“You were not at the Two Minutes’ Whap this afternoon,” said the voice on the telescreen. “Are you unwell?” Winston felt a knot of dread form in his stomach. To lie to Big Budgie, leader of the Party, was the most doubleplus-not-anti-opposite-of-good thing he could do, yet the suspicion that the looming face was nothing but a birdbrain consumed him. He had to think fast. He knew he wasn’t sick. He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick.
“I was out, um, buying you some nice millet seed, sir?”