Watching Thatcher’s funeral

I have said it before, and no doubt will again. I am no fan of Margaret Thatcher. There was a lot of debate about the cost of her recent funeral, yet the expected mass protest at St Paul’s failed to materialise. I can understand why certain sections of society thought a lot of this woman. She fed the self-interest of many, at the expense of many others, and she did it all very well, with smooth organisation, and rhetoric and propaganda worthy of the Third Reich.

For me, she will always remain an example of the worst sort of individual that resides in the ranks of the Conservative Party. Spiteful, vindictive, and domineering; and at the same time matronly, and appearing to care. Much is written about her legacy. I think we have yet to endure the full effect of the policies of her day, and those of the spineless governments that followed.

I did watch some of her funeral on TV though, on the day-long broadcast that pretended to be actual news, and not a wallow in the pomp and circumstance of a Britain long-forgotten by ordinary people. I had to watch it after the coffin left St Paul’s, and made its way to Mortlake. That was the most important part.

I had to be certain that she was dead.


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