The Monkey in the Bin

Once upon a time I was helping Rodger put up a mirror and saw a stuffed ape, wondering why he had it, surely not as a cuddly toy. He said he was a member of EDL, English Defence League, which I found hard to believe since he’s Scotch with a broad Scots accent. I said I wasn’t racist. Next door to him lived a young Englishman, Yvann, one quarter Somali, Rodger complained about to the landlord. I was friendly with Yvann and, after I made him clear up the mess he made in the garden, Rodger never spoke to me again except to ask aggressively, “Who are you looking at?” and to say sotto voce, “Mind your own fucking business.”

One day I opened my bin to find the stuffed ape in it. I turned to Diana who was standing by, “There’s a stuffed ape in my bin!” She grabbed and embraced it. “It’s been in the bin,” I said. She cast it from her onto the row of bins where it stayed, rained upon, until one day it disappeared as furtively as it had appeared.

A long time passed. Diana said she’d accosted Rodger about putting his monkey in my bin. He denied it, claiming the cleaner had. I’m sure Candice will be delighted to know she stole into Rodger’s flat to take his stuffed ape and put it surreptitiously in my bin. Only she can realise why on earth she’d do such a thing.

That’s the story of the monkey in the bin.


About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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