About this Blog

Four Wise Monkeys is designed to unite my desire to develop as a writer with my urge to blog. It is based around the proverbial Three Wise Monkeys, with the focus being on the human senses rather than moral principles. Each post will relate to a sense represented by a monkey: "See no evil, Hear no evil, Taste no evil, Smell no evil." My hope is that blogging in this way will encourage me to think of blogging as a kind of writing exercise rather than something to distract me from my writing.

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Four Wise Monkeys pebbles by Aimee Daniells.

Entries in See No Evil (44)


Red Wine at Night

Red wine is generally my drink of choice, and there are few things I welcome more after a long and tiring day. The sight of that first glass shining garnet reflections onto the coffee table is something I enjoy indulging in before I take the first mouthful. The richness of its colour, bursting with the promise of flavour and relaxation, warms me like an open fire. It signifies that I’m here; that I’m not going anywhere; that it’s time to stop. It’s a simple monkey, and not one that lasts long before it is overtaken by smell and taste, but it’s one I always enjoy.

Monkey by Clive Wesley Dennis 


New Books

There’s an excitement in the acquisition of any book I really want to read, but for some reason, there’s none so great as that brought by a brand new book. It’s a pleasure I rarely indulge in, but sometimes, when I simply can’t wait for a title to turn up in a charity shop or second hand on Amazon, I’ll order one, or – rarer still – physically buy one from a bookshop. (The latter remains my favourite but it’s a luxury I can’t really afford). There’s such anticipation held in those perfect, unmarked pages for a story told, it seems, just for me. Crisp and uncurled, the pages wait to be brought to life, enticing me with promises of characters and plots. The cover shines and the spine is stiff and lifeless until reader and writer meet in the pages and breathe life into the story. The sense of possibility mingles with the pleasure of newness, of freshness, and it’s worth lingering a while before I start to read, savouring the joy of an anticipated book.

Monkey by Kieran Hazell (www.ownbeat.co.uk)



There’s a jay who frequents our garden. The neighbours feed him peanuts, which he eats on the fence, scattering bits of shell into the flowerbeds. I love watching him. It’s partly, I think, because there’s only one of him, so I know I’m always seeing the same bird, which gives him more of a personality than any of the other visitors our garden sees. And it’s also partly because he’s so pretty: he’s an interesting combination of tropical-looking and crow-like. His beak is thick and chunky (he looks like he could probably do a fair bit of damage with it), and he has a flash of blue on his wings, which stretch out like fingers when he flies. We notice his absence when we haven’t seen him for a long time; it’s always a small relief when he comes back to sit on the fence and eat peanuts.

Monkey by Clive Wesley Dennis 


The Hour of Hope

So long as I’ve had enough sleep (which is often debateable), I like being up before everyone else, especially on a bright, blue-skied morning. There’s plenty of aural pleasure going, what with the birdsong and the quiet roads, but it’s the light that I especially like, the cleanness of it as the sun rises into the day like an early morning stretch, polishing the leaves and spotlighting the blossom. The gardens are people-free, ruled by birds, their shadows flitting across puddles of sunlight as they hop between branches, and all the shades of green are showcased at their best. At this time of day, the world is full of promise and everything is still achievable. This is the hour of hope.

Monkey by Clive Wesley Dennis 


Talking to Monkeys

I’ve been having trouble finding monkeys recently, which has served to illustrate their significance. There’s no devastating trauma going on here, but we’re having a bit of a tough time, and handling ordinary life is taking more energy than it normally does. Desperately searching for a monkey this week, for a small thing that gives me great sensory pleasure, made me realise not only how important monkeys are for general happiness, but that how accessible they are to me has a direct correlation to how settled I am in life. Monkeys are important for taking stock, for being able to pause and appreciate something good in the world, no matter how difficult things are. Monkeys are the blossom on the trees; the warmth of spring sunshine on your back; the smell of fresh ginger on your fingers or onion in a pan; the sound of birds in the morning; the hiss and crackle of grilling bacon… As I list them now, I remember them, and I set off towards a new week, determined to spot all the monkeys, and take the time to say hello as I rush past.

Monkey by Kieran Hazell (www.ownbeat.co.uk)