From time to time, I’m obliged to address complaints about how undignified it is to be a character in someone else’s weekly column. Normally I can justify the intrusion by pointing to something I have recently paid for, and shrugging in a way that suggests an ongoing invasion of privacy is simply the price one pays for Which? magazine’s top-rated dishwasher. Occasionally, however, it becomes necessary to blur the identities of real people. This additional precaution will not, I hope, undermine the essential truth of what follows.
So, anyway, my life partner – let’s call him Sean – is in the kitchen, rereading last week’s column. “It would have been funnier,” he says, “if you’d written what I actually said.”
“I can’t be expected to remember everything,” I say.
Sean pushes a card across the table for me to sign. Anton, the second eldest of our adopted ex-research chimps, is 17 today. It can be hard to find a suitable present for a near-adult chimpanzee, although they only ever want one of two things: new tyre swing or Nando’s voucher. In any case, it’s nearly midday, and Anton’s still asleep.
Kurt, the younger chimp, surfaces first, bounding into the kitchen and making the sign for “What’s up?” Sean slides another card across the table and makes the sign for “Sign”. Kurt picks up a permanent marker and draws all over the card, and across much of the table.
Eventually, Anton comes downstairs, blinking and yawning. “Happy birthday,” Sean says, handing him a card. Anton shreds the envelope and eats it, before finding something inside. He examines it carefully, makes the sign for “Nando’s voucher” and turns his lips inside out.
“You’re welcome,” Sean says.
In the afternoon, we all go to the cinema. Many people, including some leading primatologists, might question the wisdom of taking two ex-research chimps to see Foxcatcher, but it’s important for them occasionally to leave their specially-adapted environment. Anyway, if you put hoodies and glasses on them, most of the time no one says anything.
The trouble doesn’t start until after the film when, as we leave the cinema, Sean signs “What did you think of that?” Kurt replies with two thumbs up, but it is clear from the increasing volume of Anton’s cycle of distress calls that Foxcatcher was not his cup of tea.
“I agree that the narrative got a bit elliptical in the middle,” I say, “but if you just allow yourself…”
Anton embarks on a series of distinctive pant-hoots, and assumes a defensive posture, which seems to suggest that if you can’t make a character’s motivations apparent, you haven’t got a story worth telling.
Kurt makes the sign for “Shut the fuck up”.
Anton makes the sign for “You shut up”.
Sean signs, “Please don’t do this here.”
Anton signs, “Why are you blaming me?”
The argument resumes over supper, with Sean making repeated attempts to mediate. “Stop being so aggressive!” he shouts. Anton turns an angry back-flip and leaves the room. Kurt climbs on to the table and rolls in his food, before following Anton upstairs. “Why are they like this?” Sean asks with transparent exasperation.
“The thing is, you make it worse when you intervene,” I say. “Let them have it out.”
“You would say that,” Sean says.
“Indeed,” I say. “I’ve written a respected primatology paper on the very subject.”
“Just do nothing,” Sean says, “is your answer to everything.”
“It’s a constant battle to maintain position in a linear dominance hierarchy,” I say. “It’s not really about Foxcatcher.”
Sean makes the sign for “Shut up”.
• Follow Tim on Twitter.
