Thread by @MarkFrancois12

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

June 21st 1665

Up and after a bowl of Sugar Puffs made with Monster, that it is Midsummers day the morning is spent upon preparation for our solstice celebrations at the M4 Membury services, gathering bones and wood

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for the great bonnefyres and wakefyres presided over by death’s head hawk toff Rees-Mogg, but staid the boy Bridgen that he may not come to trouble the ceremony as he did last year when he tried to MC over Theresa Villiers jungle set. We all the afternoon in the lorry park

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at kindling the pyres with Jeffrey Archer novels and records of that Turkish PPE fiasco, and sipping Sunny Delight with Gavin Williamson he and I did jangle mightily about the million back to school pencil cases shaped like cans of Sprite with the broken zips that are too

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little for any use and clogging up my lock-up in Dagenham but were friends by and by when we do observe, which we did not before, a demonic scarecrow with a pint of milk coming towards us atop the pedestrian footbridge and I cannot blame Dominic Raab for hiding behind

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Liz Truss’s Fiat 500 with the emoji wrap and screeching like that 70 year old forman when Boris ran over his foot with a forklift, that we are all in great disquiet to see the undead animated in the waspy furnace of the service station bins, but cometh the hour cometh

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Matt Hancock and Rishi Sunak in Hawaiian shirts, sliding across car bonnets and performing forward-rolls in the disabled bays, with Hancock speaking, ‘STOP Huwaei Five G!’ and Sunak ‘Book ‘em Hanno’, and whipping off a straw encrusted balaclava we see it is Therese Coffey

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on a wind up, now in a worse humour than she used to be that Nadine Dorries is asking ‘what the shitting Corbyns she thinks she’s doing?’ and Coffey necromanswering ‘I’m a reanimated Thatcher’ but Rees-Morrigan grows tired of being in the twilight, and in his

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border-collie pelt ignites the pyres, and this longest day in the year offers time to reflect on the highs and lows of governance: that we have the highest excess death rate, and lowest economic forecast, and wondering why; it dawned. So home, Calipo, bed.