Extracts from the plague diary of Mark ne-Francois-Pepys
May 5th
This morning, observing some things to be laid up not as they should be by the boy Bridgen I took a broom and thumped him till he cried extremely, which made me vexed, but before work I left him appeased with
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May 5th
This morning, observing some things to be laid up not as they should be by the boy Bridgen I took a broom and thumped him till he cried extremely, which made me vexed, but before work I left him appeased with
1/5
a Toffee Crisp. So to Ministry of Patriotism business on Zoom and the roadmap for exiting lockdown which I believe should be based on the A127 eastbound, and we did notice that Michael Gove’s shelves do contain much revisionist history and books about short
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hateful dictators, leading us to cast aspersions on his extra-Caligula activities and he responded in noting that mine is comprised of many Bravo Two Zeros and a copy of the Semantic Verses, the controversial novel I wrote about Syllabic Fundamentalists, a lost clause that
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resulted in a Francwah being issued against me and meant I spent the best part of the 1640s hiding in Wickford Memorial Park while the grammar Nazis did organise book burnings at my being scribellous, but I couldn’t care fewer because I believe my diaries
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should one day win a John Bullitzer. Anon to dinner, but Hartley-Brewer preparing my Monster and chlorinated Chicken Dippers on a first edition Bravo Two Zero is cause of further agitation, and she did explain her folly that she thought it baste on a true story
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and after a pint of Aftershock I went upstairs, my brains somewhat troubled with so much Aftershock, and after sending drunk text to the Albatruss round my neck Lady Liz, Rolos, bed.
