There are a lot of people on the internet getting very excited because they think Thatcher is about to kark it.They've got the champagne on ice, they're getting their dancing shoes out and putting the fireworks on standby. And they don't care who knows it.
I'm afraid I'm not one of those people.
Now, before you accuse me of being a rabid Tory from a privileged background, let me tell you I'm not. I just don't see the pleasure in wishing an old woman dead and laughing about it.
Sure, she did some ghastly things that affected many lives, and as a student I was as anti-her as anyone else. I just didn't carry it through to adult life, that's all. I got over it.
'Oh but you wouldn't say that if she'd ripped your community apart,' people cry. Well I didn't live in Walfrod, so I didn't have a community. Still don't.
So I appreciate she's clearly not everyone's cup of tea, but I get uncomfortable with wishing people dead, no matter who they are. It's really bad karma.
My dancing shoes will be staying in their box.
10 comments:
Well said FC. It really gets on my nerves when a person wishes another dead. Just doesn't seem right. No matter what they have done, they don't deserve that sort of treatment.
How come my parents, who were both good people, are dead while an evil old hag like her are still alive? There's no justice.
Oh come on, you must wish someone dead (even in the metaphorical sense)!
If your dancing shoes are going begging you might just want to courier them over to Arthur Scargill.
I'm sure there's a queue as long as your arm, John.
This isn't just any old woman, this Thatcher - and we're still paying for some of her mistakes now. I was working for the civil service when she was finally ousted by her own in a Caesar style rebellion - how we cheered. 20 years on I haven't forgotten how awful, evil, black-hearted and mad-eyed she could be. And that dreadful stone cold vocal tone. Part of the reason everyone expected to be dead in a nuclear blast by 1987 was her and Ronald Write-off's trigger happy ways.
I don't wish her dead, but I will breathe a sigh of relief when she's gone.
I'm with Mondo.
Well you know, we all suffered one way or another, but it was a really long time ago now.
I still can't do the dancing on graves bit, despite the fact that it's HER.
I swing between wishing her dead, and wishing her an infinity of old-age related, decrepit misery. Although of course, she won't be wheezing away her life in some piss-encrusted excuse for a 'care home', because unlike a lot of people whose lives were directly and permanently blighted by her callous venality, she is fabulously rich.
It might have been a relatively long time ago, but she changed the national psychology forever, and we're all still living with the fallout. Unforgivable.
Up here in Sheffield her name's mud, a-but of course. You can see why. Back in the good old days when the steelworks were clanging and banging away, we could look forward to leaving school at fifteen with an education that would shame a chimpanzee, some of the worst air pollution outside of Eastern Europe to fill our already smoke-filled northern lungs, rampant alcoholism and spousal abuse, horrendous work-related injuries, shit pay, shit housing, shit standards of living, a council that was doing its damndest to turn us into a satellite of the Soviet Union, councillors taking massive back-handers from cowboy building firms to put up grotesque concrete flats that would need tearing down at great expense (my expense) a mere thirty five years later, uncontrolled demolition of anything aesthetically pleasing, urban planning that seemed to favour the car above all things, strikes every five minutes, monstrous lung conditions, an early grave and David Blunkett.
Yes, I can see why they hate her so much up here, comrades.
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