Thread by @MarkFrancois12

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

June 3rd

Up and after skulling a barrel of Monster, to Westminster, where the Poundshop Palmerstone Rees-Mogg sees us queueing around ancient corners to vote, and thus he begins to realise his ambition of achieving

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something tangible this lifetime besides the filleting of financial carcasses that he helped create, but after two hours sufferance I am made aware it is the queue for Wembley Ikea not Parliamentary Democracy and by and by I start again, and stood behind Robert Jenrick

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another hour passes but I am vexed to learn that this is the firing line, and there follows another behind Chris Grayling doing his sums in the dividing line and one more behind Richard Burgon in the picket line and only at afternoon am I in the correct queue to vote,

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and a great pain is now in my back and kidneys that such is the passage of time ere supping Monster at dawn, I am suffering the agonising condition known as Jacob’s Bladder, and despite the protestations not just of Caroline Lucas and Yvette Cooper but Grant Shapps too

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I did needs make water on the stack of old Hansards beneath which Michael Gove hides his pornography.
Much eased, my thoughts turn to the Johnson’s plan to avoid a second wave of Corona by keeping the first one going and I believe it works handsomely, and that our state of

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the art democracy manages to attract large numbers of elderly MPs to socially distance in every space of this ancient building but the chodbins, stairs, lifts and public transport in and out, we reflect once more that we are the envy of the world, not as some would have us

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believe its laughing stock; from which reflection I am excised by Black Rod, vexedly taking issue with a luminous puddle nearby and pointing out that I am again in the wrong queue, this time the punch line.

Home moist, Tangfastics, bed.

And plentiful thanks to @Will_Overman for rescuing this splendid parliamentary image from behind Boris Johnson's fridge.