfully been persuaded to ditch the flamboyant threads he flew over in, "I'll just stand behind a palm tree up there and keep a 'wise' eye on proceedings! I've got a couple of Wagon Wheels in me bum bag to keep me going... they've melted a bit in the heat, but nevermind."

Further up the beach were another bunch of miscreants out enjoying the sun.

"Haha, just look at the state of them spanners!" laughed Benny the Bonobo, who was - unbeknownst to myself and Michael at the time -sharing a large reefer with Melanie the Doom Metal Marmoset, Charlie the Crestfallen Chimp, Mandy the Black Metal Mandrill and, I regret to say, our son. "Can't believe they even got that old fucker Pumphries involved!"

"Yeah," chuckled Charlie the Crestfallen Chimp, "Hur hur!" "Bunch of old saddoes," added Mandy the Black Metal Mandrill. Melanie the Doom Metal Marmoset was more even-handed, however. "At least they're doing something healthy, rather than sitting around getting stoned like us wasters!" she commented. "Oh, shut up, Melanie," Benny muttered under his breath.

"You're quiet, Little Macaque," noted Mandy, suddenly, "You offended we're slagging your dad and his mates off?"

"No," replied Little Macaque, "I'm just now taking a proper look at that woman on the lounger back there... it's MRS. MACAQUECLUSKY!

Benny turned his head slowly. "The woman in the yellow ha...? Oh fuck me, no way, he's right! What's she doing here!" "No, idea, but I'm not sitting here waiting to be caught smoking grass by me headmistress, Spanish beach or no!" cried Melanie. "You're right Mel, let's scarper," said Mandy. "Yeah, hur hur!" added Charlie.

"Hello? Where's the concierge! I need fresh towels in my room!"

The geriatric surfers had returned to the hotel, and Sir Pumphries was not happy with the lack of service.  "Calm down Pumphries, I'm sure he's about!" said Cuthbert. "Tommy rot, I'll not be left standing here... George, old boy, stick on that uniform behind the desk and bring me my towels!"

"S-sir?" Sir Pumphries grew impatient. "Put that ruddy uniform on and get to it, man! "But we're on holiday! George protested. "You surely don't expect me to join the hotel staff?!?"

"You'll do as your told or by next Monday morn you'll no longer have use of the c'mp'ny cah!" bellowed Pumphries. "Er, yes sir, right away, sir," whimpered George. "Dashed awful business, that," muttered Cuthbert, out of earshot of Sir Pumphries. "You should see him in a bad mood!" said Michael. "I have!" replied the Major, "He couldn't get the shower working this morning!"

George rather reluctantly brought the towels up and ran back down to the lobby to put the uniform back. But out of nowhere came the concierge, who quickled waylaid poor old George!

"SERVICIO, ANDELE!" he shouted.

"Eh?! replied George, "I'm a guest here, you must-"

"Ah, you're one of the English staff who came to work 'cos of Brexit?" grinned the concierge. "I do not recognise you, but in any case, Room 237 want a fresh cucumber! Andele, senor!"

Poor old George was so flustered that he ended up going along with the charade. Grabbing a cucumber from the kitchen, he made his way up to the room in question and knocked on the door.

"Hello? Oh sod it, the door's not locked..." But George should have looked before he leapt, for as he entered the room he discovered the bathroom door wide open - and there was Mrs. MacaqueClusky, arse-naked in the shower! She let out a scream when she saw George standing there, fresh cucumber in hand!

"Oh lummy!" cried George, "I-" Then he noticed the man by the bed. "What the hell yah doin', buddy?" cried Mrs. MacaqueClusky's roommate, "I- hey, don't I know you from someplace?" George could barely speak. "Hamilton?! Mr. Hamilton?!" "That's right... and you're the fella from Playmex Radiators I had that run in with in London! C'mere, I'm gonna bust your ass!"

Fortunately, Mrs. MacaqueClusky recognised George and, after throwing on a bathrobe, very gracefully allowed George to explain his faux pas. "As for me," she said, "I'm plain-old Miss MacaqueClusky now, my divorce having recently come through... myself and Harry here have been an item for some time now. Quite a coincidence holidaying in Spain and in the same hotel as you lot... I saw Little Macaque and his mates having a joint on the beach, but don't tell Prime that!"

George slunk off with his tail between his legs, but Hamilton just had to get one last dig in. "You a bellhop here now?" he grinned. "No," groaned George, I just explained all that!"

With everything smoothed over it was time for dinner. We got a lovely surprise when 'Miss' MacqueClusky (and Mr. Hamilton!) joined us, although George was not so pleased and spent most of the meal cringing into his soup. "Hamilton, old boy, stick with the chips - the rest is bloody foreign muck!" chuckled Sir Pumphries, from his end of the table. "I didn't think you liked Hamilton, Sir Pumphries," George whispered to his boss. "I don't, he's a bloomin' bounder," muttered Pumphries in reply.

After dessert the cabaret started up, the band trotting out all the old holiday duffers like 'Agadoo' and 'Viva Espana'. "If they play 'The Birdie Song', I'll deck 'em!" muttered Uncle Barty. "I'll have a word and get them to do The Vengaboys 'We're Going to Ibiza!' chuckled Michael. "I rather be in Ibiza than listen to this racket," quipped Maeve.

Then the band finished up and music came out of the PA system. To Maeve's delight, the sound of Riverdance came blasting forth, and so she knocked back her Bailey's and hit the dance floor! "I didn't think she was that jarred, Sheamus!" laughed my Dad. "Never mind Maeve," gasped Malcolm, "look at Barbara! She's doing the Dance of the Seven Veils! She's like a whirling dervish!"

At this stage the floor was heaving, but suddenly a mysterious gentlemen sat down at our table and introduced himself. "Good evening, my friends, my name is John Smith... I trust you are enjoying your holiday?"

"Very much so!" replied my Mum. "Very good, Madam... and you, sir," said Mr. Smith, turning to Uncle Barty, "I couldn't help but notice that little tin you've been playing with all evening..." "Uh, this? Oh, it's nothing..." replied Barty, putting that strange little tin he had shown us back home into his top pocket. "Very interesting, Herr - uh I mean - Mister Gorilla!"

"Mister Manford," replied Barty. "Us simians have surnames too, you know! By the way, do I detect a slight Germanic inflection in your accent, Mr. Smith?"

"Ah no, well, I did spend some time in the Fatherla- I mean Germany as a child, but... ah, if you'll excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I am rather weary and wish to retire for the evening. Gute nac- er, good evening to you."

"I think I'll turn in meself," muttered Barty, a distant look on his face. "Oh, wait, Barty, since you're going up, would you mind keeping an eye on Little Gorilla/Macaque for a few hours?" I asked. "Only it would be a great opportunity for me to let me hair down. I might not get a chance otherwise." "No problem," replied Barty. "I can watch telly for a bit, I suppose... just as long they don't show Coronation Street here, I've seen enough of Malcolm for a lifetime!"

The party was in full swing in the function room, but by that stage Michael had suggested that we move into the relative quiet of the bar. Mum and Dad had already gone to bed, and as for Little Macaque and Benny, we allowed them to go to a local dance club with their goth friends, provided that they stayed safe and didn't go mad on the drink. "And don't get back at all hours!" warned Michael.

And so the rest of us moved into the bar to enjoy the rest of the night. All thoughts of that strange Mr. Smith were forgotten as Sir Pumphries went to get a round in. "Barman?! Oh sod it... George old boy, stick that waiter's uniform on and fix us some drinks!"

"A large Long Island Iced Tea, hubby... and make it quick!" sniggered Barbara. "Oh, Dennis, where did you get that hat?!"

"You're calling him Dennis now?!?" gasped George. "Shut up George, blast you... it's a captain's cap, Babs... I own me own yacht, y'know!" crowed Sir Pumphries. "You look very smart, Sir Pumphries, noted Malcolm. "Yes, vewy - hic! - smart!" commented Michael. "Gerrus a San Miguel would yah, Ge-George?!"

Soon we were drinking and chatting like nobody's business, with even poor old George managing to have a brandy or two and join in on the laughter. Major Cuthbert was rather the worse for wear at this stage, and it's just as well Seamus didn't spot him eyeing Maeve or he would have thumped him with his big Irish capuchin paws.

We'd all had a skinfull, but the night was far from over. Believe it or not, we ended up popping down to a little all-night bar round the corner, where the merriment continued unabated. We were there for less than half an hour when, to our great surprise, Uncle Barty turned up - with Mum and Dad in tow! "The Groovy Gang got back from their club, and Little Macaque is keeping an eye on his bro!" smiled Barty. "As for myself and your father," added Mum, "we got restless and fancied a night on the town!"

Pretty soon, even Miss Macaqueclusky had joined us, and with Sheamus on guitar, Mum was up and embarrassing Dad with her Spanish dancing! "Well This is a night to remember, Prime!" laughed Malcolm. "I only hope some strange occurance doesn't turn the holiday into a rolicking, danger-packed adventure!

To be concluded!

« Last Edit: May 29, 2019, 02:45:24 PM by Glebe »


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #81 on: June 13, 2019, 06:55:53 PM »

Opening theme!

"Afternoon, Miss MacaqueClusky! Where's Hamilton, then?"

"Oh, Harry has gone to pick up a few friends from the airport, Sir Pumphries!" she answered. "We've booked a table in the dining room for tonight!"

"Wish I'd made a few pick-ups over here!" sighed Malcolm to himself. We were all enjoying lunch in the dining room... all, that is, except Little Macaque, Benny and their goth chums. We still had a couple of days left here on the Costa del Plonka, and we were determined to enjoy them... although certain people hadn't had the holiday they had been expecting, thus far!

"I hope you're not going to cajole George into porter duties again today, Sir Pumphries!" chuckled Uncle Barty. "No, no..." replied Pumphries, absently. "Pedro the concierge has promised to make sure the staff are on hand at all times... and I assume you've suffered enough bulling from me!, George old boy!"

"Too fucking right," muttered George, under his breath.

Just then I noticed my Mum's face brighten up. Two familiar figures had wandered in from the lobby...

"Little Macaque! Benny! What have you two been up to?"

"Not much, Gran," replied my eldest. "Where's the Sisters of Mercy?" grinned George, "Off causing a bit of argy-bargy, I expect!"

"Don't mention them three!" frowned Benny. Little Macaque laughed. "Melanie's gone to an anti-bloodsports protest outside some bullring," he told us, "and Charlie and Mandy have gone for a stroll along the promenade... much to Benny's relief, I can tell you! He thinks she's a real-life vampire!"

"No, really," protested Benny, as everyone started to laugh, "that mandrill casts no shadow!"

Little Macaque and Benny sat down with a couple of menus and ordered some food, while the rest of us finished up and decided what we were going to do for the day. "Myself and George and going for a sunbath on the beach, if anyone would like to join us," said Barbara. "Yes, and we'd better leave soon if we want to get there before all the fat, naked Germans!" added George.

"The Greeks are worse!" Sir Pumphries chimed in, "There was one the other day, I said, 'Stavros', I said-"

"-Er, yes, another time, Dennis old boy, eh?" said Cuthbert. "I imagine everyone wants to get out into that sun!"

Later that evening, myself, Michael, Barbara and Uncle Barty where having a drink in the bar, when out of the blue Barty took Michael to one side. After a moment, Michael explained that they were just popping outside for some fresh air. "Take your time," I told them.

The pair had been sitting out on the patio for some minutes before Barty fixed Michael with a rather disconcerting stare and began to speak, in a somewhat serious tone; "We came here to enjoy a holiday Michael, but I hope that in all the frivolity you haven't forgotten the special mission I entrusted to you."

"No," replied Michael, I haven't.

"Good," answered Barty. "Otherwise, we'd just be 'tilting at windmills', as they say!"

Suddenly, the waiter passed by. "Uh, excuse me - here, Barty, what's the Spanish for 'Banana Daiquiri'?"

"'Banana Daiquiri'," replied Barty.

"Here waiter, can I have - actually, I've changed my mind. Just give us another couple of bottles of Stella, por favor."

"I am sorry sir, but I believe we have just run out of Stella Artois."

"I'm not 'avin that," said Barty, with uncharacteristic malice, "I'm not 'avin that at all." And with that, he swept the empty bottles and things off the table.

"What's gotten into you, Unc?" gasped Michael. "Sorry about this, waiter."

"No no, sir - I'll go and double-check!"

As the waiter ran off, Barty turned once again to Michael and took the mysteriously little tin he carried out of his trouser pocket. "You know what this is, son; I showed it to you and Prime before we left. Barty opened the tin once more to reveal the tea bags inside. "There's chimps's souls in them, lad, as I told you before. They must be placed back where they belong, inside the original PG Tips box that lies beneath the Palace of Al Mandrilla, just near here. Now tomorrow everyone is going into the town to have a bit of a sight-see. I want you to make a slight detour, however..."

"I don't know that I can do this, Unc," protested Michael. "It sound's dangerous!"

"Look, just do the facking job, Michael! Do the facking job! I'm too old to handle a caper like this, and it's of vital importance that these tea bags are place back where they belong. Some fella named Smith came sniffing around during the cabaret the other night, you were in the bog or summit at the time..."

"Oh yeah," said Michael, "Prime told me about him."

"Right. We don't have much time. I want you to split from the rest of the group tomorrow and make for that big cooling tower outside the square. You know the one?"


"Right. You are to rendezvous with a macaque there at 15:00 hrs. LeCaque, his name is. French. He's a veteran resistance fighter, and an old friend of Major Tarquin-Smyth's. Then Barty whispered the secret code phrases he was to accept and give into Michael's ear. "Got that?"

"Got it."

"Right. So tomorrow, then. Take my fedora with you, as a lucky charm. And remember, don't open the PG Tips box! Just kind of slip the missing tea bags under the lid. Now I'm going to leave the tin here. If it's gone when I come back, I'll know we have a deal. If not, I'll know we don't."

Just as Uncle Barty was getting out of his chair, the waiter came back. "Sir, sir, I have found a couple of leftover bottles of Stella!" he cried. "No thanks, Sancho," mumbled Barty, "I've lost me thirst."

Most of our little group where looking forward to the excursion into town the next day, though not everyone had their minds on the trip. That morning, Barbara was pottering around the place when she discovered Major Tarquin-Smyth seated alone in the bar.

"Hello, Cuthbert. What are you doing?"

"Oh, hello Barbara. I'm writing a letter to my ex-wife. She's also called Barbara, would you believe! Anyway, we'd better make ready to go!"

We made it into the town square by late morning, and by mid-afternoon, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was some hilarity when Sir Pumphries attempted to pay for a souvenir fridge magnet with pesetas ("Euros?! What's going on?!"), while George employed his usual tact while dealing another market vendor; "Oi, Sancho, how much for that straw donkey? Englais, por favor... nah, mate, I don't speak the lingo!"

I was just asking Barbara if she fancied an ice cream when Michael suddenly pulled me to one side. "Listen, Prime, I have to leave. Tell the others I said I'd meet them back at the hotel. If there's no word from me by tonight, call the police."

"But Michael, where are you going?," I cried. Then I put two-and-two together. "Wait, this isn't to do with those tea bags is it? The ones belonging to your Great Great Grandfather, that David Attenborough returned to Barty?"

"Yes," admitted Michael, donning Uncle Barty's fedora for some reason. "I am going to Al Mandrilla, the ancient palace that was founded by the mysterious Arabian Prince, Brooke Bond. I may be some time."

And with that, he slipped off. After a few moments, and without even thinking of my own safety  - or, more importantly, that of Little Gorilla/Macaque, whom I was still holding - I decided to follow my foolhardy hubby. But first, I explained to Barbara that myself and Little G/M had to potter off, and that I'd see them back at the hotel later. Barbara was a little surprised by this, naturally, but I think I managed to convince her that there was nothing strange afoot...

It was about an hour later when Little Macaque suddenly realised that myself and Michael were not on the scene. "Um, Maeve," he inquired of my cousin, who was browsing a postcard display, "You haven't seen Mum or Dad about, have you?" "Oh, Barbara said they had to pop off for a bit, but would see us back at the hotel," said Maeve. "Hmmm. That's odd," remarked Little Macaque. "And where's Barty?" he wondered. "He said he tell everyone he was feeling a bit tired, and took a taxi back to the hotel," explained my Dad, who was rummaging through some tourist tat behind Maeve. "Thanks, Grandad...  bit strange Mum and Dad disappearing with Little G/M, though... maybe I'd better call them."

Little Macaque couldn't get through to Michael (his phone had run out of charge), but I got a missed call from him and immediately texted him back to say not to worry and that we would be back later when I would explain all. It was clearly a strange situation and I knew he'd be concerned, but there was nothing for it at this stage. So it was that LM and the rest of our motley lot took the coach back to the hotel without myself, Michael or Little G/M.

It was sometime around seven that evening when Little Macaque - who had been hanging around the pool area with Benny - began to get rather anxious. "Listen, Benny, I just have to go speak with Uncle Barty." No problem, mate, I'll just chill here for a bit, smoke a blunt," replied Benny.

But Barty was nowhere to be found. But just then, LM spotted Malcolm coming into the hotel grounds.

"Evening, Little Macaque," he chirped. "Just went for a quick stroll before dinner! Any sign of y'Mum and Dad, yet?"

"No, Malcolm, and to be honest with you, I'm very worried about them... and I can't find Barty neither!"

"Not to worry, I just saw him outside that little shop round the corner," replied Malcolm. "Right," said LM, "Well we'd better get a hold of him!"

Little Macaque and Malcolm leapt into action and hurried off to find Uncle Barty. "There he is!" cried Malcolm, spotting Barty entering the hotel. "BARTY! cried Little Macaque, "There's no sign of Mum, Dad or Little Gorilla/Macaque! And it's getting late!"

Barty froze in his tracks. "Your Dad had a little chore to take care off... but you say there's no sign of Prime and Little G/M? Crikey... come on, you lot, there's a mystery to solve!"

Meanwhile, myself and Little Gorilla/Macaque had followed Michael to a spot just outside town. Suddenly, Michael stopped, just beside a big, metal cooling tower by the side of the road. After a few moments, an old, bespectacled macaque appeared out of nowhere, but didn't approach Michael directly. Instead, he hid behind his side of the tower, and spoke a single, crytic sentence aloud, in a French accent;

"The red eagle flies at dawn."

Michael answered; "The old macaque makes a cuppa next Tuesday."

Suddenly, the aging macaque revealed himself to Michael, with a cry of, "It is I LeCaque!" "Pleased to meet you," replied Michael, "I believe you are an old friend of Major Tarquin's?"

"Indeed I am," said LeCaque. "And you are to follow me! LeCaque lead Michael towards an abandoned shack nearby. Myself and Little Gorilla/Macaque followed. Once there, I managed to sneak a peek into shack via a dusty, broken window, but the sight that greeted me filled me with dread.

As soon as LeCaque had lead Michael into the single-roomed shack, he suddenly turned and trained a gun on him. A second later, several armed humans joined the fray. "I want to believe you are a friend of the Major, but just to be sure, I will ask you one question."

"Fire away," answered Michel. It wasn't the best choice of words, to be honest.

"Okay then... what colour is the Major's moustache?"

"Yellow," replied my hubby, "Like the rest of his body hair... I presume?"

"MON AMI!" cried LeCaque, running over to Michael and embracing him, "You have passed the test... now, I will lead you to the temple of Al Mandrilla!"

I breathed a sigh of relief, and moved away from the window. Some moments later, Michael, LeCaque and the others came trooping out of the shack, and headed down a mysterious, dusty old sideroad. "Come on, Little GM," I whispered to my youngest, "I really shouldn't have brought you with me, but we've come this far!"

Meanwhile, Uncle Barty, Little Macaque and Malcolm were in a taxi headed for the edge of town. "How do you know where they are?" Malcolm quizzed Barty. "Never mind about that Malcolm... just promise me that you'll both stay close once we're there! I must be mad bringing you two along!"

In the meantime, I was still following Michael and his new-found friends. Suddenly, LeCaque stopped in his tracks. "What's that noise? I could have sworn I heard someone behind us?"

"I didn't hear anything," said one of his men. "Hmmm... very well, let us continue."

Shortly after, a small valley opened up before us, and there, to the astonishment of all, was the Al Mandrilla, the great temple of the ancient Arab, Brooke Bond. "Have you ever seen such a sight?" gasped LeCaque. "Well, it is here we must leave you. The main door is locked to mortal men and monkeys, but here is a key which will give you access via the side entrance! Good luck, Michael! And vive la resistance!"

And with that, LeCaque and his men weere off, leaving my poor, bewildered husband all alone... well not quite alone! "Michael! I whispered, "Michael!

"Macaque Prime! What are you doing here?" he gasped. "And you've got little Gorilla/Macaque with you! Well, you'll have to go back... you can't come with me!"

Suddenly, an old German army truck pulled up by the side of the road. Out of the truck leapt several men dressed in old army uniforms... led by none-other than Mr. John Smith, the mysterious man who had approached myself and Barty at the cabaret in the hotel the other night!

"Quick! cried Michael, "There's nothing for it... we'll have to enter the temple!" And so, using the key LeCaque had gifted him, Michael unlocked the side entrance and we made our way inside.

It was old and musty within the temple, but the former glory still clearly shone through. Incredibly, some strange, ethereal emanation seemed to light the ancient walls. We had no time to marvel at the sight, however. "Oh bloomin' Nora... the door won't close properly!" hissed Michael. "Nevermind... come on, we have to make our way down to the crypt!" I didn't like the sound of that one bit, but we had no other option at this point, it seemed.

We made our way down a steep flight of stairs. All the while, I was clinging to Little G/M for dear life. The eerie light that illuminated the temple above continued to light our way as we descended the steps. Suddenly, the crypt itself opened up about us, and we were greeted with an incredible sight.

"There it is," gasped Michael, "The original, ancient box of PG Tips... now, I just need to slide the missing tea bags in under the lid... there we go... Uncle Barty said not to actually open the box, for it contains a mysterious, ancient power!"

The PG Tips box made an unearthly hum as Michael slid the last tea bag in, a noise that could almost be described as a satisfied grunt! "There we go," sighed Michael, "My task is done."

"Not so fast!" called a voice behind us. It was Mr. John Smith, with his German friends. "Mr. Smith!" I cried! "Why are you following us?!"

"Heh, to some I am Agent John Smith, but my rea name is Captain Johann Schmidt of the German army!" he spat in reply. And now, that ancient casket of PG Tips is mine for the taking!"

"No chance! yelled Michael, grabbing box of PG dashing to one side ! Suddenly, a group of strange, tribal men appeared. "We are the guardians of the PG Tips!" cried their leader, "And we demand a sacrifice for the removal of this most wonderful of artifacts!"

"I have just such a sacrifice here!" called Schmidt, grabbing your's truly by the shoulders. "Quick, Michael, take Little Gorilla/Macaque! I cried, throwing our youngest towards him as he made a break for it! He caught Little G/M with ease, but as far as I was concerned, it was too late, the hero. "I'll be back for you, my love!" called Michael, as he absconded with Little G/M!" "Take her away!" demanded Herr Schmidt.

Meanwhile, I was led into an antechamber with a big fire pit in the centre of the floor. There, I was dressed in sacrificial robes and headpiece, and attached to a great rack that was winched out over the fire pit. All the while, the ancient guardians chanted. "With this sacrifice, you may claim the PG box, should you retrieve it!" the leader of the guardians told Schmidt. I intend to do just that! replied the duplicitous German.

Suddenly, Michael appeared out of nowhere, popping his head up behind a rocky crag above us. Gunshots rang out, and he came swinging down on a big rope! In the confusion, Schmidt, his men and the guardians scattered. Michael landed down beside me, and began cutting me free with a knife he had concealed in his belt! "Don't worry my love, we're getting out of here!" he yelled!

"Where did you get that gun, Michael?" I cried! "Never mind that, let's scarper!" He replied, as he led me towards a little tunnel that led back up to whence he had came, and where Little G/M was waiting for us! "After them! roared Schmidt to his men, "Do not let them escape!"

We managed to find an abandoned mine cart down a side-tunnel, with tracks leading we knew not where. "Come on, love, there's nothing for it!" yelled Michael, releasing the brake on the cart with his foot and helping myself and Little G/M into the cart. With a push, he joined us in the unsteady coal-carrier, and off we went! And just in time, too, as Schmidt and his men were gaining! After a rollercoaster ride we would never forget, the cart started to slow down and we spotted an exit ahead. Michael leapt out the front of the cart, and managed to use his boot heels to bring the thing to a halt! "Okay, everyone out! he cried. As luck would have it, the cavern doorway at the end of the tunnel lead us out into the last of the evening light!

"MICHAEL! PRIME!" Looking up, we saw Uncle Barty, who had arrived just in time! "Follow me! We have a taxi waiting!"

The taxi driver wasn't too happy about fitting three extra passengers in (though Little G/M was on my lap!), but in any case, we were just relieved to be out of there. "The deed is done," Michael explained to Barty, "Although I had to take the box with me... we were followed by that John Smith - or should I say German double-agent Johann Schmidt - and barely escaped with our lives!"

"Well this is a strange turn of events," noted Barty. "Well, we'll decide what to do when we get back to the hotel!"

"What exciting lives you talking monkeys lead!" quipped the taxi driver.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, more mundane events were taking place.

"Harry!" Miss MacaqueClusky cried, as her 'friend' Mr. Hamilton came up the hotel steps. "You're alone!" "Oh, my friends' flight was delayed, Bridey, they won't be able to join us for dinner tonight!"

"Everything alright?" came a familiar voice from behind Miss MacaqueClusky. "Oh, Barbara, hi! Listen, Harry's friends couldn't make it to dinner tonight.. would you and George like to join us instead?"

"Oh, I don't think George could face it after everything he's been through!" laughed Barbara. "Nonsense, forget about it, water under the bridge!" chuckled Mr. Hamilton. "You are both very welcome to join us!"

"Oh alright then!" smiled Barbara. I won't wake him yet, he's having a lie down!"

And with that, Barbara joined Miss MacaqueClusky and Mr. Hamilton in the dining room.

A short time later, George woke up, and went down to the bar for a quick drink. "Where is Barbara?" he said to himself. Suddenly, he spotted a piece of paper on one the tables. "What's this? 'My dearest Barbara.... blahblahblah... 'UNDYING LOVE?!' 'MARRIAGE PROPOSAL?!'... signed 'YOUR DEAREST CUTHBERT?!"

Just then, Cuthbert himself burst in. "Oh, you've found my letter, dear boy, I mislaid it..." George was furious. "How dare you! The cheek... you think I'm okay with you sending love letters to my wife?!"

"No, old boy, you misunderstand... my ex-wife is also called Barbara! I've been trying to get back together with her, you see!"

"A likely story!" roared George. Where's my Barbara?"

"In the dining room, I believe... but don't do anything rash, old boy!"

Meanwhile, our lot had arrived back at the hotel, where Barty quickly ushered us into a side-room. "There's a little store room next to the dining room here, we'll nip in there and decide what to do with the box! Malcolm, Little Macaque, you take Little Gorilla/Macaque and wait in the lobby!"

But just then, the door burst open behind us! It was Johann Schmidt! "I'll take that box, thank you!" he said, brandishing a gun in our collective direction. Michael had no choice but to hand it over.

Schmidt looked at the PG Tips box in wonder. "And der fuhrer digs for trinkets in the desert... while all the while, this greatest of prizes awaited on the Costa del Plonka! And it's all mine!... the power of a thousand macaques' souls... in the palm of my hand!"

"NO you fool!" cried Uncle Barty, as Schmidt began to lift the lid of the PG Tips box. "You'll kill us all!" But Schmidt was too entranced by the stolen relic. "Quick, everyone out! cried Michael.

Back in the dining room, Barbara, Miss MacaqueCaclusky, Mr. Hamilton had just started their main course. "I'm just popping to the ladies, won't be a minute," said Miss MaCacaqueclusky. "Take your time, babes!" said Mr. Hamilton. "More wine, Barbara?" "Oh, thank you, Harry!"

Just then, George burst into the dining room, brandishing Cuthbert's note. "Caught red-handed, Barbara!" he raged. "I hold here a marriage proposal, addressed to you from Cuthbert! And I didn't forge it or anythi... hang on, what are you doing having dinner with Hamilton?!"

"George, Miss MacaqueCaclusky and Harry invited us to dinner, I just didn't want to wake you yet!" protested Barbara. "Well, there's still the matter of this love letter!"

"Look, why don't you forget about it, pal?" cried Mr. Hamilton. Don't let it bother yah!" Suddenly, Cuthbert came running in. "That letter was intended for my ex-wife, who is also named Barbara!" he explained. "That's bullshit," roared George... "And never mind the letter, where's Miss MacaqueClusky? I see you and Mr. Hamilton are dining together now, too! Cuthbert and Hamilton?! Why I ought too..."

"Is anything wrong?" said Miss MacaqueClusky, returning from the bathroom. At this point, George had started to foam at the mouth. Cuthbert immediately ran to a nearby telephone. "Phone a doctor, Cuthbert!" cried Barbara. "Oh, I'm phoning a doctor, alright," replied Cuthbert. "Hello? You speak English? This is the local ayslum I have, isn't it? We have a man here who's gone loco!"

Just then, Barbara twitched her nose. "Sniff sniff... does anyone else get that? It's like burning human flesh! She was also the first to spot the smoke issuing from a door next to the dining room. "Look! Fire... FIRE!

"It's worse than a fire," cried Uncle Barty, running into the dining room, "We have an errant nazi being consumed by the souls of a thousand chimpanzees next door! We need to get everybody out of here!

Thankfully, everyone was out of the hotel within ten minutes... all except Johann Schmidt, of course, who was consumed - along with the hotel - in a building surge of chimp ghosts that that shot into the sky, leaving nothing but an empty patch of ground behind... and that mysterious PG Tips box.

By Jiminy, I've never seen anything like that in me life!" gasped Sir Pumphries. "Not even during the war!". None of us could believe our eyes, but, as ever, it was left to Malcolm to deflate the situation; "I hope the manager's insured for that," he quipped.

"Are you alright, Mum, Dad?" I anxiously asked my parents. "Yes, love," answered Mum, "It looks like we've lost all our belongings, but at least we're all safe!"

"Not to worry, myself and Sir Pumphries will make recompense, we're not short of a bob or two!" reassured Cuthbert. "Here here! Now, who's for a drink? I need a stiff brandy after all that!"

Just as everyone was getting their bearings, a couple of men in sharp suits and hats turned up, and immediately retrieved the PG Tips box. "We'll take that," said one of them, in an American accent. "But wait, you can't-" protested Micheal. "Leave it, Michael," warned Barty, as the men drove away.

Everyone was exhausted, but thankfully we managed to find alternative digs for that night and the following one, after which we prepared for home. Miss MacaqueClusky and Mr. Hamilton bid us goodbye at the airport (they would be off home too soon, although like the rest of us, a little the worse for what they had witnessed the other night!). But Cuthbert and Sir Pumphries had sorted out Little M and Benny's goth mates for the flight home, and so we had a few more with us than when we had arrived. Poor George, meanwhile, had to be stretchered onto the plane. "You wouldn't have one of those valiums Dr. Lemsips prescribed you, would you, Prime?" Barbara asked me, as we settled into our seats.

We were barely off the tarmac, when a loud snoring suddenly started up. Looking across the aisle, I spotted Malcolm spark out, with his head on Uncle Barty's shoulder. "It's revenge, I suppose," sighed Barty.

We were home a few days when, one evening, there was a knock on the front door. It was the man in the suit who had taken the PG box away, accompanied by another couple of men. "I believe we spoke over in Spain," he said. "I'm from the US government... I just want you to sign these sworn testimonies stating that you have no knowledge of the unusual events that transpired over there!"

"You can't make us do this!" I complained. "Oh yes they can," said Barty. "I reckon it's best we do as they say."

"Thank you," replied the mysterious US agent. "Now, if I can just have your signatures-"

"But wait," interrupted Michael. "That PG Tips box holds a terrible power... what's going to happen to it?"

The agent gave him a wry smile. "Oh, don't worry about that... it's being handled... by top macaques!"


« Last Edit: June 13, 2019, 10:55:56 PM by Glebe »


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #82 on: June 13, 2019, 10:58:07 PM »
Whoops, sorry. Ignore.


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #83 on: June 13, 2019, 10:59:02 PM »
Fuck, done it again, ignore.


  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #84 on: June 16, 2019, 12:22:04 AM »
"Morning, Mr. Hebden... did you enjoy y'holiday, then?"

"Yes indeed, Mrs. Blewit... it was a whole week of sun, sea, sand and simians! Er, sorry, Little Macaque... 'simians' isn't racialist, is it?"

Malcolm had carefully avoided mentioning the whole business with our hotel being sucked into a vortex of a thousand chimps' souls along with an errant nazi, but otherwise, yes, our holiday on the Costa del Plonka had been rather pleasant (although I have to say, besides the hotel business, almost being sacrificed in a pit of fire had also been a low point for me).

Anyway, everyone had settled down to normal life again, including Malcolm, although he was finding himself a bit stretched at his newsagent, Cole's Cavern (named after his Coronation Street character, Norris Cole). That was were Little Macaque stepped in; he was looking for a summer job, and the shop assistant vacancy was right up his alley. It was hard work, restocking the confectionary counter, dusting the floor and making sure there were copious copies of The Daily Mail and The Daily Express on view, but he soon got the hang of it and was settling in nicely.

In fact, things had been progressing so well that Malcolm had started to become ambitious. "We can fix a basket to the front of your BMX, lad, and get a delivery service going!" Little Macaque was not best pleased with this. "Malcolm, I've been here less than a week, and already you're having delusions of grandeur!"

And then it happened. Malcolm looked silly enough in the oversized shopkeeper's coat he had started to wear, but the 'comedic stammer' he had begun to develop put the icing on the cake. "We're r-running low on Wagon Wheels, LM... take c-care of that, w-would you, I'm busy putting price s-stickers on these ta-tins of peas!"

Little Macaque, meanwhile, had taken to daydreaming when he should have been hard at work. "D'y'know, I think my biological father was of Hungarian descent... perhaps an ancestor was some kind of exotic aristocrat? Think of it, Malcolm, I could have the blood of an Eastern-European prince runnin' through me veins!"

"Stop dilly-dallying and g-get back to work!" retorted Malcolm. "I can't help it, Malcolm," replied LM, staring off dreamily. "I want to escape this dull little world and get whisked away by some dusky princess and set off on some sort of Arabian adventure!"

"The closest you'll ever come to an Arabian adventure is r-restocking them T-Turkish Delights!" quipped Malcolm. "Any road," he continued, helping himself to a Cadbury's Fudge off of the confectionary stand, "a lad like you should be t-thinking more p-practically about the future! If you don't follow your dad into the r-radiator business, there could be a bright f-future in newsagenting for y'!"

"But I don't want a steady job, Malcolm! I want adventure, excitement, razz-a-ma-tazz!"

"I'm hoping for a bit of t-that m-meself when Nurse Geggis gets home!" Malcolm was referring to a local night nurse he had been having a bit of a fling with and who lived across from the shop. "She has the n-night off... I shall have to g-grab me l-ladder and climb up to her w-window, lest the l-landlady send me packing!"


"I told you to watch that cash register, lad, it's l-lethal! Now, where's me cuppa... I've gone off the Tetley, Yorkshire Tea's favourite now! Oh, l-look, I've spilt it... fer-fetch a cloth, Little Macaque!"

Later that evening, as dusk settled and he prepared to shut up shop, Malcolm stepped outside on his own to ponder the days events. "I wonder if Little Macaque will ever g-go on one of his exotic adventures... and if Nurse Geggis will ever l-let me have an erotic adventure with h-her!" he thought. "Tch, the price of T-Tunnock's Tea Cakes these days... it's a f-funny old world... best turn in, then!"



  • This is a low-flying panic attack.
Re: Catching up with the Macaques.
« Reply #85 on: August 05, 2019, 09:46:03 AM »
Hi all, Macaque Prime back again, after a little break. I've various 'events' to tell you about, so let's get on with things, eh?

Let me tell you about Gareth.

Gareth the Gibbon is the owner of the Gibbous Glamour Company, and my boss. He currently has two salons, a hair and beauty one in Shoreditch and one incorporating a tanning and fitness element in Camden Town. I work in a secretarial capacity in his little office in Barking.

Whereas hubby Michael, and neighbours George and Barbara, all have human overseers in the shape of Sir Pumphires and Major Tarquin-Smyth, I have the luxury of working for a fellow simian. Gareth is a kind and intelligent gibbon, and has shown me the kind of respect more becoming of the 'modern', enlightened male... a kind of 'new gibbon', if you will. Anyway, I'm waffling. Suffice it to say that Gareth is a rather appealing fellow, and I admit I have at times been tempted by his offers of a candlelit dinner at some fancy little bistro or other.

Anyway, I'm rambling. You join us in the kitchen on a recent sunny morning.

"MICHAEL! Is the wee one awake?"

"No need to shout, Primula!" replied Michael, shambling into the kitchen in his dressing gown. I hate it when he calls me 'Primula'... I only permit my parents to call me that!

"Little Gorilla/Macaque is still asleep, for once," he went on. "Though I expect we'll hear him wailing soon enough!"

"He was hungry during the night so I gave him a rusk," said Uncle Barty, sticking his head in the door. "Any coffee going, Prime?"

"There's the kettle, Barty!" I answered, a little too sharply.

"Alright, don't take me head off!" gulped Barty. "I'll make it meself!"

"Morning, all!" It was Little Macaque, all done up nice and smart.

"You're looking sharp, son!" smiled Michael. "Off to work, then?"

"Yeah Dad, I'm running a bit late, actually." LM had starting working on my friend Malcolm 'Norris from Corrie' Hebden's local newsagent a few months back. He was getting on well, and I actually foresaw him running the place one day.

"And what about you, Michael? You'd better get your skates on if you don't want to be late at the office."

"I've called in sick," muttered Michael. "Feeling a bit run down and that."

"Hmmm, that life insurance policy you took out awhile ago may be put to use soon!" chuckled Uncle Barty.

"Barty!" I yelled. "Don't joke about things like that!"

"I thought we might take Little Gorilla/Macaque out for a bit, seeing as how you're off today," Michael suggested to me.

"But you're supposed to be sick, what if somebody from the office sees you?" I fretted.

"Ah fuck it, I'll be alright," grumbled Michael.

"No need for swearin' in front of Little Macaque," grinned Barty. "Oh, he's gone."

In the end, Michael opted to do a bit of work in the back garden instead. I took Little Gorilla/Macaque for a stroll in the park around twelvish. I had just gotten back and was about to prepare some lunch when there was a ring on the doorbell.

"GARETH!" I cried in surprize, for it was indeed my aforementioned gibbon boss standing in the porch. "To what do we owe this distinct pleasure?" I smiled.

"Afternoon, Prime, I was just in the area and I thought I'd drop in... see what my employees get up to on their days off, heh!" chuckled Gareth.

"Come in, come in!" I told him. "I was just about to make a spot of lunch." Gareth followed me through to the kitchen where we discovered Michael wiping his hands on one of my best tea towels.

"Michael, I told you not to use one of my best tea towels after working in the garden!" I grumbled.

"I thought that was just if I'd be working on the car, love... oh hello, Gareth!"

"Alright, Michael? I, er, thought you'd be at work today?"

"No, no, got a bit of an, er, virus... don't worry it's not contagious or anything..."

I made everyone coffee and we repaired to the lounge.

"So, how's life then, Michael? I hear you took out a life insurance policy a little while ago."

"Who told you that?" spluttered Michael, lowering his cup. "Oh, sorry, I let that slip one day!" I put in, feeling a little guilty. "Still, it's common knowledge by now!"

"It certainly is," grinned Gareth cheerily. "They're all talking about it around town... I should imagine there's a nice little bit of dosh waiting when you cark it, Michael!"

"Gareth, please," protested my hubby. "Oh he's only joking, Michael!" I said, although to be honest it was a little tactless of my boss. The thing is, Gareth had a wonderful way of being rude but somehow charming... and he was wearing that lovely aftershave again... and...

I snapped back to reality. "You're a married macaque, Prime!" I told myself.

"Well, I suppose I'll be off, then," smiled Gareth, standing up to leave. "Oh, I almost forgot to mention... you may be seeing a lot more of me soon, I've been scouting about for a new house in the area!"

"Really, Gareth?" I gasped. "So you're vacating your big fuck-off house in Essex?"

"No, no," chuckled Gareth. "I'll still be using that as my main house, I just fancied having a smaller, more 'humble' abode and mixing with the great unwashed a bit!" He added a wink after this. "But no, yeah, my house is fucking great. I've got a little chalet in France I'd like you... both... to see sometime, too!"

"Can't wait," sighed Michael.

"Anyway, I'll be off... oh, and Michael, if Sir Pumprhies gives you the sack, you can always sweep floors for me!"

And with that, Gareth was gone. I was back in work the next day... I could hardly wait. His handsome smile, his manly arms... oh, Prime what are you saying?

What's going to happen next? STAY TUNED!
« Last Edit: August 05, 2019, 11:13:20 AM by Glebe »