I really want to write more on this here blog, I do. But what to say? Every time I open my mouth, put fingers on grubby white keyboard this is what comes out
So I look through my pictures to see if I can at least show you something from there.
Maybe one of those old ones. Lets see. Ooh yes, here we go. Monkey
Monkey was my soul mate. No, seriously!
I went to Germany when I was 1. I claim to remember but no-one believes me. I'm not sure I do either anymore! We went to the circus. I remember the clowns bursting terrifyingly out of a stripy tent, white faces and big noses. Seals playing with coloured balls. An elephant riding a bicycle. But... I was 1, so... maybe... maybe I don't really remember... Oh and a tree house. (Geli? Was there such a thing? Maybe that was somewhere else)
Aaaanyway. Apparently (this bit I don't remember) we went to a big old toy store. And I saw Monkey on the shelf and I grabbed him and would. not. let. go. So Monkey stayed.
Even Blue Teddy took second place to Monkey.
See that worn patch on his mouth? Yes, I kissed that hole to existence. And then would try to feed him through it. And cut his hair and wondered why it didn't grow back.
The biggest trauma in his life (possibly aside from being yanked off the shelf in a nice cozy shop in Germany and thrust into a new life in the middle of the African bush) was when our horrid little dog Baked Beans chucked him onto the fire. I must have been 4 or so and my mother came to me with Monkey one morning, looking worried (this bit I do remember). And she said that Monkey had been in an accident but he was fine. She had already done some First Aid on him and he was all bandaged up. His one leg was completely burnt off - now a bandaged stump - and his other leg had a bandage around the ankle. And I gingerly looked underneath the crisp white bandage and saw charred flesh. Poor little guy. But he was very brave and wore those bandages for the rest of his life. If possible I loved him even more.
Monkey went Ev-rey-where with me. I kissed a worn patch on his mouth, his limbs had come off and been sewed back on several times. His head too, I think (in a tug of war with some horrible person who wanted to take him from me).
His stint with me ended one day when I was about 12 or 13 on a hot and dusty day in Lilongwe, Malawi. My mother was driving up to see us at boarding school (why Monkey wasn't actually with me I'm not entirely sure. Maybe we were starting to go our separate ways already) and Monkey was in the back of our old brown open sided jeep. Along with all my mother's art materials (I think she was planning on spending a week at the lake working). And she heard a rustling in the back of the car, turned around and it was all Gone. She made a valiant attempt at rescue. Chased the thief through the mealies. But he was not to be caught.
And so Monkey I hope found another home, made another child as happy as he did me.
Life goes on.