Mark Francois headbutts Big Ben

Let me tell you a story about a little Tory. A diminutive man, with a great big plan.

The little Tory was called Mark. He lived a happy, carefree life. He was part of a gang of bigger boys, who looked after little Mark like he was their baby brother.

One day, the big boys decided that they wanted to be the only gang in town. They picked fights with all the other gangs, relying on the fact that their opponents were happier fighting amongst themselves than against Mark’s gang, who fought dirty and had the best slogans.

Little Mark was overjoyed to be part of such a cool crowd. He wasn’t much of a fighter but he did turn out to be an excellent cheerleader. Indeed he rose to the position of gang mascot. He found himself much in demand to tell stories of his gang’s fights and wins.

Little Mark loved his new role. He greatly enjoyed telling his stories. As time went by, his stories became more and more elaborate. It didn’t matter that most of his stories were made up. He was living the fairy tale.

Finally, unbelievably, his gang did indeed become the biggest gang in town. They ran the town, and if anyone complained, well they only had themselves to blame.

Little Mark’s big plan was to celebrate victory by sounding the biggest bell in town. But how was he to do it? A local fairy godmother gave him some sage advice:

“Climb the tower on the stroke of eleven,

Take a breath in sight of Heaven.

Take a run up, do it well

And bash your head against the bell.”

So little Mark did as he was instructed. At eleven o’clock he climbed the tower, pausing only to take in the celestial singing and watch the fairies and the unicorns fluttering about. He took aim, and sprinted headlong at the bell…

There was a dull clang, and little Mark fell, unconscious, to the foot of the tower.

He was found by two passers by. “Should we call an ambulance?” asked one.

“No, we can’t afford one,” replied the other. “Who is this chap anyway?”

“I don’t know, but his face rings a bell.”

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