Vague ramblings

Ding dongs and high horses

Posted in Irritants, Life, Musing by Ian Cundell on 12 April, 2013

He was a diffident chap, probably about 40 but weathered to look much older. He was hungry, like the others, but too nervous or too polite to be pushy. I grabbed a couple of chicken legs and handed them to him. It was the only way he was going to be fed that night. His eyes brightened for a moment, a brief smile and nod and he was gone into the pelting rain to whichever card board box he occupied in Lincoln’s Inn Field, or whichever doorway on Strand.

He’s the reason I won’t take lectures from the high horse brigade. The seminar and buffet at LSE had been a disaster thanks to the weather: Margaret Thatcher’s homeless, sleeping in every doorway around, were the unexpected and appreciative beneficiaries of the spare food.

It doesn’t matter about anything else: the sinking of the Belgrano is irrelevant: the point is that she blundered into an avoidable war through her own catastrophic misjudgment, but was happy enough to leverage the dead (but not the disabled, of course, who were hidden) for Party benefit;

It doesn’t matter that she “defeated” the unions: any system can be gamed, and she just made it easier for her chums to do that;

It doesn’t matter that she swung her handbag in Europe – there were much better deals available, but she frittered away the huge amount of goodwill from Europe and came home with a pittance and massive loss of influence. Still, IDS says it will pay for her funeral.

It doesn’t matter that she was a mother and grandmother. So was my Mum, but she never invited a fascist dictator and mass murderer around for tea.

Nope, none of that matters. Nor does the good (the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, being the first major politician to recognise the threat of global warming, realising that there was only one way to end the war in Northern Ireland).

The only thing that matters is that a combination of negligence, arrogance and stupidity left thousands of people sleeping rough on the streets of London (and other cities, but mainly London) as the psychiatric hospitals were emptied, young people were kicked out of home, or people got on their bike for work and found there wasn’t any.

Buying Ding Dong the Witch is Dead is childish, puerile and disrespectful. None of these are crimes of any sort, and none of them are as disrespectful as abandoning an entire defenceless group of people to their fate on the streets. And for that alone, history should damn her.

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