My Weekend With Mrs Thatcher
Margaret Thatcher spent the weekend with us.
Oh, all right, you guessed, she didn’t, I’m just trying out the sentence for size having found it in Jeffrey Archer’s blog entry for June 12. (No, no, I’m not giving you the link again, just look at my blog for a couple of days ago if you must. Just because I’ve got a teensy bit obsessive about Jeffrey’s blog doesn’t mean I want you to go the same way).
A shame Mrs Thatcher didn’t pop round here last weekend, though, I’d have had her straight down to the worst bit of run-down inner-city housing estate that I could find and explained that this was where she was going to spend the rest of her days, living on the state pension - - Or perhaps one of those nursing homes where everyone sits round in chairs all day and everything smells of pee.
A couple of years back I met some blonde floppy-haired young Tory candidate at the local shopping parade. He tried to give me a leaflet while reminding me loudly of what a great leader Mrs Thatcher had been.
“Mrs Thatcher Stole My Youth!” I declaimed - rather over-dramatically, I thought afterwards - and followed it up enjoyably with “Now look, sonny, you’re too young to remember, aren’t you? Oh you poor thing, I expect you’ll grow out of it when you get a bit older and read a few books about what the Eighties were really like - - “
Some comedian, and I can’t remember who it was, said
“Ah, but shouldn’t we feel sorry for Mrs Thatcher now she’s just a confused, fragile old lady? - - - Nah, let’s just enjoy it.”
Oh, all right, you guessed, she didn’t, I’m just trying out the sentence for size having found it in Jeffrey Archer’s blog entry for June 12. (No, no, I’m not giving you the link again, just look at my blog for a couple of days ago if you must. Just because I’ve got a teensy bit obsessive about Jeffrey’s blog doesn’t mean I want you to go the same way).
A shame Mrs Thatcher didn’t pop round here last weekend, though, I’d have had her straight down to the worst bit of run-down inner-city housing estate that I could find and explained that this was where she was going to spend the rest of her days, living on the state pension - - Or perhaps one of those nursing homes where everyone sits round in chairs all day and everything smells of pee.
A couple of years back I met some blonde floppy-haired young Tory candidate at the local shopping parade. He tried to give me a leaflet while reminding me loudly of what a great leader Mrs Thatcher had been.
“Mrs Thatcher Stole My Youth!” I declaimed - rather over-dramatically, I thought afterwards - and followed it up enjoyably with “Now look, sonny, you’re too young to remember, aren’t you? Oh you poor thing, I expect you’ll grow out of it when you get a bit older and read a few books about what the Eighties were really like - - “
Some comedian, and I can’t remember who it was, said
“Ah, but shouldn’t we feel sorry for Mrs Thatcher now she’s just a confused, fragile old lady? - - - Nah, let’s just enjoy it.”
posted by Daphne at 12:10 am
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