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Sep 18, 2020 10 tweets 3 min read Read on X
Goveller’s Travels

Friday 18th September

It was a great strangeness being inside the lappet of a giant Matt Hancock’s coat. Not least because among the skittles, Panini stickers and expired condoms, there was another Michael Gove wearing naught but trunks fashioned from lint. Image
This was a wretched, puffy-eyed, haggard looking Gove, so I was pleased to see he was well. Yet he eyed me as if I wasn’t to be trusted, and hid from me, behind the corner of the Dime bar wrapper he was using as a duvet. “Hi Mike. What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Well thank you for asking me that question Michael” he replied “I believe I am a dimension hopper. In my own reality I volunteered to pilot a pandemic alleviating moonshot, but it had been organised by Chris Grayling, so I ended up not on the moon, but inside
the event horizon of a black hole where everything I’d ever known and loved aged several epochs in less time than it takes to buy a Pret crayfish & avocado salad. I then woke in this realm, where the Tories are a hundred feet high”. I eyed his body keenly. The buttock tattoo
of naked Mrs Thatcher riding a Harley was located exactly as mine, so too the twelve-inch scar across his belly from when a man from Serco took my temperature. Suddenly we bathed in light again, and the hundred foot Hancock ventured to place us in a Cath Kidston dish the size
of a small lorry park, before a company of Neil and Christine Hamilton, Rees-Mogg, Boris and several PPE start-up bosses. They gave us a thimble of Kestrel Super and we drank a health with much difficulty, which made the company laugh so heartily, that I was almost deafened
with noise. Then Rees-Mogg's nanny placed a bit of carp in the middle of our dish and it became apparent, as the assembled gargantuans chanted “Two men enter, one man leave”, that they wished us fight to the death over it. I saw from my atomic twin’s lamentable demeanour that
this was not the first time he had experienced humiliation at the hands of these behetoffs. But there was no way I was losing, so I pushed him over and sprinted to the raw fish. This gave them exceeding delight, but happening to stumble against a rogue Pukka crust, I fell flat on
my face, thus allowing my inter-dimensional rival to win. Sensing that the blood-lust in these Tories meant I must make no show of weakness, I staggered to my feet, waved my Make Aberdeen Great Again cap and made three huzzas. Little understanding, my trials had only just begun.
With thanks to @tombaileyart for unearthing this sensational watercolour.

Goveller's Travels will return on Monday. Image

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