The Death of Margaret Thatcher

The backlash of this whole Thatcher thing is particularly odd for me, because her death comes one day after another death which, for me, is slightly more personal.

 

I won’t name any names or anything because the guy’s family and friends may well see this post, given his proximity to me, but a chap I knew recently died in rather grim circumstances at his workplace. This guy was a typical local lad and my main memory of him was that of him trying to stab me (and possibly kill me) in a chip shop in Alfreton.

 

The reason this has got me thinking is because it is an under-the-microscope version of the current Thatcher debate. I’m not glad that he’s dead because nobody deserves to die like that and I do feel sympathetically towards his family and friends, to whom I’m sure he was loyal, warm and important. But to me, he was the bloke who could have ended my life because he was a bit drunk and wanted to intimidate a smaller group of lads by cornering them in a tiny chippy. That is what he was to me when he was alive and it hasn’t changed with his death.
The very same can be said of Thatcher. She doesn’t deserve an alteration to my view of her, simply because she is dead and I am both incapable and morally opposed to the idea of bullshitting everyone about how I feel about her, simply because she has a family who are currently in mourning.

 

A good friend once told me that we all die twice; the first is when our life ends and the second is when we are forgotten. There are graveyards littered with people who have died twice, their headstones being too old and worn to even know what their names once were. What a terrible thing it is to know that these people were once loved and needed by many friends and family. Thatcher has been spared this terrible fate. She has died her one and only death and she is very lucky to have a legacy to leave. If some people wish to take offence to that legacy then all that will serve to do is add to it.

 

We should all be so lucky.

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