This is long but Jean has posted this on X
A little story about the National Trust.
Once upon a time a 6 ft 2" man built like a brick shit house called David Broadchest, renamed himself Daisy Moonflower, and went to work in the ticket office at Hardwick Hall.
Daisy liked dressing in short skirts that went spinny, and loved gathering round the office kettle telling all the women how to be a good trans ally.
There he met up with Kyle Flatfoot, whose pretend name was Amber Cottonbud and who also loved telling women about what it was like being the most oppressed woman round the kettle.
One day an artist brought a big piece of white material and made a floaty dress. Daisy and Amber swooned and dreamed of going spinny in it. Unfortunately, it was not for playing spinny skirt, it was destined to honour women and those over-privileged women, such as Rosa Parks, were to have their names sewn all over it.
Daisy Moonflower and Amber Cottonbud weren't too sure about how they were going to make themselves the most important women in all this. They watched the women carefully.
First one woman and then another stitched the name of the most horrible woman in the world on the dress. She Who Shall Not Be Named, was the most hated woman in the whole of trans land and Daisy and Amber began to cry delicately and barely noticeably in the office.
The caretaker ran in and said a herd of geese had broken into the hall, but when he was sheepishly told it was the tiny tears of the delicate women with a penis, he backed out tugging his cap low and vowing to say five Dylan Mulvaney's that very evening.
Then one day Daisy Moonflower was spinning and spinning near the dress exhibition when he saw that She Who Shall Not Be Named had been sewn onto the dress for a THIRD time. He promptly lost his shit and screamed "Fuck that bitch! OFF WITH HER HEAD."
Amber came running and together he and Daisy clomped loudly along to the haberdashery cabinet and got a needle and thread.
They fucked up that third name as fast and as hard as they could, realising they couldn't actually demand a head on a plate, because it's not an actual fairy story. They stitched and stitched and stitched over it until their tights nipped their bollocks in two, and at lunchtime over their teeny little lady sandwiches, they told all the Lady Allies what they had done and everyone applauded. A woman named Sally rolled her eyes but she was a filthy TERF and her days were numbered anyway.
At the next staff meeting first on the Agenda was the stunning and brave crossing out. Management were asked if the bitch stitches would stay. Everyone looked round nervously at Daisy and Amber. No one dared say anything in case they cried miserably and threatened to suicide in the foyer. Mess was avoided, cleaning budgets are tight, and the stitches stayed.
Then one sunny Saturday, Daisy Moonflower spotted a grey haired witch and a troublesome looking lesbian in the queue and narrowed his eyes. They looked up to TERFY no good. He tried to WhatsApp Amber but he was on his break hoovering up frilly bras on ASOS so the evil cis women didn't enjoy them.
Witchy Greyhair and Troubleface McLesbian slid up to the dress and removed the stitches in front of everyone's eyes. Now She Who Must Not Be Named was restored to the dress to continue wreaking the evil of her name, every visible letter murdering a thousand kittens. Shudders ran all through the land. Where would this possibly end?
The next day Amber told everyone what had happened.
"An evil Serbian with a hatchet ran in and chopped down the dress, rendering its true beauty asunder and bringing a curse on the land and the tragic death of India Willoughby."
A manager looked shocked but Sally raised her hand and said,
"I don't think that's what happened, the dress is still there and India Willoughby is still spouting shit on Twitter."
But Sally is a vile TERF and no one understands her language anyway.
The management immediately covered up the dress which appeared normal but had clearly been burned to the ground.
Proof of life was sent by India Willoughby but no one was arsed and that got filed under "things of insanity said on the internet".
The management had forgotten that Sally is not alone and that lots of women on the internet were fucking delighted that Witchy Greyhair and Troubleface McLesbian had undone a set of shitty stitches.
All of the media came running, and the National Trust realised their terrible mistake too late. Listening to Daisy Moonflower and Amber Cottonbud was costing them money and had torched their reputation.
Daisy and Amber were already spinning round and round at TQIFGHP Pride Year and whipping out their moobs for free cocktails.
The moral of this story is, if you are a UK institution, stop listening to these massive dickheads because the witches and lesbians will find you and they will humiliate you mercilessly.