It's been a strange old week since the death of Thatcher. Whole forests have been chopped down to provide for the yards and yards of utter tosh spewing from the presses along with a seemingly never ending televisual spew wave to wash your senses sideways. Opinions are divided, nay, positively polarised with demands to show respect set against street parties and wild behaviour (mostly by people who weren't even born when "that woman" was PM). We had no less than a whole day of Parliament extolling her virtues; some of it extremely embarrassing, one noble lord commenting that she had "beautiful hands and lovely ankles and she knew how to use them.'"! There were a few exceptions but even they lacked any sincerity. In the real world it is fair to say that most of Wales, Scotland and the North of England shed not a tear at her passing. I know many had celebratory drinks. Tempting then to say that it was a bit like old times when she was in office with her divisive ways. Only then policemen on horseback were beating seven shades out of striking miners; today we have a mass download of the Ding Dong song from the Wizard of Oz. So, maybe, the old man from Trier was right when he said "History repeats ... first as tragedy, then as farce".
Speaking of farces, today we have a £10 million tax payer funded military funeral to finally dispose of this destroyer of hope and wrecker of lives. Money well spent.