This weekend I will be visiting some people who have a small child. Now while I can't guarantee I'll get a chance to read it I do like to have a story prepared for such occasion in case I am called upon in my official capacity. My avuncular nature has long been regarded, and who am I to disappoint? And so for your delectation, and Oscars, is the story.

There once was a rather alarming person called Malcolm who lived in a tree. His friends kept saying to him, "that's no place to live". But to Malcolm it was home. And there's not much you can do about home really. It's not just where you live. And where it is can't just be determined simply by calculating the precise location of your hat. Home, Malcolm was sure, was somewhere special. It didn't matter how many times he might move in the future he would always remember the tree.

Why, you may ask, was Malcolm alarming? Well for a start he never wore any trousers and he had a bright red bottom! And his hair grew in tuffs all over his body.

And he ate a lot of bananas.

I mean all the time.

So okay Malcolm was a monkey. And so maybe you are thinking that a) when I said that he was a person at the beginning I might have been stretching it a bit (which I'll admit) and b) that a tree is quite a normal place for a monkey to live.

Well let me tell you. All of Malcolm's friends don't live in trees anymore. They all live in little terraces in the city. In the city! Their situation is so perilous that they have to have bars on the windows just to stop the lions and tigers getting in!

But they seem to like it. And they're always asking Malcolm to join them... And they do have a tire swing.

But they were all born in captivity, so what do they know? Malcolm thinks he might move there someday but only when he's old and crotchety and wants liquidised banana on tap. But until that day he'll enjoy the comfort of his tree. Thank you very much.