[POL SC #732] De PvdA babyboom verzameling.

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I hate Thatcher at 80 even more viscerally

Norman Johnson
Saturday October 15, 2005
The Guardian

Norm's thoughts on Thatch at 80? Did I send a card? Do I regret sacrificing 11 years of my life to driving her out of office? No, since you ask, I'm proud to have coined the Milk Snatcher tag and been there with my girlfriend at the great poll-tax uprising. I treasure a bloodied Crouch End Says No banner and singed bra (!) from that momentous day - plus the cork from the magnum of champagne we shared at LWT a few months later, when the crazy old bag was finally carried off, raging and snivelling into the night.

But I know where you're coming from. You think I'm a neocon, right? Ergo, goes the moronic reasoning, I must be one of those apostate lefties who's prepared to acknowledge that without Thatcher there could be no New Labour economic miracle and, it follows, no massively increased public spending on schools 'n' hospitals. Didn't Thatch herself say the real test of political victory was to change the mind of the other party? We all owe her a great blah, blah, blah, so let's all sing happy birthday to the nicest, kindest octogenarian fascist currently drooling outside Brazil. Well, as I said to the nice lady on Newsnight this week, that argument is one of the dumbest things I have ever heard. I'll go further: I'll punch the guy who says he hates Thatch more than me. If anything, I hate her more viscerally today, from the top of her mad, shrunken old bonce to the tip of her gnarly toes, than I did 20 years ago. You want my real thoughts on Thatch? Unprintable. Suffice it to say my principal concern as she shuffles towards the grave is how best we can dispose of her body, to avoid it contaminating the earth for 10,000 years. Maybe they'd have it in Australia, with our nuclear waste.

But you'd have to be stupid, or perverse, to deny the evil old bag got a couple of things right. Anyone would, given 11 years. So, yes, the unions were sorted on her watch. And I say that as someone whose big toe has never been the same since Wapping. Ditto the cold war. There was respect for the transatlantic alliance. Caution on Europe. The economy, stupid. Council houses for sale. Shaking up the teachers. A national curriculum. League tables. Rail privatisation. De-fetishisation of the green belt. The foundations for PFI. Concern for the daytime-TV-watching classes. Full prisons. Contracting out. Rupert Murdoch.

Don't get me wrong. If this so-called celebration is good for anything, it's a chance to examine the real differences - the bottomless, yawning gulf - that always has and always will divide the decent, democratic left, which has my loyalty, from Thatch's party: the sleaze-ridden, spiritual home of arms dealers and fat-cat tax-evaders. Even if these lovely people are soon to be represented by the boy David Cameron. A historic toot can't stop him being Thatch's bastard child.

Ironic, isn't it, that it's the further left you go that the similarities with Thatchism get problematic? If, as I believe, democratic internationalism is where it's at these days, who comes closest to Thatcher's indolent, laissez-faire, leave-the-darkies-to-stone-each-other-to-death style of realpolitik? Not young David, who rightly supports the post-Enlightenment struggle against medieval Islamist oppression, but the abject, morally vacant party of stoppers whose celebrities are Galloway, Livingstone and, God help us, the new Nobel laureate, Harold Pinter. Wrong choice. If those Scandinavian clowns are now awarding the literature gong for services to foreign dictatorship, shouldn't it have gone to a bona fide Tory, like Thatch, with the birthday wishes of the all the world's fascists? It sure is a funny old world.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,3604,1592637,00.html

norman.johnson@guardian.co.uk

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.......You want my real thoughts on Thatcher? Unprintable. Suffice it to say my principal concern as she shuffles towards the grave is how best we can dispose of her body, to avoid it contaminating the earth for 10,000 years. Maybe they'd have it in Australia, with our nuclear waste..........

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Op zondag 16 oktober 2005 01:48 schreef Godslasteraar het volgende:

[..]

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Op zaterdag 15 oktober 2005 20:55 schreef Godslasteraar het volgende:

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Vreemde, onaangename dagindeling hoe jij erop na

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Op zondag 16 oktober 2005 01:46 schreef Godslasteraar het volgende:
Nederig buig ik mijn hoofd
[..]

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Op zondag 16 oktober 2005 07:26 schreef Drugshond het volgende:
We zijn al begonnen met de dag te plukken.

Vandaag zijn er 2 opties.
Of lekker op terasje baggeren, of kijken naar een Engels Blues bandje. Of een combi.... (het zal wel het laatste worden).

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Op zondag 16 oktober 2005 07:30 schreef sigme het volgende:
Slaap lekker, Drugshond

Goeiemorgen Tafkahs

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Op zondag 16 oktober 2005 07:35 schreef Tafkahs het volgende:
ok. Nou, doehoei

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Op zondag 16 oktober 2005 07:31 schreef Tafkahs het volgende:

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Wat is jouw excuus eigenljik?

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Op zondag 16 oktober 2005 07:40 schreef sigme het volgende:

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zaterdagochtend (als je dat *ochtend* kan noemen) stond de wekker op 03.10. Dus was ik zaterdagavond om 21u naar bed. Dus was ik vanochtend om 6u klaarwakker

Goed excuus toch?

En jij?

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Op zondag 16 oktober 2005 07:46 schreef Tafkahs het volgende:

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Ik had gister een uur of 3 in een inmaakpot staan roeren om een verbeterd bockbier te brouwen dan dat nu al ligt te rijpen. Vanochtend dacht ik dat de 2e spoeling misschien nog wel even gekookt moest worden om het amylaseproces te stoppen. Die 2e spoeling gebruik je om bijvoorbeeld een giststarter te maken. Omdat de luchtvochtigheid in je huis dan toch best wel hoog is, is je slaappatroon ook verstoord, zodoende.