WhimFairies

Jeffrey’s vision began to clear. A few moments before he’d been walking along, minding his own business and minding it hard, when a sound from above caught his ear. He looked up to see a mighty fireball ballooning across the sky, then his world turned black. Now he found himself sprawled on a bank of earth dark as jet, gazing out across an expanse of inky water, beneath a sky of incarnadine clouds... “Over here!” came a cry from the water’s edge. Jeffrey looked on, bemused, as a man in a white flowing gown and even flowier beard strode up to him. It wasn’t until he’d hoisted him to his feet that he noticed the ostentatious halo perched on his head. “Um, where am I?” said Jeffrey, groggily. “The Styx, dear boy,” said the stranger, “but a more pertinent question is “WHAT are you?”. And WHAT you are is dead.” “Dead?” repeated Jeffrey incredulously. “As indeed am I,” said the stranger, “Saint Peter, pleased to make your acquaintance! Now, shall we get on?” Jeffrey, now recogn

The Prime Minister strode down the corridors of Whitehall, advisors in tow. His neatly cropped beard twitched triumphantly, his eyes steely with resolve. “Congratulations on your victory, Prime Minister!” said an intern before being swallowed up by his entourage. The PM continued to walk with purpose. His head advisor drew level with him. “Prime Minister, can we discuss the new cabinet?” “Certainly George, follow me.” The PM swept through a side door and into the crisp, autumn air. A car was already waiting. He gestured for his advisor to follow. “This won’t take long,” he reassured her. His advisor’s brow furrowed, but she climbed in after her premier, and they set off. The journey, contrary to the PM’s assertion, was long, and unfolded in a tense silence. Well, tense for the advisor, whose head was awash with urgent questions. The PM remained remarkably sanguine. Eventually they came to a stop outside a woodwork factory in Islington. The PM, chipper as ever, headed in