Thread by @MarkFrancois12

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

April 2nd

Up betimes, and after Monster poached kippers & that coronary health be as important as coronary health, abroad, to lead the neighbourhood in my exercise class: Legs, Bums and Perfidious Albion on Speed.

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My neighbour Thornberry conducting loud discourse across the cul de sac as we warmed up, called our attention to her husband looking ill at ease among the three people carriers, and let us all know that she thought she’d contracted corona ere she went skiing in Febraury,

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but she is of a nature that she thought it be covid 20 not covid 19, minding me of the time she claimed to have holidayed in Elevenerife. Unexpectedly, I did begin to wonder that she look somewhat handsome in boxfreshe exercise clothing, and a sensation of guilt towards

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my Lady Truss, and the bible wherein ‘Thou shalt not Covid they neighbours wife’ is writ large, did compel grayte exertion in the banishing of these thoughts, and much to the confusion of my class, I did loudly incant name ‘Nicholas Witchell’ until crisis averted.

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Pleasing that aside from Lady Widdecombe drinking Tennants on the yellow mattress before her teeming bins, the whole streete be involved, even local potato broker Lineker. At cooldowne He did warn us all not to visit Epping Forest, that Captain’s Gove and Raab being

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concerned with adherence to the lockdowne, be taking matters in their own hands, despatching to local beauty spots & there laying anti-personnel mines at 2 metre intervals & that this maverick behaviour be encouraged by the Johnson, who is himself like to be a fridgelante.

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Lunch of skittles risotto, and Hartley-Brewer did excitedly report newes from town that the Alderman, having heard commotion and followed sound of merrie singing of refrain Grandstand, did at the river discover a figure slumped over the reins of a Fiat 500 and that it was a

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discombobulated Des Lynam who fitfully reported that to alleviate the boredom of lockedown, had urged hoody wearing quaranteens to sell him a barrel of full-fat Monster, and he did find it a most pleasing gateway jug and by and by is consuming five barrels a day with many

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hours therein absent from his memory. In the evening comes Michael Fabricant by Skype, and that I could see beneath his periwig naught but a compellingly naked form, upon enquiry, confided that he certainly knew, but that in solidarity with under-equipped healthecarers

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he had no intention of wearing anything until such a time as the lockdowne be over. And so, having saved it to Sky planner for a rainy quarantine, and drawn my eyes from an alluring tattoo of Nick Witchell, we did watch all seven series of the Brittas Empire. Freddo. Bed.

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