Goveller’s Travels

Tuesday 15th September 1727


I again left my native country, bound for the Sunlit Uplands in HMS Mephistopheles, but with Chris Grayling our Captain, we were soon in peril. Gaunt Savant Dominic Cummings, in an effort to light
his Silk Cut Ultra, discharged a cannon through the hull of the ship and we lay in the utmost distress, by my computation, five hundred leagues from our course; even Bill Cash, the oldest sailor on board, could not auger where we by looking in the entrails of a rancid delingpole.
Despite disquiet among the weaker and more cowardly crew members as we held our bloody-minded course directly into a moral vortex, budget-harpies Lucy Allen, Andrea Jenkyn and Nadine Dorries were on hand to lash those dissenting our voluntary ethical annihilation with the
democrat o’ nine tales; like diversity consultant Geoffrey Cox, bowling alley mechanic Tobias Elwood and poll stancer Sajid Javid, our signature levels of world-class self-destruction spoke loudly and clearly to the outside world, ‘we’re ready to do business’. Thus,
I resigned myself to a seventh shipwreck since March; but at the last, ship’s imbecile Darren Grimes shouted down from the Crow’s Nest that we had come into view of land, and having been awoken from a post-ploytal slumber by the commotion, our Jim Henson muse Boris Johnson cast
anchor within a league. I joined a him and a dozen Tories well-armed in the long-boat to go and shoot some local grouse and if time allowed, exterminate all the local wildlife too. I walked the land alone about a mile, seeing nothing to entertain my curiosity but a six foot slug
that looked like Nigel Farage and a collection of Easter Island style statues with the face of Ken Clarke; But when I returned, I saw the men already in the boat and rowing for life, a huge creature walking after them into the sea: not much deeper than his knees, he took
prodigious strides, but our men had the start of him half a league, and, the sea thereabouts being full of sharp-pointed rocks, this monster was not able to overtake the boat. He turned, and roared and I saw, that as tall as an NCP car park, it was a giant Ed Miliband.

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More from @mikegove12

29 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Tuesday 29th September

To prevent danger, I was paraded in front of the giant fools of Brobdingnag with barbed Cambridge Analytica algorithms set round the table as a deterrence. Still, a witless school-boy named Gavin Williamson aimed a Rolo Image
directly at my head which narrowly missed me; otherwise it would have infallibly knocked out my brains. It was almost as large as a small pumpkin, but I had the satisfaction to see the young rogue well beaten by incel-ectual mind titan Dominic Cummings, and turned out of the room
to be locked in a University Hall of Pestilence. The massive Tories here, for a fee of a mere nine thousand pounds, enticed thousands of nascent grown-ups from their family homes with the promise of education and casual sex, and then imprisoned them because it was plague season
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28 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Monday 27th September

It began to be talked of in Brobdingnag, that my master had a strange conniving animal that went erect upon two legs, the finest limbs in the world, and a complexion fairer than Dr David Bull. A titanic Andrew Neil who lived

1/7 Image
hard by came to inquire into the truth of this story, and I was placed upon a table to make my reverence to this out of work toupee model. The jaundiced behemoth put on his spectacles to behold me better; at which I could not forbear laughing very heartily, for his eyes appeared
like the full moon shining into a chamber at two windows. When my people discovered the cause of my mirth, they bore me company in laughing, at which the old fellow was fool enough to be out of countenance. He had the character of a great boorish measle, this Chairman of
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25 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Friday 25th September 1727

My Master in Brobdingnag had a daughter of nine years old called Andrea Jenkyns, who being little for her age was not above forty feet high. Of towardly parts, she was dexterous at dogwhistle and skilful in dressing her straw-men; Image
She contrived to fit up a cot for me against night, out of an old Wokemon Go! box, placed on a hanging shelf for fear of the delingpoles. She adored fairy stories, so I told her of the golden age of my own land: The Papal State of Kent with its glorious thousand carriage
tailbacks; of barely literate politicians who pursued emotion rather than empiricism; of the bonkers war cult formed around a recent six year conflict, whose deification had reached such heights, warbirds were being sent to cure the sick; and our superior love of freedom,
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24 Sep
An extract from The Tempest.

ACT V. SCENE I. Before PROSPERO'S Kentish cell.

Ye elves of Bills, trucks, standing queues and Goves,
And ye that on Kent’s edge with printless tyre
Do await permits to continue trade
That was already free; you hauliers that

By moonshine do the Swanley ring-roads block,
Whereof the Stobart frights; and you whose pastime
Is to make Serco profits, that rejoice
In tender-less processes; by whose aid,
Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
Democracy, seen off rational minds,
And 'twixt the Dover strait and Kentish vault
Set roaring war: in the dread rattling blunder
Have I given fire and rifted Gove's stout oak
With his own bolt; the Ashford lorry park
Have I made quake and by Broadstairs, clogged up
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23 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Wednesday 23rd September

My Master Gove and the Leviathan Johnson went to tell the citizens recently shamed into work during this Brobdingnag plague, that they now needed to stay home; He gave his maid Lady Truss strict charge of me and perceiving I was
disposed to sleep, my mistress covered me with a pair of Sweaty Betty super-sculpt leggings, larger and coarser than the mainsail of a man of war. I had the dream about the ninth circle of hell opening up at Frimley Green again which aggravated my sorrows and I awaked alone in
the vast bed, eight yards from the floor. Natural necessities required me to get down with great urgency, but while under these circumstances, two delingpoles crept up her Poldark duvet, and ran at me. One of them came up almost to my face, whereupon I drew out my backstabbing
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22 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Tuesday 22nd September

It came to pass that the Tory colossi had gathered in Matt Hancock’s bedsit for a tender reveal party, a fad in this land of Brobdingnag whereby the recipients of vast sums of PPE gold – strictly limited to friends of the government –
were announced with the destruction of a pinata shaped like Edmund Burke’s head. But I was all the while preoccupied with the presence of Larry the Downing Street cat, stalking among the crusty tissues and discarded y-fronts on Hancock’s kitchen floor. A noise like
that of a dozen rasping George Galloways proceeded from the purring of that animal, who I computed to be three times larger than an ox, the fierceness of it’s countenance altogether unsettling, like the look Sarah gives me when I start talking Star Trek continuity issues
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