The Auntie Doris Years: 1979

imageThatcher. I didn’t ruddy vote for her. Even though I liked the idea of seeing a woman in the top job, I didn’t ruddy well want it to be her. You have to draw the line somewhere, and I drew it with her. She was the ruddy Daily Mail incarnate; All posh hairdos and elocution lessons, scaremongering us about the Russians being bent on world domination one minute, and cheating the Scots out of independence the next. Not to mention pinching the ruddy milk out of the kiddies mouths.
She was Prime Minister for eleven miserable years. Where there was harmony she brought discord, where there was truth, she brought lies and where there was hope, she brought despair. Not for her Daily Mail reading chums, but for millions of ordinary people up and down the country. Particularly in the North.
She called Nelson Mandela a “grubby little terrorist” but she was a supporter of the Chilean dictator General Pinochet who counted having pregnant woman thrown out of aeroplanes without parachutes amongst his hobbies.
She used the police force as her own private army, making it possible for them to get away with smacking protesters over the head with ruddy great truncheons, and blaming their inadequacies on innocent football fans at Hillsborough. Or on black people in London.
She made virtually everyone in the country a bit meaner, a bit greedier, a bit nastier, and a bit shallower as well. So much shallower that serious thought has been ruddy well replaced by personality contests, and socialists are seen as unelectable, to be replaced by grinning ruddy idiots babbling about “New” politics.
I was 65 when she became Prime Minister. I was dead before the Tories were finally kicked out of office. She was responsible for selling off loads of the things that had made me proud to be British, just to feather the nests of people who already had money. My things! The Railways, the Gas Board, the Electricity Board, the Water Board, the Coal Board, Telephones, Council Houses. The list goes on and on; All things that made life manageable. Even if they didn’t make a profit, they were Ours, for the benefit of us all.
And she sold off our stakes in things that did make a profit too; British Airways, Rolls Royce, Jaguar, BP, all for nothing; Nothing that benefitted ordinary people anyway, not in the long term. Just look at your bills if you think that I am wrong.
And now that Spawn of Thatcher, the oily Cameron, is trying to do the same for the little bits we have left. Including the ruddy National Health Service! Once that goes, we know that all sense has gone. What’s the point in being proud to be British any more? Why should we turn our backs on Europe and imagine that we should follow America. What does America have to compare to the National Health Service? They have to rely on the charity of a few good doctors who are not motivated by profit alone.
Ohh my, oh my. Where’s the humour in my little homily today? Sorry. I think that the slow destruction of British values and British institutions by people who keep harping on about how they are the ones who are upholding them is no matter for jokes. Think about it…
Auntie Doris’s pop hit of 1979: “Tragedy” by the Bee Gees.

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