Thread by @MarkFrancois12

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

June 5th 1665

Up very early, and beginning to be settled in my wits again after a loose Delingpole from Widdecombe’s waste heap did visit my garret and bite my foot, but got the bastard with a sharpened Peperami and

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it is disposed of much to the boy Bridgen's distress, in my chamber pot beneath my morning chodzilla. So to Parliament and this day we hear Grant Shapps offering a new craveat on facemasks, that they are to become mandatory a mere two months since their being ruled out,

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and as with deferral of lockdown, adjournment of quarantine and Hancock’s backtrack and trace, there are certain poxmarked patrinots, of the kind who call me Colonel Shrimp, offering sermons that discourse how we are fools, backing ourselves into a coroner. But this
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is a misgnomer, and I commend to them my notion that such is the extent of time spent in other men’s closets, our leader Johnson is now as shrewd and cunning as any in England, a great thinker inside of the box, and he does intend to out-wit corona by pursuing all the right

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actions in the wrong order, belike the changing of the clocks when for four weeks and more I have my morning stiffy on the bus rather than abed. A good dinner of chlorinated pasty with Lawrence Fox following, where I am increasingly vexed by the seepage from my wounded foot,

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but he spake that ‘Mark, actually all feet matter’, and this eased the situation, and he pointed to the bunker boys Nigel Farage, Arron Banks and Governor Trump sowing divisive cowardice as a patriotic virtue, and discoursed that if only we could bring ourselves to not

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be poor, disenfranchised or black, whilst remaining cloth-eared to the plight of others too, we may be able to hasten the arrival of More’s Utopia on earth: a wanker's tax-haven built on the backs of the luckless.

So home, and after a Weightwatchers guilt-free Eton Mess, bed.