The Lancashire Midget Greenie (1945-2012)

"7A."

"What number is this, Chip?"

"SEVEN - AY!"

"Okay, don't mean it, don't get excited man!  It's cos I'm short, I know."

You all know what comes next.  Daydream Believer is a timeless song that has touched the hearts of millions and been turned into football chants across the globe. 

It's very difficult to sit here and try and pin down all the ways that The Monkees have influenced my life.  After all, I wasn't even an idea back on September 16 1966 when The Monkees first aired in the US.  I didn't buy Monkees Monthly or subscribe to the fan club.  I didn't queue outside record shops to get my copy of Headquarters.  I wasn't there on 3 December 1967 when they played the UK's first ever stadium gig.  They were not, strictly speaking, of my time.  Yet, it is a complete truth to say that if it hadn't been for The Monkees, I wouldn't be the person I am today.

10 April 1996.  No idea why I remember the date.  I was twelve years old and just starting that awkward, self-conscious, not fitting in stage (still in it!).  Although, in fairness, I had never quite fitted in anywhere.  I am ten and a half years younger than my closest sibling.  My parents are old enough to be my grandparents and I've always described my situation as an only child with five parents.  Because I was always with my parents and their friends who were all 40 or so years older than me, I never really had much in common with my peers - after all, what self-respecting adolescent really wants to be friends with a precocious, squeaky voiced, bespectacled, fat, ugly Jehovah's Witness kid with a 30,000 word vocabulary at the age of 12?  I just felt as though I'd always been on the periphery of everything.  I'm not saying I had an unhappy childhood because, hand on heart, I had the best childhood anyone could ask for - but I've never really been quite old enough or quite hip enough to fit in, or I've been too old and still not hip enough.  I've never acted my age because I'm not sure how a person my age is supposed to act.

Channel 4 had been advertising the fact they were going to show re-runs of The Monkees on Sunday nights at six o'clock.  I'd never heard of it before but it looked bright and fun and funny and my curiosity was piqued.  I'd planned to watch it.  I asked Mum and Dad if I could watch it on the little portable television in their room after tea and they'd agreed.  Six o'clock came.  The first thing I saw was a tiny fella, with longish, shiny brown hair, wearing the smallest pair of red shorts I had ever seen in my life.

"This is it.  I love it!" I declared.  Before a word of dialogue had been spoken.

By the time the opening scene was over, I was hooked.  I can still remember vividly, being sat on the end of Mum and Dad's bed, the first time I saw those opening credits, and just knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.  I still remember, week after week, being unable to breathe with laughter as Davy, Micky, Mike and Peter got into and out of all kinds of scrapes in the most hilarious and zany ways.  I counted down the seconds from the end of one episode to the beginning of the next each week.  They were my show, they were my boys, they were my music, they were my sense of humour entirely.  They spoke to my soul on so many levels - I finally felt that I had something that could belong to me, that I could belong to.  That, even though the show was 30 years old, being a bit different, being seen as being a bit weird, not fitting in didn't matter; just being who you are - that's all you need to be. 

Through The Monkees, it naturally followed that, four or five years later, I broadened my 60s horizon and embraced other bands - starting with The Animals and then moving on to The Who-> and Hermans' Hermits... in fact, I'd discovered most of the 1960s before I even gave The Beatles a second thought.  The Monkees are my Beatles.  They're where it begins and ends for me.  Not just musically.  Although I've always loved writing stories, it wasn't until I became a Monkees fan that I ever even considered writing comedy of my own or putting it into a script.  They broke so many boundaries and inspired so much creativity and were behind so much of modern popular culture - it's easy to just dismiss them out of hand as a kids' TV show.  But they were so much more than that - and they still are.  It wasn't until yesterday that I realised just how much they've affected so many people, and how much people still love them - especially the little one with the shiny hair and the tiny red shorts.

My brother broke the news to me yesterday that Davy Jones had passed away.  It had only been a few weeks ago he'd said to me that he had been a Monkees fan right from the beginning and had watched their show while he was growing up, long before I was born - but now, whenever anyone mentioned The Monkees, he always thought of me.  I must've had ten text messages all saying how sorry people were - one even said 'I'm sorry for your loss', which was so sweet - as though I'd really lost someone so close to me.  Perhaps I have.  I'd hoped that, when I finally heard the news about one of The Monkees - as I knew I'd have to one day - I'd be in a different position.  I'd be settled down, probably married with kids, and that I'd have other things to concentrate on, that it would just be a sad piece of news but that I'd still get on with my life mostly unaffected.  I hadn't expected to still be the oversized kid that didn't quite grow up and who still doesn't really fit in.

The tears haven't come too badly yet.  But I have a feeling they will.  I know I didn't know him.  I know it was 'just' a show and they 'just' made some great music and he was 'just' a person.  I know it's silly to feel his loss so deeply, as though he was really my friend, when I know he wasn't.  It sounds melodramatic and ridiculous, I know - but the truth is, when I'm depressed, I watch The Monkees and they take my pain away.  They never get the breaks and they never get the girls - but they always have each other and they never give up hope.  They're my sunshine, my warmth and my heart.  And a very, very special part of my life has gone. 

I may be a Nez girl through and through - but the true Heart and Soul of The Monkees has gone.  All my thoughts and best wishes are with his family and friends at this tragic time - and especially to his three brothers-in-arms, Mike, Peter and Micky.  My boys.  My music.  My Monkees.  And they always will be.