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In Revealing ze secretz of ze netherworld, I am risking my reputation of Greatnesz,
but I azzure thee, that ze Grosjean will forever fight for truth and stand for honour in
diz pantheon of liez and corporate conspiracy!


In a living room, not far from here, which is stocked with a wealth and plethora of trophiez,
each an individual emblem of mammoth and immortalizing succezz… sitz Tim Henman,
sipping hiz blackcurrant juice and perouzing ze morning newspaper.

“Tim, have you polished my cookery and sewing trophies like I told you to?” comes ze
call from ze kitchen where hiz mother washes ze dishes.

“No, mom. And I told you not to use the ‘T’ word.”

He flipz through ze sportz pagez, and nodz disapprovingly, espying yet another derogatory
and disparaging headline about hiz failurez in a grandslam.

Then, he noticez another feature, which detailz ze eye-witnezz accountz and numerous
sightingz around ze town of a mysterious unknown masked crusader.

“Ha! Unknown to some!” he observez wryly, tossing ze tabloid upon ze table, while reclining
and lighting a cigar.

Suddenly hiz mother rushez from ze kitchen.

“Give me that cigar! And how many times have I told you to keep your feet off the furniture!
You're being a very naughty boy today mister Tim Henman!”

She clipz him round ze ear.

“OW! Mom!”

“You know what you get for being a naughty boy! And look! You've spilt your blackcurrant
juice all over your clean white shirt!”

“That’s okay. I've got Daz.”

He pickz up a carton of Daz which was conveniently situated nearby, and looks off into ze distance.

“Daz. The only detergent for those hard to erase stains!”

He winkz, he smilez and hiz teeth glisten.

Suddenly, ze phone ringz, giving off itz red flashing glow. He liftz ze receiver.

“Henman here.”

“Henman, it’s Sue Barker from headquarters. I've just got a report of a damsel
in distress, desperately in need of a superhero, and since all the good ones
are busy-Wonderwoman's getting a breast reduction, because of her newfound
feminist beliefs, -Batman and Robin are coming out of the closet (like anyone
one was fooled) and Superman has gone to a seminar on Nietzche (I didn't have
the heart to tell him), you're the only one available. Please Tim, you've never let
me down before- outside of Centre and Number 1 court I mean- I'm really
in a pickle here.”

“Holy Jumpin' Jack flash Sue! Of course I'll help! Where is this unfortunate maiden?”

“123 Fake street. And Tim…”

“Yes Sue?”

“Be careful.”

Tim slamz down ze reciever and rushez to hiz Hencoup.

He goez to ze closet and pullz out hiz pride and joy! Hiz costume of chivalry!
Hiz garb of grandness! Hiz attire of illustriousnezz! Hiz garment of heroism
and goodly deedz!

Yez, you guezzed it. Hiz hensuit.

“Oh! If only the world knew of my bravery! No longer would they mock! No longer would
they jeer and sneer! No longer would my name be a byword for failure! No longer this
sadness, no longer this pain!”

There comez a knock on ze door.

“Tim, who are you talking to in there? I hope you're not practicing your Wimbledon
winner acceptance speech again.”

“No dad.”

He donz hiz hensuit quickly, beak and all.

“Beware foul villains! And masterminds of crime! To the Henmobile!”

He motionz to ze door, but before he getz there, in walkz hiz mother.

“Now, Tim, I've made you some sandwiches. Peanut butter. Your favour…”

She stops; mouth agape.

“Mom...I can explain.”

Will Henman defeat ze forcez of evil?
Will he save ze damsel in distrezz from utter annihilation?
Will Timz mother ever recover from finding her favourite son in a hensuit?
Will she suggest therapy?
Will Tim get ze stainz out of hiz white shirt?
Will he get ze white stainz out of...erm, never mind.

Tune next time for more amazing adventurez of ...nananananananananananananana Henman!

(Theme tune used with ze kind permizzion of ze good people at Batman inc.)
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