GOVELLER’S TRAVELS

The author gives some account of his capture in Lilliput.

Struggling to get loose of the fastenings by which these tiny creatures had secured me, I had reason, since my recent experiences as Mr Spock at a live action roleplay, to think that

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I might match the greatest army they could bring against me; but fortune disposed otherwise when above a hundred arrows were discharged on my face and some attempted with spears to stick the sides of my Peter Storm gortex jerkin; so I thought it the most prudent to lie still,

as when Sarah is on the Aftershock. With great trouble I made eye-contact with a six inch Robert Jenrick double, optimistic this hobbiest lobbiest might ease my bonds in exchange for the emergency Rolo I keep in my speedos (crushed between my Vine-ripened tomatoes it resembled

a brown envelope). But he was apprehended in this skid pro quo when the little people erected a stage by my side, from whence a shrimpy Dom Cummings explained, despite a Lilliput-wide lockdown, the efficacy of voyaging to Vanuatu whenever his son needed a piss and thence

Papau New Guinea for reading glasses; something we've all done. He quite rightly refused to resign over this, citing as inspiration an utter disdain for the public. He then shrilly cried ‘No continuous assessment’ and the inhabitants began to burn pyres of their children’s

coursework in my honour. Being famished, and with my wife's ongoing insistence in our Deep Space Vine Whatsapp that there was no point doing keto unless I was 100% committed, I could not forbear signifying that I needed a high-protein low-carb snack. So ladders were applied and

baskets the bigness of musket bullets were walked towards my mouth full of a local meat called hope, which I devoured. Being a most ingenious people, they then slung their largest hogshead full of Monster and rolled it to my hand; I drank it off at a draught and another

was offered, but one like the boy blunder Gavin Williamson, whose only job was to stand still, let the Monny fall. To his credit, he then recited several rehearsed lines by rote, whereof we understood not one syllable, but that he was not responsible for the thing he was said

to be responsible for, and he was replacing a quango called Ofqual with one called Ofblame. I myself confess that I could not sufficiently wonder at the these diminutive mortals, who durst venture the most spectacular corruption and incompetence without risk of recrimination:

each unpunished display of negligence an apparent leveling up of the shitness threshold inside which these maggoty ineptidudes need not fear comeuppance. It seemed a fine way to run a nation.

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