What is it about monkeys and me? I often think an inbuilt radar alerts them to the fact that they aren’t my favourite animals. Then that seems to trigger a mood of “let’s wreak havoc” around her, anyway.

Regardless of where I am, if there is a roaming monkey nearby, it tracks me down.

Think I’m crazy? Mean? An animal hater? Well, I’m not. Let me declare my love for most animals. Living on a farm, I have survived mouse plagues, had rats from grain bins run across my feet, recovered from a redback spider bite and trodden on a slithering snake.

But nothing gets my heart pumping quicker than the thought of a monkey encounter. I freely admit I have pithecophobia – a fear of monkeys and apes – well, just make that monkeys.

Maybe word got around after I threw a wet, sandy towel at one when I interrupted a monkey picnic in my glamorous suite in an Indonesian rainforest. They helped themselves to the fresh fruit and escaped with a tube of sunscreen, screeching at the top of their voices.

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Later as I made my way to the spa, the big daddy of the monkey family sat smugly on the spa boardwalk, hissing as I approached. As partial as I am to spa treatments, even I wasn’t taking a step closer to that monkey. I retreated to the lobby where staff ferried me in a golf buggy. I swear that monkey hissed even louder at me as I passed by.

“Game on,” I wanted to shout and, “keep your distance!”

Another time I was stretched out on a beautiful beach when I felt eyes on me – yep, it was a monkey. Sitting, staring, watching and waiting. I quickly retreated to the pool, hiding beside a kind fellow sun worshipper as that monkey gave me “the” look.

I wish I had a dollar for the number of times I have been told by guides not to look at a monkey and it will ignore you. Wrong – the more I try not to connect, the more they do.

Several years ago, at Bali’s Uluwatu Temple, as I walked with friends, a monkey started tailing us – no, make that tailing me.

I stood still, arms by my side, when it raced up a stone walkway and snatched my sunglasses from my hand. I screamed and shook. Later a Balinese guide exchanged them for bananas and handed them back. Tales of monkeys running off with phones are real, too.

On a serious note, the unchecked and unmanaged human interaction with primates, in places such as Bali, and Thailand, often ends badly for both.

I’ve had a friend treated for rabies after an encounter. I know it’s often the result of offering “Western” foods and stepping into their territory. However, if there’s a monkey around, my battle plan is set like jelly. Windows are closed, glass patio doors are bolted and no food is visible.

In India last year, I watched monkeys do their version of tightrope walking across a bustling street. I was so intrigued I failed to notice a menacing monkey making for our tuk-tuk. Our driver accelerated hard and that monkey narrowly missed its ride and my wrath.

That night at our hotel, I was greeted by towel art fashioned into a monkey with a banana by its side – nightmares assured.

Over my years in travel writing, I have walked behind elephants, trailed polar bears, pursued pumas and searched for tigers, with the greatest respect. But when someone mentions I may encounter a monkey or two, that’s enough to set me trembling.

That’s my monkey business for you.