Goveller’s Travels

Wednesday 16th September

I ran as fast as I could, but could see little, the corn rising forty feet and trees so lofty I could make no computation of their altitude. I was endeavouring to find shelter when I discovered a colossal man advancing, a Rees-Mogg
as tall as an ordinary spire steeple, with thirty grouse shooting Tory donors. I hid myself in a pile of redundant manifestos and heard this tofflofty speak many degrees louder than a Mike Fabricant anecdote ‘Perficite exitus Britanniarum’, I believe Get Brexit Done. Although
it may also mean ‘Achieve the destruction of the regions of Britain’. This summoned forth lobby-fodder runts Lee Anderson, Andrea Jenkyns, Dehenna Davison and Ben Bradley. The tweedy grandees sneered and sniggered at these forelock tugging frothers, which might have elicited
sympathy had they not been race-baiting fear-mongers intent on destroying the economy after subscribing to the Channel Five Christmas schedule version of history. To demonstrate their compliance Alabaster Capitalist Mogg called ‘Discessus significat discessum’ (Leave means leave)
compelling them to bark like dogs, scurry around on all fours, sniff each other’s bottoms, and fight over a large bone on which he’d written ‘Recipite imperium’, I believe 'Take back control'. Being quite dispirited with the thunderous vibrations of Ben Bradley chasing a stick
the size of an Airbus A380 that Lee Anderson had just cocked his leg on, and wholly overcome by grief and despair, I lay down and hearkened unto to the humiliation of those who didn’t realise they suffered it, lamenting my own folly and willfulness in attempting a career in
politics against the advice of all my relations and friend, when I might otherwise have done well as a lettings agent, or cowboy builder. In this terrible agitation of mind, I could not forbear thinking of Lilliput, whose inhabitants looked upon me as the greatest
prodigy that ever appeared in the world; where unlike in British Government, I was able to perform actions which will be recorded for ever in the chronicles of that empire, while posterity shall hardly believe them, although attested by millions. I reflected what a mortification
it must prove, to appear as inconsiderable in this nation as one single Lilliputian would be among us. Undoubtedly Sarah is right, when she tells me that nothing is great or little otherwise than by comparison. And as Andrew Bridgen arrived late and rolled on his back
to allow Rees-Mogg to inspect his matted belly hair with an ivory cane, I reflected that even this prodigious race of mortals might be equally overmatched in some distant part of the world, whereof we have yet no discovery. Thus, Mogg spake
‘Amplectamur syndicatum mercaturae mundanae’ or 'Lets go WTO'. And they left.
With many thanks to @MrJunkerBarlow for locating this beautiful watercolour of the training session.

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More from @mikegove12

17 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Thursday 17th September

I apprehended that I should be squashed to death by the feet of the grouse slayers, so screamed as loud as fear could make me, whereupon the motley of giant Tories trod short. Led by a Boris the size of an HS2 contractor’s pocket,
they were amazed to see a six inch Mike Gove. Their minds I later learned, were devoid of imagination, barren infertile plots, unable to visualise the difficulties of feeding a family on a pittance; conceive of helping people before they made mistakes; or, being unable to
comprehend motivations beyond their own, envisage that a dinghy-delivered immigrant could be intent on anything other than harm. They had been combing the island for covid tests, almost as rare as a Dodo Harding, and considered me with the caution of an animal that might bite,
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15 Sep
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
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14 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Monday 14th September 1727

We had not travelled twenty leagues on the RMS Brexcusitania when Captain Johnson slipped into a coma after a freak getting dressed accident involving clothes. The ensuing mouth-to-sloth CPR went on so long, boatswain
Nicholas Soames got fed up and shot the ship’s cat Brandon Lewis. This would not have been notable, had the delingpole situation on board not spiralled out of control, the malignant pests multiplying like bacteria in the absence of apex predator Lewis.
They soon began carrying away our food: quarter-master Therese Coffey’s victuals of peri-peri slow worms, mallard foie-gras, pickled thrush eggs and wine gums were all despatched, as were my Lilliputian sheep, their bones found later in Jacob Rees-Mogg’s giant cobweb hammock,
Read 12 tweets
10 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Thursday 10th September 1727

I had been plagued with a dry and persistent cough since my perilous swim from Lilliput, and as his meteorologists were now having to forecast my coughing fits for the subsequent mucus storms, the monarch of Blefuscu related to
me that it was imperative I took a covid test. With all due acknowledgments for his favourable intentions, I obliged and sought one a day’s trek away: where I was informed by a hologram of Matt Hancock on a spacehopper that it didn’t exist, which was my fault. I hiked back
forthwith and was advised to return across the water to Lilliput to seek a test, which I was loathe to do since my Mikeyavellian schemes had become known. The next closest ones were in either Inverness or on the Moon, so I discoursed: “since fortune, whether good or evil,
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9 Sep
Goveller’s Travels

Wednesday 9th September 1727

The author is entertained in Blefuscu;

Three days after my arrival the Blefescun Emperor laid on an entertainment, a playhouse favourite about the secret-agent called ‘Blonde’, a parody of the Lilliputian deputy-emperor whose
crime-fighting escapades left behind almost as many fatherless children as his IT lessons. A little six inch actor portrayed the slobbering kebab of a man most excellently and that I might hear them, a banked choir of one hundred Blefescuns regaled me with his most celebrated
one-liners and drivelalities: ‘Leave means leave’, ‘Get Brexit done’, ‘Level up’, ‘Oven-ready’, 'erect my tent', ‘I thought Saturday was my access day’ and 'sack that civil servant'. After, the Blefescuns did very much wonder at my encounters in Lilliput so to
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7 Sep
Goveller's Travels

Sep 7th 1727

Environmental minitants block the Lilliputian free-press. The deputy-emperor Boris responds thus:

"Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by The Sun’s Newscorp;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of Levinson are buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our hackéd phones hung up by columnists;
Our stern alarums chained to buried meetings,
Our deathly margins to despiteful measures.
Grim-visaged Wootton smoothes the wankers’ font;
And now, instead of mounting barbed leads
To taint the souls of fearful adversaries,
They caper nimbly in my lady's chamber
To the diverting piffle of baby scoops.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor bothered to support a fragile working class;
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