I don't want to be a bore, but I'm popping in on my lunchbreak to say that if you haven't looked at Goveller's Travels yet (I posted to it before), it's excellent:
twitter.com/mikegove12/status/1295611575433338881
It's replaced the Twitter page by Mark François as Pepys.
This is the unroll of the second installment, from 2 days ago (sorry for failed italics, I can't fix them).
The author gives some account of his first inducements to travel.
It would not be proper to trouble the reader with the particulars of our adventures aboard the Shitetanic in attempting to carry the hopes of our nation’s youth to the
bottom of the Southern Ocean; let it suffice, that infested with delingpoles, plague broke out among the crew and forty two were dead before we left Folkestone, later algorithmed to twenty.
The rest, of cabinet-level competence and a weak condition, were unable to
operate our ship and our Captain Johnson, showing wenches the wif waf under his kilt in his cabin, was absent until such a time as the boy with the merde-ass touch Williamson fell overboard after a stray Toffo. Driven by a violent storm, we hit upon rocks, and split.
What became of my companions I cannot tell; but conclude many were lost when I insisted on refusing entry to my spacious life boat. Pushed by wind and tide, I reached a shore.
With the heat, and the Mrs on Whatsapp insisting today was a fast day, I found myself much
inclined to sleep, sounder even than when exiled to the winnebago during her Ann Summers parties; when I awaked, I was not able to stir: for I found my arms and legs strongly fastened on each side to the ground, and my hair, which was long and thick, tied down in the same
manner with several ligatures across my body.
In a little time I felt something alive moving on my left leg, but after banishing the thoughts of Geri Halliwell, it occurred on my right leg too, this time advancing gently almost to my chin; bending my eyes, I perceived it
to be a creature not six inches high, very alike Dominic Cummings, with an Airpad and scolding hot latte in its hands.
At least forty of the same kind (as I conjectured) followed, Hancocks, Patels, Shappses. I was in the utmost astonishment, and roared ‘SARAH’ so loud
that they all ran back in a fright and some, as I was afterwards told, were hurt with the falls they got by leaping from my sides.
I could only look upwards as the sun began to grow hot, and the light offended my eyes, and all I could think on was the horror of having my
fate decided by such pathetic figures, so far out of their depth that besides the harvesting of my leg hairs for bedding, they had not the slightest plan for my future beyond a securing of their own.
^Then the Cummingslike shape, who again ventured so far as to get a
full sight of my face, lifted up his hands and by way of admiration cried out in a shrill but distinct voice: "U-Turn."^
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