My nostalgia glands have been in a state of perpetual moistness** ever since ITV4 started repeating the irrepressible Monkey weekdays at 6pm.
Wonderful - its as good as I remember from my formative days, back in the mists of time when I had just one digit to my age.
Monkey is one of my earliest TV memories. As I type I can clearly remember sitting with my Weeble* in my hand**, captivated in front of the adventures of Monkey, Tripitaka, Pigsy and Sandy round at my chum Ben's house (oh the shame, as the memory resurfaces of dropping one if Ben's Weeble's down the toilet ON PURPOSE; oh the joy, recalling how I would fly his parents sofa as a make-shift pink cloud, fighting off Pigsy Ben with my staff**)
The downshot of all this is: When I get excited, I've started making that "tcha-tcha-tcha-tcha-tcha-tcha" noise that Monkey makes when he's excited. Around the house. Around the workplace! I'm so embarrassing.
So this is me, dear reader, Starbuck of the parish Viper Squad Ten.
Look on in pity as the picture of your author further resolves before your eyes. Watch as I run up the stairs doing my "one arm outstretched the other behind my back" Superman impression, bursts of Eighties heavy metal riffage spilling from my internal jukebox and out of my mouth, punctuated only by gibbering Monkey Magic impressions.
Look on and weep.
* note to Playskool: the new design for Weeble's is shite; change it back. ** this all sounds a lot more dodgy than it was, you filthy lot