Thread by @MarkFrancois12

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

June 23rd 1665

Up betimes, and after breakfast of Sugar Puffs made with Monster, to Westminster where we hear discourse of the value of the Windrush generation, The Johnson speaking a very excellent, persuasive and

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moral sermon about how they left everything to help our nation construct the post-war prosperity that we now abandon for blue passports and shit food. But my head is busy in many things and Steve Baker is tapping me on the shoulder asking if I know of several hundred

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undernourished puppies that are roaming Westminster, chewing up important documents about scandals and leaving steaming dog eggs in the corridors of power, and looking at my thirty missed calls I am thinking I may have forgotten to lock Redwood’s puppy farm when I went

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to his caravan to borrow a mackerel vape ere work and that mesmerised by my extreme patriotism, the pups hath follow me to town; and we find them at the Churchill Insurance statue where a great yapping and woofing kerfluffle and my nose in great indignation at the

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persistent salvos of cocked legs, and aware that Redwood’s dogs only drink Tango, and my efforts with my Lady Di umbrella are not enough, I am fearing our Island’s statuesque history may be eroded within the hour; but cometh the hour cometh the wheat runner and, recently

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returned from a tour of the eight hundred public libraries shut in the last decade, Theresa May is deploying her rapid action response dog whistles and the pups are in the back of her cart quicker than you can say ‘hostile environment’; and so home, where I am thinking that

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whilst in pursuit of the hollow rhetoric that secures racist votes we did betray and abandon some 12,000 of the venerable Windrush nation-builders, that near 60 of them are now compensated is testament to the efficiency of this government. Paw patrol yogurt. Bed