Thread by @mrhenrymorris

Goveller’s Travels

Friday 25th September 1727

My Master in Brobdingnag had a daughter of nine years old called Andrea Jenkyns, who being little for her age was not above forty feet high. Of towardly parts, she was dexterous at dogwhistle and skilful in dressing her straw-men;

She contrived to fit up a cot for me against night, out of an old Wokemon Go! box, placed on a hanging shelf for fear of the delingpoles. She adored fairy stories, so I told her of the golden age of my own land: The Papal State of Kent with its glorious thousand carriage

tailbacks; of barely literate politicians who pursued emotion rather than empiricism; of the bonkers war cult formed around a recent six year conflict, whose deification had reached such heights, warbirds were being sent to cure the sick; and our superior love of freedom,

testified by the abandoning of it in exchange for Ian Botham’s pedal-swan of Sovereignty. She made me onesies of as fine cloth as could be got, which indeed was coarser than Therese Coffey after her morning Special Brew; and when I pointed to any thing she told me the name

of it in her own tongue, so that in a few days I was able to call for a ‘Pret Crayfish Salad’, ‘emergency civil unrest protocols’ and a ‘gram of coke and a mirror’. She gave me the name of Groveller, which the family took up, and afterwards the whole kingdom. It imports,

they say, from what the Latins call nanunculus, the Italians homunceletino, and the English conniving git. To her I chiefly owe my preservation in that country: we never parted while I was there; and I should be guilty of great ingratitude,

if I omitted this honourable mention of her care and affection towards me, when I come to relate what happened next...

Goveller’s Travels will return on Monday.

With many thanks to leading patriot @Michelangela75 for sourcing the superb original artwork!