Thread by @MarkFrancois12

Extracts from the plague diary of Mark-ne-Francois-Pepys

March 30th

Up and such is the panic victualing we be out of sugar puffs, so Hartley-Brewer improvising breakfast of pork scratchings in Monster. Abroad to the Anderson Shelter where I did dig out my

1/11

Davina McCall kick-ass kardio DVD, having sworn to my neighbour Widdecombe that I should set her through her paces after lunch. Shot a crow with my crossbow and threw it into Thornberry’s garden and thence online to Admiral Chris Grayling’s weekly quiz, which,

2/11

because he is thicker than a Boxing Day turd, was something of a cart-crash. Prompted by coming last, Steve Basher Baker did have most public of meltdowns and did smash the display cases of his crucified mole collection with a giant duty free Toblerone.

3/11

To see nobility such was starke remembrance that Corona plague takes its toll, even on our bravest.
Desiring to escape the live-streaming of such indignity, my own impregnable mind drifted to happier times, namely summer 1588, Basildon Nandos, whereupon
a plain serving boy

4/11

by name Rory Stewart ran in chirping ‘my lord, my lord it’s the Spanish’
‘Calme down Stewart, you’ll upset them’ spake I, pointing at Lord’s Johnson, Hancock and Sunak, who with much hysteria, had begun running in circles and shrieking.

5/11

‘Spanish what?’ I asked.
‘Armada sir’ said Stewart.
‘Ah good. I’ve been expecting them’
‘At least it’s not the inquisition, nobody would have expected that’ piped Redwood.
‘Shut up Redwood.’ Spake I.
'Get out from under the table Hancock. Johnson, stop crying, I’m going

6/11

to calmly finish my bowls (of Peri Peri Venison) & then I'll nip down the Ark Royal in the Evoque and sort this shit out’
Intuitively falling under my leadership, we all to sea where I, armed only with Fray Bentos shield & a sharpened Peperami, did single-handedly vanquish

7/10

the entire Spanish fleet. As every English sailor did cheer my name, I did shrug & reply most nonchalant, ‘Whatever. Lets have a Twix’
Johnson, who had heroically stowed below deck with a slight cough, timidly poked his head through the quarter deck & spake thusly

8/11

‘Francois, you’re amazing. Yon fleet of terrifying federalised Europeans set sail from Corunna with the object of imposing unnecessary red tape & burgundy passports on us all, yet you swatted them away without bothering to remove your Royal Anglian Regimental tie

9/11

I’d wager with you as our leader, we could defeat anything venturing from places sounding like Corunna: an Armada, an army, even a virus’
‘Er, I know Sir’ I replied, toking casually on a gammon vape. I cracked can of Special Brew, offered him first sip and the entire fleet

10/11

sang ‘Who, needs, Cantona because we’ve got Francois’
This pleasing remembrance ended most abruptly, whence Hartley-Brewer, animated, slammed my chamber pot before me saying ‘if you think I’m cleaning that, you’ve got another thing coming.
X-Box, pork-pie smoothie, bed.

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