Word reaches me that the Tory armies, fresh from their capture of Lundun, are on the march northwards and have now laid siege to Crewe. Dark days indeed. They say that the fool Brown sits sulking in his bunker, blind to the inevitable, while Darling has been seen eating his own young. This afternoon I climbed to the top of a nearby hill and heard cannon fire coming from the Cheshire hinterland. Later I helped my wife and children to pack their things and waved as they set off for the safety of Scotland, where they will stay until this horror is over.
I promised them that I would be joining them soon, but I could not look them in the eye. It’s the end, my friends. We’re doomed.