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A BEGINNING

A Very Special Foreword

by Eric Idle

Hello.

Sorry to come barging into this pseudo-scientific book, but obviously publishers are greedy bastards and will do anything they can to try to seduce the gullible public into buying enormous quantities of meretricious trash for the Christmas market, so I have been asked to lend my name to this blatant attempt to part you from your cash.

What is The Infinite Monkey Cage anyway – apart from being a terrific song written and sung by yours truly with every single instrument played by Jeff Lynne, and certainly something you should try to download for Christmas, but no, it’s the sodding BBC and it’s not available or they’d have to pay for something. That’s why you are stuck with this book.

I think you will find it very helpful. It’s useful for keeping a door propped open or to put on your Christmas table to stop the hot plates blistering the plastic tablecloth. But do watch out for the Christmas pud; the book itself is highly flammable, and if it catches, you might possibly set fire to an elderly aunt. On the other hand, if you are cold, simply stick it in the grate and it will make a lovely Christmas blaze.

As you know, scientists are the new chefs, so pity poor Ince, once a half-way decent comedian, now stuck alongside a glamour-boy professor, playing Robin to his Batman. Still, if it stops him having to play Colchester again I suppose the whole thing has been worth it.

One or two words about The Monkey Cage itself.

Is the Cage infinite?

Or are the Monkeys infinite?

Or perhaps they are both infinite?

In a multiverse would there be an Infinite

Donkey Cage?

I think we should be told.

Well, that’s about it.

I shall be spending my Christmas Day in the traditional way on a Thai massage table listening to Sounds of the Seventies. Sadly, we don’t get the Queen’s speech here in Bangkok, but there are one or two compensations. There is an inspirational message from José Mourinho, and a bottle of gluten-free almond wine for ancient tee-totalling ex-Pythons sent by John Cleese from his cellars, where he hangs upside down during the winter season.

To all of you, please enjoy your expanding Universe for another year. And do try to buy more Monty Python shit. We haven’t got long and we do need the cash.

Happy Christmas Greetings!

Eric Idle

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