Sunday, May 03, 2009
Pitiful discontent
May 3rd, 1979. Thirty years then since Margaret Thatcher became Prime Minister. No memories. How can one have memories when nothing is over? I never believed one could despise a stranger any more than I did her: everything she stood for, everything she called forth, everything still infecting this paltry and wretched culture. At least, I thought, in the spirit of Elvis Costello's song, we had one gesture to make, to look forward to making. Now Tony Blair has stolen even her death from us.
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I always liked Jeremy Hardy's (wasn't it?) line, that Margaret Thatcher's grave will become a urinal for right-thinking people everywhere.
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