Thread by @MarkFrancois12

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

July 19th

Up and after a fine breakfast of eggs jingoistic, to Thurrock Roadchef where The Johnson that he never reigns but instead scores, is having daliance with a prettie mayde, and sees I am leading the cabinet

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summer team building; all gathered, I initiate a banging on the Formica tables with plastic food court trays ice-breaker to celebrate our reaching herd impunity, that our venal dissembling and perfidious Albioning has so exhausted the public, we have fart blanche to do as

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we wish; a fine thing, but that we have no plan or strategy to enact other than the keeping of our gilded offices, and access to the headed notepaper, pointless. After, I did divide them into two: Team Platinum Rolodex and Team Net Worth, and charge them with the

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lashing together of blue barrels with horse hair to paddle across the M25, met with some resistance that the M25 is all cobbles and full of speeding horses, but in the true manner of our government I inspired them with repeating the same bollocks and adding something about

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levelling up which fired them, and I believe, but for Oliver Dowden’s being promptly ploughed down by a shire horse and the task being abandoned, a success. So to the trust exercises, where asking if they trusted each other they discoursed ‘NO!’ and then as to

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who they thought the least honest at which they roared ‘GOVE’, then coming and going there is a commotion, the boy Bridgen racing in with grayte alarum and a twister lolly down his front breathlessly discoursing ‘Mark. Unelected bureaucrats. Thousands of them’ and in the

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wide bayed carriage park there, amidst the drivers between fruities and steakbakes, chartered executives coaches discharged men, unknown even to the sailors of the southern oceans: so-called unelected pen-pushers. The training kicking in and I did instinctively cry ‘to armes’

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and led my force to meet these scourges of the common interest, subjugating them mighty easily beneath my potato peeler and Gavin Williamson’s NERF. A convenient addition to our bonding exercises, but a great trouble to my mind that these Burton’s suited slaves discoursed

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they were bound for the M20 Lorry Park to add as much friction as possible to our borders. And so grudgingly I am compelled to let them go again, that it is a patriotic Brextoration imperative that our new systems be thrice as complicated as those that came before. Ginsters, bed.

With thanks to @sophieplowden for discovering this classical gem!