A Fairytale for Modern (Little) Britain

Once upon a time, in a secluded edge of a beautiful, peaceful forest, there was a hospital. This hospital was home to 100 people. 48 staff and 52 patients. 

The patients that lived at the hospital were there for all sorts of different reasons.  Some were too old. Some were not very clever. Some were too angry. Some just hated people for no other reason than the fact that they weren’t born within the confines of the hospital and came from the beautiful, peaceful forest. The rest; well, they were unfortunately press-ganged into being there, through underhand tom-foolery, skullduggery and fatuous propaganda distributed by the self-serving and evil conglomerate that ran the hospital and their media machine.

The staff, who were permanent residents of the hospital (despite having total free-access to the beautiful diverse and peaceful forest) performed their duties to the best of their abilities.  They lived alongside the patients, doing their best to ignore the occasional outbursts and educate those who would listen.  Unfortunately, there weren’t many of those.

One day, the head of the hospital, Mr Cowardly-Weasel, felt that his command was being questioned by the patients and one of their poster-boys, Nigel the Nasty Nazi. So he decided to hold a gala ballot evening.  He sent out leaflets to every room asking whether each resident would like to build a huge wall between the hospital and the peaceful forest, destroy the building from the inside and burn it to the ground.  The other option was to leave things as they were and for him to do a better job at managing the place instead.

Of course, he and all his colleagues laughed at the master plan that they had hatched.  “Who in their right minds would opt for the destruction?”, they jeered into their Oxford mugs of fine brandy.  No, it was plainly clear that this gala ballot evening would be an entertaining way to ensure some of the disgruntled patients would vote for him to pull his socks up and stay on as manager of the hospital forever and ever. If they did verge on voting the unthinkable way, at least the experts amongst the staff would be listened to when they pointed out that any other choice apart from staying in the forest would be quite plainly suicidal. But, he neglected to take into account that there were 52 patients and an evil Australian wizard controlled all the information that would be fed into the wards before the day of the ballot. He also neglected to take into account that the 52 patients were allergic to experts and quite plainly suicidal.

For the next few days, the hospital was awash with more than the usual feculence of misinformation and promises of a Nirvana away from the forest; where all medicine would be free and each patient would suddenly become employed, as all the skilled doctors visiting from the peaceful forest would be thrown out of the hospital and replaced with the patients.  None of them saw the flaw to this preposterous and ludicrous idea.

Some of Mr Cowardly-Weasel’s colleagues saw an opportunity for them to take over the hospital when they saw the kerfuffle that was starting to play-out, so they joined in with the evil Australian wizard in spreading lies about current state of the infested hospital and the bright future it had after it wa burned to a cinder; floating across the sea like a dead whale’s carcass, far away from the beautiful, peaceful forest.

The night of the gala ballot came and, as sure as shit, the 52 patients all voted to burn the hospital to the ground. 

The 48 staff members stared on in disbelief as the trucks started to bring in the tanks of petrol and matches and hand them out to the now rabid patients.  As the wall was being rapidly erected, some staff started to question the sanity of what was  happening - but swiftly got set upon by the patients, soon after they had killed the Polish nurse.

Mr Cowardly-Weasel’s office lay bare.  He had already run and left the competition of who would take over his office to his once friends and loyal team of colleagues - all now exposed as a bunch of cunts who would rather lead a pile of rubble than be in the shadows of a once shining hospital.  Even the incomprehensible St Bernard dog, Boris, that he had bought for shits and giggles and to throw sticks at, had disowned him and made an attempt to jump in his chair (only to leave the room when he accidentally shit himself mid-jump).  One particular cunt, Mrs “Isn’t a Mother” Theresa (as one of her opponents once called her), shone through and took over Mr Cowardly-Weasel’s office so quickly, it was almost like she had planned the whole thing from the start.

She took over the hospital radio and announced that Burning Down the Hospital meant Burning Down the Hospital.  The 48 staff still stood there; incredulity etched upon their weeping faces. 

The evil Australian wizard laughed heartily as he watched his empire solidify in the ruins of the hospital.  He knew that he would be better served by 52 “specials”, “bewildered” & “misinformed”, albeit in amongst a pile of cinders and ashes, than he would be by 48 staff members who had free and open access to the beautiful, peaceful forest where his powers were weakened by rational thought.

Mrs “Isn’t a Mother” Theresa continued to spew forth commands to rebuild (burn down) the hospital with her own hatred of mankind by setting dates for the walls to be reinforced with asbestos and dynamite and by announcing that the hospital’s doctors’ time of looking after the beleaguered but enflamed patients was coming to an end.  She cackled down the charred hallways repeatedly screaming “Burning Down the Hospital means Burning Down the Hospital!!!” 

The rabbits and deer stood on the edge of the beautiful, peaceful forest watching the hospital burn down. They disbelievingly wept as they saw the destruction being caused by the evil Australian wizard and his puppets and watched the 52 patients crying out in pain as they fell to the floor in flames, “we won, we won, we are free again!”. They watched as each and every one of them lost everything they thought they never had to the flames and still, in their dying breaths, claimed victory.

From a top floor window, the 48 staff look out at the creatures in the beautiful, peaceful forest and waved goodbye. They wished that the gala ballot evening had been a non-binding, non-legal advisory vote that didn’t actually mean anything whatsoever - especially “Burning Down the Hospital means Burning Down the Hospital”. No, that would be ultra-fucking, nuts-in-a-vice ,unthinkably moronic and unfathomably imbecilic.  They stood there hoping that the 52 patients were savvy enough to realise they had been duped by some extraordinarily rich people who wanted more power and money - but this all seemed to be be just wishful thinking.

There was no happy ending and no one lived happily every after. Except the evil Australian wizard.  

And so, he, his puppets and his pawns played on to…

The End.

About the Author

Benedict Francis

Benedict Francis

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