Monkey lovers! Apologies for the long delay but I've found out who the stalker was...none other than the lovely Tracy Emin.

Lumley to rule Folkestone with loyal Gurkhas

A scene from the future? The Gurkhas, led by their queen Joanna Lumley, invade Folkestone as the townsfolk rebel against its incompetent councils with the help of Quake Island monkeys. (Monkeys and Ms Lumley out of shot).



Monkey lovers!

It's been a long time and sorry for long delay but we've been super busy building our first monkey love town called Monkey Love Town.

It's literally been all hands on deck. Oops... I was told not to mention anything about ships or nautical stuff for a while but as no one actually reads this (except for my flippn' stalker) let's just say the Russian cargo ship that went missing in the Channel had a lot more than planks of wood on board. I don't like to boast but WE ARE OFFICIALLY SHIT HOT RICH MONKEY PIRATES ...We are now unofficially the richest island in the world! Stick that in your Sunday Times rich list pipe, Mr Murdoch, and smoke it. Let's hope our collective spirit messes up your stupid list big time.

And we got three weeks free labour from the crew. They were very nice, well-behaved boys who were all builders before the economic downturn forced them to become crew to a ship carrying 'unusual' cargo. So yippee for us, they knew how to use a power drill and drive cranes and mix cement and all that stuff that you have to do to build a town without any infrastructure, which was pretty flippn' handy. And best of all they loved our island, especially our entertainment and unique interpretation of Oliver! The Musical. Anyway, suffice to say we were sad to see them go (especially the footballers who had started up their own football team, Quake Island FC. They are now back in the cage but that's another story.) If you want to read more about the cargo ship go to: www.where-the-hell-has-my-huge-cargo-ship-gone-shit-if-anyone-finds-what's-on-board-we're-in-BIG-trouble/shippingnews.com

Anyway, our town is looking 110 per cent good. But perhaps not as handsome as the bloke who played Heathcliff in that bad adaptation of Wuthering Heights last weekend. What was that all about? Me and Shmichael were well confused and I've read the book! That takes some doing. We allowed Jonathan to watch it as a special treat (Dr Ricardo banned him from the TV room as he used to get upset if people on the TV started arguing and after destroying five televisions, he had enough.) By the second half he'd completely lost the plot, saying how amazing it was that the characters had all managed to stay young looking and we had to 'get the special age-defying potion that they were guzzling'. It wasn't strictly true: Heathcliff in later life resembled that chef Marco Polo White in both looks and temperament. No wonder he could only get a dead woman interested in him. And what was all that hair stuck to Cathy's brother's face while he spent the whole second half lolling around on a table. I tell you I've been to Haworth and they certainly wouldn't allow that kind of behaviour. Flippn' waste of money! They would have been better of investing it in our fabulous town.

It's all designed on a typical Roman town with some of the best elements taken from Folkestone - our nearest neighbours. We left out the big white hotel that blocks out all the light and views by the Harbour as Schmichael says he doesn't want to attract 'those kind of tourists' on Quake Island. I never realised he was such a snob, to be honest, but he reckons they'd bring in all 'the bad tribute bands from the 60s and 70s' although none of us know exactly what he's talking about.

We went for another fact finding mission last weekend for the day and the town's going to allow yet another supermarket. I've never seen so many flippn' supermarkets...and then they complain that the town centre is dying. Me and Smichael just nodded our heads when we read the recent application. Monkeys could do better? We certainly flippn' could! The councils that run those towns should hang their heads in shame. And as for its MP...even your beloved Mrs T thought there was something dodgy about him.

Anyway, I've got myself all upset thinking about that town...perhaps we could come and free the people and get the lovely Ms Lumley to rule with her gurhka soldiers by her side. At the very least the town may get some decent public toilets.

Laters!

Monkey Friend.

Howdy monkey lovers!

You may have noticed the lack of news from Quake Island over the last few weeks but my friends, it's not because we have nothing to report. Gar from it. I hardly know where to start. Firstly, I need to put all our monkey fans out of their misery. We have most defintely not been invaded by deportee Iranians. Big releif at our end, I can tell you. (How that would have flippn' put an end to our blissful weeks in the sunshine on the light side's glorious white sandy beaches). And no, we have definately not been visited by any monkey baby snatchers. We're still busy, busy, busy with rehearsals for Oliver! I've flippn well been roped in big time by Sharleene anbd Schmicheal to play the Artful Dodger after X (young monkey) fell off the Helter Skelter and is in a bit of a bad way. We're giving him plenty of loving and Dr Ricardo's sleepy nighttime juice and Scmicahel reckons he read a story in the Daily Mail recently about a monkey in a robot suit with his hands tied behind his back. Apparently, he or she can control his movements through the power of thought. Joanthan;s busy building a replica so we may have x back with us before to long. But we've told him that he'll have to curb his trips on the big dipper when he's all robo-suited up.

Instead we've had the pleasure of a most incredible guest who turned up here last week with his human friend.

Could Iranians be deported to Quake Island?

Our beautiful island could be sunk along with our dreams to be Kent's Number One Tourist Attraction thanks to Iran’s flippin' supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei.






Greetings monkey lovers

You will have probably noticed an absence of the usual fun-loving exclamation mark because my friends (or are you?), we are in the presence of an imposter. And there is no place for a casual, silly exclamation mark on Quake Island today. Indeed we may be in mortal danger.

Our blog is being followed by someone posing as none other than me, your trusted correspondent, Monkey Friend, calling themselves Monkey Friend. Well, if you really are a true monkey friend, Monkey Friend, then reveal yourself (though not like Dr Ricardo’s assistant, Orlando used to, please. Email will suffice.)

Theories as to who has stolen my identity are spreading like wildfire among the island community and for the sake of simplicity, Sharlene suggests I use bullet points to outline them. I’ve placed my comments about theories in italics
They include:

• It’s the secret service employed by France or England, or either both, trying to befriend me and get my trust before they invade. (Jonathan). I’m not so sure. We’ve not really heard much from either government since we ate their flags and I reckon they may be pretty busy on either sides of the island. Mr Brown’s got a load of trouble with banks, no cash and MPs diddling the public purse (though I’m convinced no-one has noticed three MPs out of the 600 plus missing) and now his open government has got to organise a secret inquiry into the invasion of Iraq. It’s all go, go, go Mr Brown. Anyway, he’s got all this shit going down while Mr Sarkosy has his 100 per cent good looking wife Carla to look after. I said to Jonathan that if some secret flippin’ service was so interested in us, they’d find a more effective way to infiltrate our monkey love island than through a couple of emails.

• Some weirdo looking for virtual monkey love who stumbled on our blog by mistake. (Nelson - he’s one of the older monkeys here and my new best friend after Jonathan chased me up the helter-skelter and threatened to throw me off until I agreed with his theory). I reckon this theory could be a goer. Dr Ricardo used to monitor our internet use because of all the flippin’ perverts in cyperspace. He said he didn’t want our special brains corrupted by the filth of human society. Very noble, Dr Ricardo, but what about the filthy needles you used to inject us with?

• A well wisher who means us no harm but is a bit bored at work or in the evening when there’s nothing on telly and thinks it’s entertaining emailing our community. (Sharlene) It’s a possibility but what kind of flippin’ freak spends their time writing dross to strangers?

• It’s someone who is jealous of my good looks and wants to get to me. (Schmichael) I’ll tell you this, ‘Monkey Lover’, after 20 years of Dr Ricardo’s daily brain injections, assuming my identity online will hardly ruffle my fur. You’re going to have to try flippn’ harder than sending two poxy emails.

• It’s the baby monkey snatchers. (Ramon). I’m not sure now that they’d be bothered to come all this way to snatch baby monkeys when they have breeders at home willing to sell them at three days old. But we’re not dissuading Ramon from this theory. The threat that some American monkey baby lover with a suitcase packed full of nappies and frilly dresses may arrive on the island one day is making him behave himself for now.

• Iran’s supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei plans to dump all those who voted against Mahmoud Ahmadinejad on Quake Island. (Claudia). I flippin’ hope not. There’s 45 million voters and two thirds so obviously didn’t vote for Ahmadinejad which would leave us with 30 flippin’ million Iranians on our island. I tell you they will sink it. We’d have no space for our beautiful pleasure beach and harbour. Plus it’d ruin our chances of becoming Number One Tourist Attraction in Kent, UK. Claudia admits this is a bit far-fetched but as she rightly points out, who’d have ever thought a load of monkeys would end up rioting, capsizing and taking over a newly formed island? I said to Claudia: “No way! They’d just flippin’ shoot ‘em!” But as Claudia pointed out, killing 30 million people is quite a big undertaking even if you wheeled out all the dictators in the world and raised a few dead ones like Hitler and Pol Pot. It would actually be easier to just transport them to an island like ours. Shit.

• It’s the editor of Hello magazine, desperate to interview me about my favourite colour and shops, who will make no references to the numerous rape and assault allegations and the mysongist way I treat and talk about women. (Footballer 1). This bloke is a complete flippin’ narcissist and brainless scumbag. It’s a bad, bad thing to give so much cash to someone so young and stupid. Thankfully, we have done him one big favour by taking it away from him and making him and Footballer 2 clean the Pleasure Beach. They are a bit flippin’ slow but Sharlene insists on administering them with Dr Ricardo’s magic Sleepy Sleepy Tight Juice after another unpleasant incident in which Claudia was sexually assualted. (Somehow they managed to squeeze one of their footballs through the cage and got Claudia to fetch it and push it back. While she was doing so, Footballer 1 grabbed her arm and tried to get her to perform a sex act. Luckily, Jonathan heard the kerfuffle and came to her rescue and confiscated all their footballs and clothing.) Personally, I’d like film an alternative ending to the Italian Job where it falls over the edge of the cliff, with the two footballers inside. But the god-fearing Nelson says we cannot take another life and Schmichael says he’d miss our little games. I think we may have to think about casting them off in a lifeboat or something because they are getting on my flippin’ nerves big time.

So there you have it monkey lovers. Sleep well, because we won’t until we find out the true identity of Monkey Friend.

Could Iranians be deported to Quake Island?

Greetings monkey lovers

You will have probably noticed an absence of the usual fun-loving exclamation mark because my friends (or are you?), we are in the presence of an imposter. And there is no place for a casual, silly exclamation mark on Quake Island today. Indeed we may be in mortal danger.

Our blog is being followed by someone posing as none other than me, your trusted correspondent, Monkey Friend, calling themselves Monkey Friend. Well, if you really are a true monkey friend, Monkey Friend, then reveal yourself Monkey Friend (though not like Dr Ricardo’s assistant, Orlando used to, please. Email will suffice.)

Theories as to who has stolen my identity are spreading like wildfire among the island community and for the sake of simplicity, Sharlene suggests I use bullet points to outline them. I’ve placed my comments about theories in italics
They include:

• It’s the secret service employed by France or England, or either both, trying to befriend me and get my trust before they invade. (Jonathan). I’m not so sure. We’ve not really heard much from either government since we ate their flags and I reckon they may be pretty busy on either sides of the island. Mr Brown’s got a load of trouble with banks, no cash and MPs diddling the public purse (though I’m convinced no-one has noticed three MPs out of the 600 plus missing) and now his open government has got to organise a secret inquiry into the invasion of Iraq. It’s all go, go, go Mr Brown. Anyway, he’s got all this shit going down while Mr Sarkosy has his 100 per cent good looking wife Carla to look after. I said to Jonathan that if some secret flippin’ service was so interested in us, they’d find a more effective way to infiltrate our monkey love island than through a couple of emails.

• Some weirdo looking for virtual monkey love who stumbled on our blog by mistake. (Nelson - he’s one of the older monkeys here and my new best friend after Jonathan chased me up the helter-skelter and threatened to throw me off until I agreed with his theory). I reckon this theory could be a goer. Dr Ricardo used to monitor our internet use because of all the flippin’ perverts in cyperspace. He said he didn’t want our special brains corrupted by the filth of human society. Very noble, Dr Ricardo, but what about the filthy needles you used to inject us with?

• A well wisher who means us no harm but is a bit bored at work or in the evening when there’s nothing on telly and thinks it’s entertaining emailing our community. (Sharlene) It’s a possibility but what kind of flippin’ freak spends their time writing dross to strangers?

• It’s someone who is jealous of my good looks and wants to get to me. (Schmichael) I’ll tell you this, ‘Monkey Lover’, after 20 years of Dr Ricardo’s daily brain injections, assuming my identity online will hardly ruffle my fur. You’re going to have to try flippn’ harder than sending two poxy emails.

• It’s the baby monkey snatchers. (Ramon). I’m not sure now that they’d be bothered to come all this way to snatch baby monkeys when they have breeders at home willing to sell them at three days old. But we’re not dissuading Ramon from this theory. The threat that some American monkey baby lover with a suitcase packed full of nappies and frilly dresses may arrive on the island one day is making him behave himself for now.

• Iran’s supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei plans to dump all those who voted against Mahmoud Ahmadinejad on Quake Island. (Claudia). I flippin’ hope not. There’s 45 million voters and two thirds so obviously didn’t vote for Ahmadinejad which would leave us with 30 flippin’ million Iranians on our island. I tell you they will sink it. We’d have no space for our beautiful pleasure beach and harbour. Plus it’d ruin our chances of becoming Number One Tourist Attraction in Kent, UK. Claudia admits this is a bit far-fetched but as she rightly points out, who’d have ever thought a load of monkeys would end up rioting, capsizing and taking over a newly formed island? I said to Claudia: “No way! They’d just flippin’ shoot ‘em!” But as Claudia pointed out, killing 30 million people is quite a big undertaking even if you wheeled out all the dictators in the world and raised a few dead ones like Hitler and Pol Pot. It would actually be easier to just transport them to an island like ours. Shit.

• It’s the editor of Hello magazine, desperate to interview me about my favourite colour and shops, who will make no references to the numerous rape and assault allegations and the mysongist way I treat and talk about women. (Footballer 1). This bloke is a complete flippin’ narcissist and brainless scumbag. It’s a bad, bad thing to give so much cash to someone so young and stupid. Thankfully, we have done him one big favour by taking it away from him and making him and Footballer 2 clean the Pleasure Beach. They are a bit flippin’ slow but Sharlene insists on administering them with Dr Ricardo’s magic Sleepy Sleepy Tight Juice after another unpleasant incident in which Claudia was sexually assualted. (Somehow they managed to squeeze one of their footballs through the cage and got Claudia to fetch it and push it back. While she was doing so, Footballer 1 grabbed her arm and tried to get her to perform a sex act. Luckily, Jonathan heard the kerfuffle and came to her rescue and confiscated all their footballs and clothing.) Personally, I’d like film an alternative ending to the Italian Job where it falls over the edge of the cliff, with the two footballers inside. But the god-fearing Nelson says we cannot take another life and Schmichael says he’d miss our little games. I think we may have to think about casting them off in a lifeboat or something because they are getting on my flippin’ nerves big time.

So there you have it monkey lovers. Sleep well, because we won’t be until we find out the true identity of Monkey Friend.

KEEP OUT monkey baby lovers

Greetings monkey lovers! (Though not to any of the freaks that appeared in Channel's My Monkey Baby last night. If you're reading this - you are insane. KEEP AWAY from us with your disgusting frilly dresses and Silly Willy monkey names. Yes, that's the name of the poor bastard with the bridesmaid dress on.)

Flippin' heck! Me, Sharlene and Schmichael sat through the hour long documentary with our mouths hanging open.

We agreed it was the most bizarre documentary we'd ever seen and I tell you for nothing, me, Sharlene and my comrades have seen hundreds. Dr Ricardo was a big fan of your Channel 5 and real life drama stuff. So we know all about proper freaks and wierdos, and Peter and Katie (I love them. I'm very sad they've split but she is quite nasty to him.)

If you didn't see it, fictional reader, then let me summarise. Two barking mad couples, one singleton. None of them wanted children. All had various traumas as to why not, including not talking to your six children, a hysterectomy and a mean father. They all adopted baby monkeys, and in varying degrees fed them ice cream and cakes, kept them in nappies, transported them in prams, plastered them in make up and dressed them in ridiculous outfits. One called Laurie even claimed that her little princess, Jessie, didn't like bananas. All monkeys like flippn' bananas. Unbelievable.

Making monkeys dress up like you humans isn't right. We know that because Dr Ricardo caught his assistant Orlando red-handed. He'd unexpectantly returned early from one of his cycling holidays because his room had been double-booked with some pensioners from Recife. Anyway, Orlando had got me to squeeze into a rubber suit and mask, telling it was a ground breaking experiment see how well our monkey bodies could tolerate heat. 'We lived in the flippn' Amazon, Mr Orlando!;' I told him. 'How much hotter can you get than that! Flippn' hell?' although it came out more like: 'Mmmmm eeeek...mmmmm' cause the mask was so flippn' tight. To make it worse he handed me a long whip and told me to pretend to be Indiana Jones. 'Pretend I'm an evil Nazi and I've stolen your monkey treasure!' I couldn't see a flippn' thing and with all my flailing around, I knocked over the bunsen burners and the huge vials of chemicals bubbling away, destroying most of the lab and setting the alarm off. We never saw Orlando again and no mention has ever been made of the monkey heat experiments.

Anyway, in between rehearsals of Oliver!, Sharlene and Schmichael have been busy printing posters of all who took part, just in case they get any funny ideas about Quake Island and try and steal any of our monkey babies. WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE.

Scmichael reminded us that some 15,000 nutters in the US adopt baby monkeys so he's instigated a new law from now on: every visitor is searched for nappies with holes cut in them for tails and/or nappies with a pair of scissors and hideous frilly dresses. That way, he reckons, we'll be able to spot a potential monkeynapper and escort them off the island immediatedly.

Sharlene reckons that's too good for them, that we should lock them up with the footballers, who are getting a bit upset with their confinement. I opened up their cages after giving them a big dose of Dr Ricardo's Sleepy Night Night Juice and threw in three footballs for them to play with. Sharlene has now confiscated the balls after being on the receiving end of some rather sexist comments. She'd been doing a dress rehearsal for Oliver! at the time and was all done up like Nancy when they started on her. I don't blame her. I also put a Tory MP in with them as punishment. He can bore them now with his protests of 'the people being jealous of my duck island/house/mansion/fast car/foreign holidays/'. We've got a couple of his mates here, whingeing on about 'the rules let us do it'. I don't know what they're going on about. But I wish they'd just shut up. I am fed up with it, I tell you. They're going to find themselves in with the footballers if they don't shut it.

Laters monkey friends!

Lessons in running a seaside town

Want to jazz up your neglected seaside town? Try Folkestone, Kent, UK, and get them to give you some of their fantastic seaside attractions for nothing like we did. We got a historic water lift, a nice big harbour railway bridge and station complete with platforms, and loads of funfair rides for a fiver. Oh, and the bloke who makes the barrier go up and down in the car park. All we need is a bit of monkey magic and our island will be the Number One Attraction in Kent, UK. Watch this space.





Greetings monkey lovers!

We’ve just returned from a very interesting, albeit faintly disturbing, fact finding mission to Folkestone, Kent, UK.

We were invited across after some Folkestone local dignitaries contacted Sharlene on Facebook about running boat trips to the island and in turn we thought it’d be a great opportunity to get some top tips about running a successful seaside town.

We'll be happy to comply but will have to move our celebrity visitors and cash onto the dark side of the island when the boats full of tourists arrive. Anyway, we’ll cross that bridge when it comes – especially as we now have our own historic railway bridge to cross our own harbour. But more of that later!

Along with the railway bridge, we came back with a fantastic Victorian lift operated by water that the town council no longer wanted. It’s fabulous and one of just two working models in the world. Schmichael suggested we use it on the light side mountain running down to our fabulous white sandy beach. I think we could be onto a winner.

Sharlene quizzed them about the lift but they were adamant that they didn’t want to pay £300,000 on the upkeep of it, when there were more important things to spend taxpayers money on.

‘And what can be more important than a unique water lift that is a tourist attraction in its own right, let alone one that allows old people and people with disabilities to get from the top of a very high cliff to the seafront, in a town that’s supposed to be undergoing regeneration and that will soon have a fast link to London?’

They all went a bit quiet but one of them piped up something about the price of yellow paint rocketing in recent months and money being lost in a high interest savings account in Iceland.

After taking a leisurely stroll along the Leas, looking out at the beautiful sight of Quake Island in the distance, we took the lift down to the seafront. All of us were pretty excited about getting there because we’d seen the signs to the Pleasure Beach and Ramon had read about the fairground rides.

‘WHAT IS THAT?’ I said. (Reader, I had been pretty quiet before this outburst but before us lay what can only be described as a massive concrete floor littered with glass and dog shit and few desperate weeds leading onto the beach.)

‘Who’s stolen the fairground? Where’s the flippin’ rollercoaster and paddling pool?’ shouted Ramon, who had been going on and on about a special funfair treat all the way here, driving us all flippin’ mad.

The local dignitaries grew rather quiet again.

‘It’s a long story...’ one of them mumbled.

‘It’s being redeveloped...er...one day,’ said another.

‘Into airstrip!’ said Ramon excitedly. ‘You going get aliens and planes and helicopters and flying machines to land there. Where are they?’ Ramon screamed, searching the sky manically.

Sharlene had to handcuff Ramon after he bit a lady dignitary on her arm. Once Dr Ricardo's sleepy sleepy juice kicked in and the lady dignitary stopped bleeding, they explained that they got rid of the fairground two years ago and are still waiting for the redevelopment but guess what? We’ve bought the whole funfair for a fiver, so at least Ramon can play to his heart’s content once we get it set up on the island.

Anyway, we continued with our tour, growing a bit sadder with each step of glass crushing underneath our callused feet, along the concrete promenade towards the harbour (as Sharlene is most interested in recreating a traditional fishing village on the light side of the island.)

Suddenly a huge white building that vaguely resembled a ship suddenly cast its dark shadow over us. The massive monstrosity had blocked any view we may have had of the harbour from the beach, or indeed from any area west of the town. Me, Sharlene and Ramon reasoned it must be pretty hideous if they allowed a building like this to be built.

Imagine our surprise then when we rounded the corner and finally saw behind the white beast of a building – a charming old-fashioned harbour with colourful fishing boats bobbing in the beautiful turquoise water and the white cliffs of Dover hazily floating in the background. It even had its own station complete with harbour bridge.

However, our joy was taken away quickly as a sudden chill came over us though – the building which we understand to be a hotel, had now blocked out any sunlight and we were suddenly stumbling along the road in the semi-darkness.

Me, Sharlene and Ramon were pretty freaked out by this point, and couldn’t wait to return to the unspoilt beauty of Quake Island. Seems like we got a few bargains though including the railway bridge, tracks and station buildings. We even got the man who makes the car park barrier go up and down thrown in for nothing though he wasn't too pleased about it.

We have much work to do monkey lovers - lucky we have so much money and cheap labour!

PS: You may be interested in the story below I found in Shipping Today.

Rich fleeing tax hike feared drowned
Mystery surrounds the identifes of up to a dozen people feared drowned in the Channel last week.
The remains of a luxury yacht, registered in Jersey, were washed up in Ramsgate, Kent, last week, after gale force 10 winds were reported in the middle of the channel, near Quake Island.
John Henry, Dover Coastguard, said: “We had a signal that someone was in trouble but we couldn’t get to them in time. The boat capsized and we assume that all its occupants are drowned.
‘We have no idea who was on board the yacht. It seems the owner has taken a lot of trouble to hide his or her identity by registering its ownership under a fictional company based in Switzerland.
Detective Inspector Robert Nash refused to be drawn into recent speculation about the identiies of those on board, thought to be celebrities and rich businessmen fleeing the UK after recent tax rises.
‘Until people come forward to tell us their loved ones are missing, their identities will remain a mystery.’
www.shippingtoday/richbastardsfleeuktaxhike/newsstory/may2009