July Rebooted

Ah, July. The big finale. A very short month by Debt Monkey standards but it played host to the most important events of the entire series.

It hardly seems credible now that a year ago I was finally released from Debt Monkey captivity back into the wilds of North London.

Well, I say released, it was more of a break out. No, even that's not quite accurate. If I were to faithfully pursue this strained prison metaphor then what actually happened was as follows: on the very day of my release, I organised a riot, set the prison on fire, and then escaped while everything burned.

But to set the scene, my final day as the Debt Monkey had been set from the very start of the series as 4th July – Independence Day. As Americans celebrated their independence from the British I would celebrate my official independence from the reality show spotlight at a press conference engineered to show the happy, smiling (and psychologically untroubled) face of the show's first ever participant and to launch the format worldwide.

After May's acts of rebellion, I'd had my wings well and truly clipped with threats of total debt reinstatement and all sorts of other heavily-implied legal nastiness. And if I'm honest I'd been genuinely frightened by my brush with the Debt Monkey lawyers (the only area of the whole series where they seem not to have opted for the bargain basement option) and they had every reason to expect total compliance until the bitter end.

What they got instead, was this:

Which, I'm sure you'll agree, they thoroughly deserved.

Thanks again to everyone who followed the series. It's been very strange reliving it all over the last six months, but somehow pleasantly cathartic.

And the book? Well, things have gone a little quiet on that front and so I genuinely don't know if “My Life As A Monkey” will ever see the light of day. But if my would-be publishers are reading, I should just say this: I've already spent the advance. Shall we just call it quits?

June Rebooted

June. The month of Wimbledon. A nation of tennis-lovers shifting their gaze left then right then left then right as men and women in shiny white shorts and skirts smash merry hell out of a little yellow ball. In Debt Monkey terms I was that ball, slammed all over the court as impossible highs gave way to new lows before I was swung back up to another short-lived high. June 2009 was the penultimate month of this reality show smackdown and boy did the producers crank up the ante.

I'd lost the plot for the best part of a month, but by the time June arrived the mind mist had finally started to clear. There were still gaps in my memory but one of the few advantages of having your life published on the internet is that you can at least go back and watch old episodes.

No doubt pleased that I was back in the world of the sane, but clearly worried I might lose my marbles all over again, the Debt Monkey producers gave me a nice, fun challenge to tempt me back into the reality show hamster wheel, and, like a hostage victim inexplicably hugging his kidnapper at the end of a long, violent siege, I welcomed it with open arms.

My challenge was to make a short film inspired by the week's news and I was unsurprisingly drawn to the meteoric rise of honey-tonsilled bruiser Susan Boyle. I chose to tell the cautionary tale of Freddie Bumstead, the first reality star to truly go 'viral':

After this suspiciously cosy reintroduction to life as the Debt Monkey, the producers decided the honeymoon period was over and engineered possibly the most offensive challenge of the entire series. Perhaps suspecting I might try to sabotage events if I knew the full horror of what was planned, they remained very cryptic in the lead-up to the day itself.

So here it is. This one is definitely Not Suitable For Work. In fact, it's not really suitable for any situation. If this were an episode of Friends, it would be called: "The One Where A Vulnerable Homeless Person Is Dumped In Ben's Flat And Given An Endless Supply of White Lightning"...

In my mind, this was the one that confirmed my worst suspicions of reality television and set me on a path of determined non-cooperation. For Rob it was the one where he got bitten by a possibly-rabid homeless person and had to have lots of painful injections (including one up his jacksy).

So Rob was given a week off to recuperate and was temporarily replaced by documentary filmmaker and professional bell-end Crispin Brown, who was in serious danger of disappearing up his own arse. Rather ironic, seeing as he was to preside over a dirty public protest featuring something which had recently appeared out of mine:

My aim was to shock the audience into realising just how low reality television had forced them to stoop for their entertainment. It was a naive gesture but strangely liberating. If I could do this in front of a room full of people, then I could do anything.

Perhaps disconcerted by my new-found rebellion, Debt Monkey 'invited' me to have a nice, cosy chat with their lawyers about the perils of non-cooperation. Bring it on, I thought, all fired up and ready for battle. Sadly things were a little more complicated than I'd imagined. I may have finally found my balls, but sadly it turned out that they were both the property of Debt Monkey. The message was clear — play nice until the end of the series or all my debts would be reinstated.

Having been put firmly back in my place, and with just one week to go, Debt Monkey set up a meeting for me with top London publicist Cliff Baxter who, amongst other things, promised to make me "the next Michael Winner":

But even the depressing prospect of becoming what I had previously despised — a D-list pseudo celebrity sucking on the withering teat of short-lived fame — couldn't dampen my spirits in the final week. I could see the light at the end of the Debt Monkey tunnel, and somewhere in the back of my mind a fiendish plan had started to hatch. A plan that could make my six months of reality hell somehow worthwhile.

But that's a story for July...

May Rebooted

For most people, the month of May is a time of great optimism - the weather's getting warmer, April showers have been and gone and the calendar gods bless us with not one but two bank holiday weekends. But for me, May 2009 was a complete blur because May was the month when the little cart containing my sanity went completely off the rails.

I approach this review of May, as a police detective might approach a crime, trying to piece together the truth from various bits of evidence. The process is doubly surreal when you find yourself in the dual role of both investigator and victim.

After the Mum-shaped bombshell dropped at the end of the previous month, I can only imagine that the increasingly frayed bit of string connecting me to reality finally snapped, and like a rabbit momentarily released from the glare of the headlights, I went into some kind of primitive flight mode.

But even this is guesswork. The only thing that's clear is that I disappeared off the surface of Planet Debt Monkey. So much so that Debt Monkey HQ released the following appeal for information relating to my disappearance:

Were they genuinely worried, or just protecting their investment? I'll never know, but if my total meltdown gave them a reason to stop and consider their part in it all, then maybe it wasn't entirely in vain.

Another week passed and still no sign off yours truly and so Debt Monkey - perhaps driven by a simple need to generate some content in the absence of their video-laying Golden Goose-Monkey - released this heart-warming appeal song:

Okay, it's not quite Feed The World, and I'm sure the Michael Jackson estate would have something to say about the choice of backing track, but watching it now even I can't help getting a little nostalgic about being a monkey. Ah, the power of song.

To this day, I can't remember where I was or what I did for the two weeks that I went AWOL, but in mid-May I was spotted by a member of the public on Worthing Beach, and Rob the cameraman was sent to find me and bring me home. It was like Saving Private Ryan on a shoestring budget, with Worthing standing in for Omaha, and my sanity playing the part of all the people that got blown up:

Now, I'm no expert on the inner workings of the human mind, but even I can see that I'd gone stark raving, nut-nut bonkers.

And given my obviously fragile state, the Debt Monkey producers did what any responsible, professional production would do in that situation - they forced me into a series of intensive therapy sessions with a crackpot head-shrinker and filmed every invasive minute:

One doesn't have to spend very much time in Rubina's company before realising it's a textbook case of the inmates running the asylum, but by fluke or design, come the end of May my marbles were definitely starting to return one by one, albeit with the occasional terrifying relapse into madness.

So, that was May. It's all a bit of a black hole for me which is probably a good thing all things considered. If you can shed any light on those missing two weeks then please do get in touch. Mind you, if all you've got is a photo of me shouting at traffic, eating out of a bin, or smearing myself with my own do-dos, then I'd be grateful if you keep that to yourself.

See you in June!

April Rebooted

Spring came roaring in, ripe with optimism, but little did I know that ere the month was out I would be a gibbering wreck, reduced to insane ramblings by the psychological impact of events just around the corner. Events that the DM Producers could easily have avoided, but in the true spirit of their laissez-faire attitude to such trivial matters as human dignity, they couldn't be arsed.

Poking a vulnerable human with a metaphorical big stick for the sake of entertainment – regardless of the possible consequences – is alright, isn't it? Sure it is, especially in the world of Reality Television.

But April started pleasantly enough and I almost started to warm to my monkey masters when a familiar face arrived at my door with a song and a gift (although sadly not a gift for song):

I don't know if they had a whip-round at Debt Monkey HQ for loose pennies, or just found this hunk of junk down the back of a sofa, but at that point a mobile phone was a bashed-up blessing. I had been deprived of independent means of communication until now, and this meant I could put in some quality talk time with my new-found biological mother.

And so I was happy. Not being allowed to watch the Debt Monkey episodes as they went out, I had no idea that they were already treating my blossoming relationship with my long lost Mum with an unhealthy dose of disrespect, and so I remained blissfully unaware of their mischief.

But while I was in high spirits, Rob the cameraman seemed to be having his man period and spent the week in a grump (some kind of trouble with 'er indoors). But I managed to cheer him up (my challenge for the week) with a trip to the pub to watch the football followed by a bit of drunken Wiiing. (Warning: this episode contains the gayest final line ever!)

And then the whole reality show genre was plunged into introspection by the untimely death of its very own Princess Di – Jade Goody. I had nothing against her personally, but what she represented (and how she was being eulogised) chimed horribly with what I myself was going through as the guinea pig of this particular reality zoo, and something compelled me to record this heartfelt attack on the whole sorry Gomorrah, with Rob's ample help.

This was probably my finest hour, and it is still the most watched episode of the whole series, though it is also true that it set in motion a chain of events that would ultimately lead to my undoing. What I thought at the time was a genuine attempt by the producers to grant me a platform to make a serious point, I now realise was simply a case of them letting out just enough rope for me to give myself a serious strangling.

But at the time I was unrepentant, and drunk with what I perceived to be a return to power, I initially refused to apologise for the Goody-inspired outburst. I still look upon the following protest with some pride:

Ah, the noble convictions of a grown man charmingly twinned with the guerilla tactics of a small child...

But if Jade was a Goody, the powers that be had decided that Ben was a Baddie, and needed to be punished. And so it was that one morning I woke up stark bollock naked to find that I'd been drugged and that, like me, my flat had been totally stripped.

This was not a burglary however but my punishment and so I spent the week dressed as a monk to serve my penance. After a few days of peaceful non-cooperation I felt I'd made my point and would honestly have gone through with their stupid Debt Monk Gunk Dunk challenge had I not been called away on an emergency.

It's interesting to note that even though I was speeding off to be with my distraught mother in an hour of her need, they still felt it acceptable to end the episode with a tasteless cliffhanger. Not that I should have been surprised by editorial insensitivity. Certainly not after this emotional bomb went off soon afterwards:

I honestly have no firm recollections about where it was, exactly, that I went. Looking back, I even feel a twinge of sympathy for Rob, forced to record this mournful little episode all on his own. I never blamed Rob, certainly not after what he did for me at the series end, but truthfully, I never blamed him even at this, my darkest hour. He was as much a victim of this whole sordid reality television business as I was. As Jade Goody was. As anyone who even watches this shit is.

March Rebooted

According to the old saying, March is supposed to enter like a lion and leave like a lamb. For me, it entered like a grubby old pimp and left like a... well, it didn't really leave at all, it hung around for months, like the smell of milk spilled on an old carpet and not cleaned up properly. Or something like that.

(Oh tits. This entry is starting as badly as the month did. I think I'll stop torturing metaphors in my secret, subterranean torture chamber, and just get on with it...)

The month started with a jolt when I almost got arrested in my first public challenge for behaviour unbecoming a royal park:

After the dust had settled on that debt-themed debacle, Debt Monkey then tried to force a red nose on my reluctant face and eventually succeeded in twisting my arm (well, conscience) to make an appeal on behalf of Comic Relief:

I found out months later that Lenny Henry, upon being shown the video by a journalist, told them he was going to "track me down" and "punch my stupid face in". (Lenny, name a time and place and I'll be there. But come on your own. Don't bring Dawn.)

Highly sceptical of the likely success of a charity appeal fronted by a sour-faced internet nobody, even I was surprised at the final total raised. But it was nothing compared to the surprise of finding out about the latest challenge, one which was to send shockwaves through my life and affect the direction of the whole series...

Inspired by the onset of Mother's Day, Debt Monkey decided to dig around in my past and uncover my biological mother!

Looking back, it was definitely a mistake to mention to the production company that I was adopted. It was so obviously a big red “invasion of privacy” rag to the reality show bull (well, bullshit) of Debt Monkey, but at the time it seemed like an innocent enough bit of information to pass on.

The introduction of my real mum added a deeply complex set of emotions to an already inflammatory mix. After the initial shock and anger has subsided, I managed to still my whirring senses and was incredibly moved and excited to actually meet her:

It's now very hard to write about such moments in the series, knowing as I do how horribly it was to all end. It's especially tough to look back on the excitement and optimism with which I greeted the next moronic 'challenge'. Spring may have been in the air, but it was a metal spring, and day by day it was being gradually squeezed, priming a deadly trap to be trigged much later on.

(I'm sorry, it's really too upsetting to spend much time on this material. I guess I'll have to cover it all in the book, but for now you'll just have to watch the clips and make your own mind up.)

The challenge itself was innocent enough. Never ones to let a bandwagon pass by without trying to leap on the back of it, Debt Monkey used the arrival of British Summer Time as an excuse to have me running around central London carrying a massive clock:

It was a surprisingly upbeat end to my second full month as a reality show monkey, but the seeds had already been sown for less happy times ahead.

Hold on to your seats people. Because come April, things are going to get a lot darker...

February Rebooted

It was in February 2009 that I got my first proper taste of being the Debt Monkey.

For the purposes of this reminiscence I will slam you straight into the mindset of the producers with this evil little gem of a blind date “challenge” from Valentine’s Day:

It quickly cemented all that I had feared throughout my first two weeks as the Debt Monkey.

I'd suspected from the beginning that by getting into bed with a reality show production company I was probably signing my soul away to the Devil, but one thing I hadn't realised was just how strapped for cash the Devil would turn out to be.

For instance, I'd assumed that I'd be relocated to special Debt Monkey House, complete with cameras and a reassuringly regional voiceover artiste, but it wasn't until this meeting that I realised that the whole thing would be filmed on a shoestring in my own flat.

And far from being a “fly on the wall” style of documentary, this was more of a “fly in your face” approach progressing quickly to a “fly interfering with your stuff” aesthetic.

On the very first day they stripped all the nice, tasty food out of my flat and replaced it with that watered-down “value/basic/simple” stripey bollocks. Have you ever tried getting pissed on 2% lager? It's just about possible but it's very hard work.

It was clear from the moment I was told about the Blind Date Challenge that privacy would not be a major consideration and that the camera would try to linger until the bitter end. And I was left in no doubt that my date Emily was prepared to go all the way.

To be fair to Emily, she's probably a lovely girl — or at least was, at some point in her life. But since then a string of disappointments has obviously left her a few cuddly toys short of a toy shop window display. This much is clear from her original Debt Monkey audition video.

I'll admit the date left me pretty grumpy for a few days afterwards and the producers, in a rare display of kindness (or perhaps realising that chronic grumpiness is not great entertainment), set me a fun challenge to cheer me up. So, set the task of producing my own spoof versions of each of the Oscar nominees of Best Picture, I set about unleashing my creativity to produce this minor masterpiece:

I had a whale of a time but unfortunately the feedback from my viewing public was rather less positive.

Perhaps realising too late that they hadn't sorted out a challenge for the end of the month, the producers waved goodbye to February with a compilation of previously unseen moments from my few weeks as the Debt Monkey, including a rather embarrassing tantrum about a Curly Wurly.

With February over, there was not much I could do but wait to see what March had in store. Little did I know at that stage it would include: almost getting arrested, doing an appeal on behalf of Comic Relief, and being reunited with a long lost family member...