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;
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,
testified by the abandoning of it in exchange for Ian Botham’s pedal-swan of Sovereignty. She made me onesies of as fine cloth as could be got, which indeed was coarser than Therese Coffey after her morning Special Brew; and when I pointed to any thing she told me the name
of it in her own tongue, so that in a few days I was able to call for a ‘Pret Crayfish Salad’, ‘emergency civil unrest protocols’ and a ‘gram of coke and a mirror’. She gave me the name of Groveller, which the family took up, and afterwards the whole kingdom. It imports,
they say, from what the Latins call nanunculus, the Italians homunceletino, and the English conniving git. To her I chiefly owe my preservation in that country: we never parted while I was there; and I should be guilty of great ingratitude,
if I omitted this honourable mention of her care and affection towards me, when I come to relate what happened next...
Goveller’s Travels will return on Monday.
With many thanks to leading patriot @Michelangela75 for sourcing the superb original artwork!
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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.