Partying with Monkhouse and a monkey (Belle)

Miss P invited me to her garden rave and we all had a marvellous time dancing into the lilac-scented night. I was surprised that events were slowing down by 1.00am. The DJs were contractually required to stop playing music and be interviewed, Match of the Day style, for television. (“It was a team effort, but there was one drop I was so happy with, I’m glad it was me”.)

While waiting for a lift, I had to collect the monkey’s cage from the cloakroom and asked a child if the monkey would run off if I left it loose in the back of the taxi. He rolled his eyes at me. The stupidest question ever asked.

I wandered into the mustard yellow library and was overjoyed when Bob Monkhouse entered, wearing a midnight blue dinner jacket. Fiddling with his cuffs, he told me he was off to a late-night gig and he hoped people liked the material. “How could they not?” I asked. Meeting him was a highlight of my life.

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