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Yes, yes, Thatcher died

Now I'm not much of a one for the instant response. Have a bit of a ruminate, possibly a lengthy sit down is more my plan as a general rule. I'd like to tell you it's because I have a long-game type of mind, a chess players mind, one that deliberates before coming up with the incontrovertible, but if I'm being honest its mostly because I am a) lazy and b) thick. And also fond of a bit of a sit down. Maybe involving wine.

And Thatcher died. Now, believe you me, this is not something I'm inclined to sit on the fence about, catch me in the right mood and I'll bore you for hours about the evils of Thatcherism, it's not like I couldn't have posted a lengthy screed within minutes. But yet...

well...doesn't it seem kind of obvious? I feel like I did when (unnamed former girlfriend) first offered your humble narrator unfettered access to her, well, her...yes, this would be great but, do I really deserve this? Surely others are better qualified. And in this case they certainly are (and in hers,to stretch a metaphor to breaking point, but that's by the by), and have been exhibiting their qualifications at length (NO, THAT METAPHOR'S ENDED YOU FILTHY BASTARDS STOP SNIGGERING AT THE BACK). So I really don't feel the need to shove my oar in, so to speak, everyone else has (I SAID IT WAS ENDED ALRIGHT, SHE WAS A SAINT, KNOCK IT OFF). So faced with the sheer staggering volume of Thatcher detritus I will note merely this, that in a few years time social historians will note that in this epoch-ending time, when the boundaries of history are shifting, when the texts are being written minute by minute, most people were concerned with the fact that some Mucnchkins have got the hump. I don't know if this is brilliant or depressing. Possibly both. Right, off for a sit down. And wine.

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