Width 666. I love that.
Hugh Muir here stole the words right out of my mouth:
Finally, quite a few people have been in touch to wish Margaret Hilda Thatcher a happy 85th – notwithstanding her bout of flu, from which we wish her a speedy recovery. They point out that on her birthday the news was full of stories about the courage and fortitude of miners. They seemed to enjoy the juxtaposition. Funny how things turn out.
And, of course, Elvis Costello.
I saw a newspaper picture from the political
A woman was kissing a child, who was obviously
She spills with compassion, as that young child’s
face in her hands she grips
Can you imagine all that greed and avarice
coming down on that child’s lips Well I hope I don’t die too soon
I pray the Lord my soul to save
Oh I’ll be a good boy, I’m trying so hard to behave
Because there’s one thing I know, I’d like to live
long enough to savour
That’s when they finally put you in the ground
I’ll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down
When England was the whore of the world
Margeret [sic] was her madam
And the future looked as bright and as clear as
the black tarmacadam
Well I hope that she sleeps well at night, isn’t
haunted by every tiny detail
‘Cos when she held that lovely face in her hands
all she thought of was betrayal
And now the cynical ones say that it all ends
the same in the long run
Try telling that to the desperate father who just
squeezed the life from his only son
And how it’s only voices in your head and
dreams you never dreamt
Try telling him the subtle difference between
justice and contempt
Try telling me she isn’t angry with this pitiful
When they flaunt it in your face as you line up
And then expect you to say “Thank you”
straighten up, look proud and pleased
Because you’ve only got the symptoms, you
haven’t got the whole disease
Just like a schoolboy, whose head’s like a tin-can
filled up with dreams then poured down
Try telling that to the boys on both sides, being
blown to bits or beaten and maimed
Who takes all the glory and none of the shame
Well I hope you live long now, I pray the Lord
your soul to keep
I think I’ll be going before we fold our arms
and start to weep
I never thought for a moment that human life
could be so cheap
‘Cos when they finally put you in the ground
They’ll stand there laughing and tramp the
UPDATE: Now, with extra bitterness, via Facebook:
Frankie Boyle on TV just now:
I hear there’s a debate over whether Thatcher should be given a state funeral. The only debate most people I know are having us whether she needs to be dead before we bury her. Three million quid to bury that woman? For that money we could buy everyone in the country a shovel and dig a hole deep enough to hand her over to Satan personally.
It is very nice of young Costello to express these sentiments. I hope the earth is tramped down, I would prefer a level surface for my dancing.
She’s only BRAIN dead. Not even career dead.
It is, I believe, STILL illegal to perform or broadcast that song in the UK. SO PLAY IT LOUD.
I thought the real question would be whether to bury her face down so she couldn’t rise again . . .
That’s definitely on the list.
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