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.
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.
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’Twas the night before Sunak, when all thro' the House,
Not a Gullis was stirring, not even a mouse;
Order papers were hung by the Speaker’s own chair,
In hopes that Asylum Bill soon would be there;
🧵
The Tories were huddled, immersed in their threads,
While visions of boat people danc'd in their heads,
Suella in her 'kerchief, Jenrick with his stab,
Had just settled our brains for debating crap –
When out on the Green there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
Moon shone on the Press, in Rwanda’s shit show,
Gave lustre of day on objections below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
7am - Breakfast of Sugar Puffs made with a can of Monster
7.05am - Count and remove the nine bagged dogshits local youths posted through my letterbox last night
7.06am - Convene Star Chamber of Rayleigh and Wickford Neighbourhood Watch
🧵👇
8.15am - Star Chamber conclude that plan to deport local delinquents to Leyton is full of holes
9am - Open door and step in the pork pie I left on my doorstep for the unknown soldier last night
9.05am - change my Bertulli elevator heel shoes for pair of combat boots
9.10am - Climb into my ice white Range Rover Evoque with appearance package, put the Dambusters March on the integrated Bose sound system, and head for Westminster
11am - Arrive Whitehall in 1hr 50. Only three road rages, two Ginsters stops and a dislodged cyclist. A good run
Has spent the last decade trying to infiltrate and restructure the RNLI so that they will only launch for people with 98% Saxon DNA.
He makes a supplementary income from an illegal puppy farm.
Robert Jenrick
Retrained as a painter and decorator, specialising in making childcare facilities for vulnerable youngsters as foreboding as possible.
Jacob Rees-Mogg
Died in a freak Tridentine Mass accident when one of the black silage polybags of gold florins he insisted his hedge fund dividends were paid out in was struck by an incense thurible and landed on his head.
It has been a decade since the Conservative Party imploded at the 2024 general election (now you feel old), and you'll never guess what Boris's babies have been up to since the franchise ended!
Scroll down to find out...
Therese Coffey
Since losing her seat, the former environment secretary has been keeping busy with her pop-up abattoir, roaming provincial city-centres armed with nothing but a bolt gun and an packed trailer of distressed livestock.
Jonathan Gullis
After a stint as Kidsgrove’s lollypop man (sacked for bellowing at dawdling children), the ex-Stoke North MP found his true vocation in pest control. “I can read a cockroach” he said after winning Rentokil’s coveted July 2015 Exterminator of The Month award.