Extracts from the plague diary of Mark ne-Francois-Pepys
May 23rd
That since the Brextoration we are more graphic designers than fruit-pickers, this day with Peter Bone, Bill Cash and Johnny Mercer to a farm in Sevenoaks and growing hot in the sun there met with divers of
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May 23rd
That since the Brextoration we are more graphic designers than fruit-pickers, this day with Peter Bone, Bill Cash and Johnny Mercer to a farm in Sevenoaks and growing hot in the sun there met with divers of
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the place and we are set to work by a fine Kentish farmer called Sergei and our work is the installation of Huawei 5G transmitters that he says are good for hanging nets to protect the fruit, and pleased to be Brits so engaged that we wouldn’t
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want Russians interfering with our erections. There being a fine breeze abroad, I am approached with two gay wenches, Anastasia and Roksana, milkmaids thereabouts, about the Trident Canon codes that are entrusted me and much flattered their wishing to take selfies of me
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with the protocols, but at gazing across the bereft, hedgerow-free, factory-farmed landscape and contemplating how Corona is invented by Bill Gates so the Russians may make vaccines for the Chinese to sell back to us, it strengthens my resolve that we must never
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trust Big Farmer. By and by the most pleasant and innocent sight that ever I saw in my life —a shepherd in Cossack hat, a sheepdog named Kremlin, and his little boy reading, far from any houses or sight of people, a Huawei instruction manual; so I made the boy read to me,
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which he did, Bravo Two Zero, with the forced tone that children do usually read, that was mighty pretty, and to the father Dmitri, talked with him and took notice of his shoes shod with iron with great nails in the soles of his feet, woolen knit tunic carrying Putin’s face,
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radio backpack, AK47 and mortar, mighty pretty and at playing with his crooke, which was in fact an RPG, did discharge a round which scared his flock and he spake purposefully that they needed gathering, and after pursuing them about the field like a border-force collie
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presented him with 48, and he spake there needs be 50, and I explained to the poor man that I was rounding up. So we posted thence with pleasure in the discourse we had, even as his heat rose when I said Putin was a weak leader, but soon balmed him
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when I explained this was tsar chasm. So to our coach, and over the common, and to our inne for Spam Stroganoff and White Russians. Bed.
