Dr Gulliver, Oxfam's "mutilations strategy" manager, is driving through a Paris underpass in 1997 when his car crashes, flinging him into a strangely shallow sea. On the horizon is Lilliput, now ruled by a beaming, Blair-like dictator ("tough on eggs and tough on the causes of eggs") and populated by shoppers and censors. The country's "progress" is down to the original Lemuel Gulliver, whose accounts of Enlightenment Europe helped shape a dystopian society that subsists on slurry and cant. Like his ancestor, our hero is soon swept up by the giant Brobdingnagians  who, alarmed at Lemuel's tales, have engineered a tactical retreat into savagery  before visiting floating islands, warring wizards and talking horses. The satire is often broad and the modern targets are rarely surprising, but the Guardian cartoonist's latest is a thoroughly enjoyable update of Swift's classic. The artwork serves up grotesque detail with glee, whether honing in on parasites or picturing the prone Gulliver, surrounded by helicopters and a great mass of miniature men.