The monkey gangs turning this Thai city into a real-life Planet of the Apes, writes DAVID JONES

The mob begin to move in on me the moment I stray into their 'hood' (an abandoned cinema that they've commandeered and trashed) and in seconds they have me surrounded.

The boss, a big guy with whiskers and a well-fed belly, fixes me with a menacing stare, then sends one of his young molls to check me out: a typical gangland tactic.

Spotting a bottle bulging in the pocket of my chinos, she shins up my leg and begins clawing at me with her knifelike nails. Maybe she thinks it contains something stronger than water.

The rest of the crew clearly find all this very entertaining, swinging from girders and skittering across the debris to get a better view.

But, dear reader, by this point your reporter is certainly not laughing. As you might see from my sweat-soaked shirt and rictus grin in the accompanying photograph, by now I'm gripped by waves of panic.

Our intrepid reporter David Jones looks a little uncomfortable outside the derelict Malai Rama Theatre, a disused cinema now overrun by the monkeys

The long-tailed macaques have — with an extraordinary mixture of stealth and aggression — formed into ghetto-like 'gangs' and seized control of an entire city centre in Thailand

Taweesak Srisanguan, 80, owner of a construction materials shop, keeps a crocodile, a tiger's head and a BB gun as a deterrent for the monkeys in the besieged city

During a long career, I have come face to face with Afghan warlords, murderous Albanian criminals, and razor-wielding thugs who rule the favela slums of Rio de Janeiro.

Yet they all seem tame after my encounter, this week, with the Monkey Massif: a huge group of long-tailed macaques who have — with an extraordinary mixture of stealth and aggression — formed into ghetto-like 'gangs' and seized control of an entire city centre in Thailand.

For many years, the apes that congregate around the ruined Hindu temple in Lopburi, a historic stop-off on the British backpacker trail, two hours north of Bangkok, were a prized tourist attraction.

In their honour, in 1989, a local businessman started the annual 'monkey feast', a lavish banquet at which thousands of visitors vie to please the pampered primates with the most exotic treats.

As they are said to descend from a legendary 'monkey warrior' with supernatural powers, they are also revered as deities by many Thais and protected by law from even the slightest human interference.

Over the past decade, however, the number of macaques in Lopburi city centre is thought to have multiplied fivefold, to 4,500, and they have steadily been colonising the downtown district.

As I have seen this week, the monkeys' astonishing annexation of human territory is now complete. The little blighters are absolutely everywhere. They hang from roofs, window ledges, street signs, girders, gantries, waiting to pounce on passers-by and rob them of food.

When they can't grab it directly from people's hands, they are clever enough to blackmail them — snatching sunglasses off their noses or other possessions, and refusing to return them until they get a tasty reward.

I watched one raiding party ambush an open-backed beer lorry, as it idled at traffic lights. They made off with several bottles, gnawed off the metal tops, and guzzled them thirstily in the 100F heat.

As the macaques' numbers swell, their turf wars become ever more vicious and their tactics more ruthless.

Matters came to a head with two disturbing incidents last month. First one of the monkeys 'mugged' an unsuspecting market trader, dislocating her kneecap with a violent kick from behind before making off with her bag of groceries.

One of the simian sinners sneaks a ride on a passing car in Lopburi

A few days later, a motorcyclist was knocked off his bike when a monkey leapt onto his vehicle and stole a carrier bag dangling from the handlebars. Luckily, he wasn't seriously hurt, but the authorities have now declared war on the 'gangster' macaques. 

Soon after the attacks, officers from the National Parks, Wildlife and Plant Conservation Department rounded up 37 macaques, supposedly including four notorious 'gang bosses', and banished them to another province.

Next month they plan to start drastically reducing the population by capturing hundreds more and relocating them to enclosures on the outskirts of the city — though, given the huge difficulties they had in trapping the first 37, that might be easier said than done. I will explain why later.

Flying to Thailand, however, the notion that a band of urbanised primates had taken over a city seemed fanciful and rather amusing. When a flight attendant, raised in Lopburi, told me how the monkeys attack children at his former school and pilfer their snacks, I had smiled indulgently.

I wasn't smiling several hours later. Venturing into the occupied territories, it seemed I had driven on to the set of some dystopian sci-fi movie.

Perhaps, after almost 50 years, they were making a fifth sequel to Planet of the Apes.

Everywhere I looked my gaze was returned by an eerie pair of yellowish eyes, glinting with opportunistic intent. Every step I took was shadowed by a flash of fur and a whiplash snap of a tail. The sultry air was redolent with the sickening stench of stale ape excrement.

As temple manager Pramote Ketumpi told me, the monkeys have divided themselves into four rival 'gangs'. And they behave remarkably like the postcode crews in Britain's inner cities.

When they encroach on one-another's patch, either to forage for food or in search of sexual adventure, a frighteningly screechy mass-brawl invariably breaks out.

Mr Ketumpi points to their different territories. Along one side of the high street, a four-storey block that once contained bustling shops selling phones, noodles and clothes is now a disembowelled shell.

Evacuated by traders driven away by repeated thefts of their wares and attacks on their terrified customers, this huge empty edifice is the den of a group that locals have dubbed the Building Gang.

Another band of monkeys — known as the Temple Gang — have made their home in 1,000-year-old ruins, guarding the grounds like ancient warriors.

Then there is the Shrine Gang, who, as their name implies, loll around a holy site, feasting like gods on the offerings of tourists.

As Mr Ketumpi's office is in the shrine's grounds, he can identify individuals in this group by sight. Its leader, Ai Lor, which translates as 'Handsome' is a burly, thick-furred bruiser (a full-grown male can weigh two stone and possess incredible strength) who takes the most food — and the most females.

A marauding macaque is caught on camera making a raid on a beer truck 

The crafty creatures menacing an unsuspecting motorcyclist 

But it was another malevolent macaque — much smaller and, I think, female — whom I watched turning a British boy's magical first encounter with monkeys to tears on Wednesday.

Nine-year-old Louie Patten, from Nottingham, was visiting Lopburi with his father, Lawrence, 60, and Thai mother, when he tried to feed the primate cheap snacks bought from a street seller.

But it was another malevolent macaque — much smaller and, I think, female — whom I watched turning a British boy's magical first encounter with monkeys to tears on Wednesday.

Before he could open the bag, however, the impatient monkeys jumped on his head and snatched it, an unnerving experience, as I can attest.

Happily, the shock quickly wore off, and — wise beyond his years — young Louie put his experience down to 'the natural order'.

Would that I had felt equally philosophical when I met the Cinema Gang — the last of the four groups that have overrun central Lopburi — in the wreckage of an old movie palace.

In its heyday, 20 years ago, this had been the city's most popular picture house, its owner Kannika Maksasithon told me, as we took a precarious tour.

When audiences waned with the arrival of videos and streamed films, she converted it into a shopping mall, but nobody wanted to browse around a place where monkeys might jump on them at any moment. So, at a loss of about £250,000, she closed it down.

The graffiti-daubed metal shutters she has since erected have had no effect. The hollow cinema now echoes to the chilling shrieks and juddering runs of innumerable grey-coated squatters. The only movie shown here in recent years was projected onto a makeshift screen by an experimental Japanese filmmaker who thought it would be fascinating to have hundreds of apes as an audience.

However, Ms Maksasithon harbours no ill will towards the creatures who have almost bankrupted her. She doesn't even want them removed from the city. Well, not all of them.

'I grew up surrounded by them and still find them cute,' she says. 'I just think we've got too many and they must be reduced.'

Surprisingly, given that they have destroyed the inner city, and with it the local economy, it was a sentiment I heard repeatedly.

Some traders, such as hardware shop owner Taweesak Srisanguan, 80, have tried scaring the macaques away by positioning toy predators, such as crocodiles and tigers, in their windows. However, the monkeys quickly fathomed they weren't real, so now he takes pot-shots at pesky ones with a BB gun.

Others have tried to accommodate the interlopers by treating them like equals — among them a hotel owner who has allowed them to occupy every room on the top floor (not that he had much choice).

Some traders, such as hardware shop owner Taweesak Srisanguan, 80, have tried scaring the macaques away by positioning toy predators, such as crocodiles and tigers, in their windows. However, the monkeys quickly fathomed they weren't real, so now he takes pot-shots at pesky ones with a BB gun.Others have tried to accommodate the interlopers by treating them like equals — among them a hotel owner who has allowed them to occupy every room on the top floor (not that he had much choice).

Whatever their approach, however, everybody seems to want a few hundred to remain around the temple, as a symbol of the city. 

Officers from the National Parks, Wildlife and Plant Conservation Department are now planning a dramatic crackdown on the creatures - and are set to round up hundreds

The Wat Phra Prang Sam You temple, otherwise  known as the monkey temple, in Lopburi

Ironically, I'm told, the population boom — and resultant invasion — may have been caused by well-meaning tourists who feed them sugary snacks and drinks, rather than their natural diet of nuts, leaves and the occasional small animal.

The energy rushes from junk-food are believed to boost the monkeys' libido, according to the temple manager (whose knowledge is gleaned from a local vet).

'They can have sex up to 30 times a day,' he tells me. 'But they must make love very quickly, because they are most vulnerable to attack by rival gang members when they are mating.' The street-food regime also seems to make females more fertile, he adds.

How, then, do the authorities propose to reclaim downtown Lopburi for the humans?

Though local politicians I met this week were quick to absolve themselves of blame for allowing this strangest of coups, they were all too eager to claim credit for plotting the counter-revolution that will — so they say — return Lopburi to human control.

At his marbled mansion, a safe distance away in the city's affluent suburbs, MP Sittichai Lorprasongsuk told me he was working with the Prime Minister to introduce a new law that will remove the monkeys' protected status in this one city, empowering local officials to shift them.

The first phase would see several hundred monkeys caught and shut inside a new 'garden'. (With its rubber tyre swings and wire caging it looked more like a spacious zoo enclosure, when I inspected it later.)

This operation is scheduled to begin at the end of the month. A second such compound will be built for some 2,000 more monkeys, leaving only a small number to live in and around the temple.

But the Prime Minister's ultimate vision, the MP declared — as his wife videoed our interview — was to create a futuristic 'monkey city' for tourists. 'It will be our own Planet of the Apes!' he proclaimed.

His optimism was echoed by Lopburi's governor, Amphol Ungkapakornkul. 'Right now, it seems like the people are living in a cage and the monkeys are free,' he said. Catching so many macaques wouldn't be easy, but by next year order would be fully restored.

This confidence is not shared by those who witnessed the 'arrests' prompted by last month's attacks: a fiasco that saw the street-smart simians lead national parks trappers a merry dance.

When they tried to lure the macaques into baited cages, they sussed the tactic within a few minutes and blithely ignored them. The wildlife officers then fired tranquiliser darts, but the monkeys — which can leap 16ft and accelerate to 35mph in the blink of an eye — used their amazing agility to evade the arrows.

Those few that were hit, had time to climb to the highest nearby point to hide before they fell unconscious. This left the trappers with an unenviable choice. They could either risk life and limb trying to reach their quarry on rickety rooftops or leave the drugged macaques — whose worldwide numbers have dwindled so alarmingly that they were recently listed as critically endangered by the International Union for Conservation of Nature — to die slowly of exposure under the baking sun.

Dutifully, they chose the former option, and 37 were eventually caught. However, it took about 40 minutes to catch a single monkey, says a local journalist who videoed the operation. So how long would it take to trap several thousand? That's one for the mathematicians.

All of which leaves the people I met deeply sceptical of the much-trumpeted liberation plan, among them Arikanta Kanchanasinmetha, 37, the mother of two whose kneecap was dislodged by that well-aimed kick last month.

'I think it's impossible to get rid of them — there are just too many now,' the market jeans trader told me, recovering at home with her leg in a brace.

'Lopburi has become the City of the Monkeys already. Anyone with enough money moves away. Only the poorer people, who have to live and work there, stay behind. This is all being done for show, and it's much too late.'

After my beef with the massed ranks of the fearsome Cinema Gang, I suspect she is probably right.

In this strangely disturbing clash between Man and Beast — a battle set to become increasingly commonplace as the natural world shrinks — the apes have proved their ability to make a monkey of us all.