another one joins the monkey grip gang
Sometimes I have fantasies of living in an ivory tower and producing a scholarly work on a particular genre or thing that has captured my imagination, and it's quite likely that it would be on Monkey Grip for me. I read Monkey Grip back in the days of being at school, spend a warm summers day in doors lying on clean sheets , wondering at the incongruity of the world on paper compared to the cloistered Toorak Gardens world outside my window. Toorak Gardens, of velvet lawns and narrow avenues and pretty gentlemans bungalow, and genteel tennis courts, walking distance from bookshops and Trak Cinema and arthouse films and fine food at Grimaldis, being served by eastern suburb boys in finely pressed white shirts and designer chinos, working part-time en route to their fine stockbroking careers, already emitting vibes of polish and sophistication, driving nice cars and planning dinner parties and collecting cds whilst at university. Those sorts of boys-and their female counterparts, of ...