WTF?

It’s been in the papers. It’s been referred to on TV. But I’m amazed that more people aren’t making a fuss about it.

Maggie Thatcher is to be given a state funeral when she dies.

No effing way!

Am I the only person to think this is an unspeakably horrendous idea? That woman deserves to be burnt at the state, hung, drawn and quartered and her head impaled on a spike outside the NHS HQ.

A state funeral? Utter grotesquery!

Churchill got a state funeral and deservedly so. He was a crap peace time PM but he unquestionably steered this country through the dark shadows of its biggest crisis. Maggie Thatcher on the other hand pushed this country into crisis and then kept us there... and we’re still trying to dig ourselves out of the hole her stiff-necked mismanagement got us into.

Thatcher crushed the unions to the detriment of all working citizens. I blame the entire UK privatization fiasco on Mrs Thatch. The money grabbing paranoia that still infects much of this country also started with the Thatcher administration.

We are still living under her shadow, still trying to dig ourselves out of the crap she sank us into.

This woman does not deserve a state funeral. Sorry. She just doesn’t.

Pickle her body for medical experimentation if you must. Bury her at sea if you want her out of the country for good. Chuck her in a landfill if you want to be green.

But don’t waste millions of pounds of OUR money carting her rotting skeleton through the streets of London in a horse drawn carriage, expecting us to throw rose petals beneath the wheels as she passes us by.

Possibly the only good thing about having her body lying in state for a few days is that it will enable (as better comedians have already pointed out) the average hoi polloi to view her corrupting remains and rejoice in the fact that she is at last finally dead.

But they better keep a mop and bucket handy too - cos there’s gonna be a helluva lot of spit flying about if I get anywhere near her.

Ja Wohl Mein Fuhrer

A marvellous start to the day today – I had to give a member of staff a dressing down for inappropriate behaviour. Nothing too outlandish – he’s hardly been standing on the tables encouraging the girls to rub lard into his nougat hard nips – but he has been, how shall we say, “over friendly” towards female members of staff. Hugs. Kisses. That kind of thing. Not the kind of thing you expect or indeed want from a cleaning contractor. Especially one with a slight BO problem. And by “slight” I mean “Chernobyl sized”.

Anyway, it would be unfair of me to go into the details here so I won’t (no, no I won’t, no matter how much you bribe, flatter or petition me) but the experience from my side of things was weird. It was unpleasant having to ruin someone’s day even though I know that (a) it had to be done and (b) it was absolutely the right thing to do. This person isn’t a pervert by any stretch of the imagination. Just “of an older generation” and out of tune with how society has moved.

I hope I made my position clear without making him feel like he was the victim or the target of a witch hunt. At the same time the complaints of other members of staff have also got to be acted upon – though I’m at pains to point out that nobody was calling for castration or to have his name etched indelibly onto the sex offenders register.

Despite my many rants on this blog I don’t as a rule do “kick-ass Sgt Major” leadership. I don’t like to rollock people to within an inch of their dignity. It just ain’t my bag (man). But this was an important issue that needed to be nipped in the bud before it got out of hand or moved onto more potentially damaging consequences.

Did I enjoy the experience?

Well... better to be the one dishing it out than being on the receiving end I suppose. But no. I didn’t feel a warm erotic surge of pleasure as I felt myself become the channel for all encompassing local authority power. I felt a big responsibility not to overstep the mark. Not to go for overkill. Not to stamp the wrong-doer’s face into the dust and grind it into squished brain puree.

I guess I’d make a crap dictator.

I’d never be the Darth Vadar figure.

I’d always be the one at the back saying “Well, maybe we ought to give these rebel scum a chance... just hear them out a bit... and maybe calling them scum isn’t really that appropriate... I mean, they just have a different political bias to us... at the end of the day they’re people too...”

O Captain, my Captain?

I can’t see anyone climbing onto their desk for me.

Armistice

News of political correctness gone wrong and half-arsed council priorities were splashed over the front page of The Metro this morning and for once I’m in total agreement with their indignation.

It seems that an Armistice Day parade in Castle Bromwich has been cancelled as the police will be needed elsewhere to prevent two rival groups of football fans knocking seven bells out of each other; a rifle regiment in Chepstow has been told to parade without their rifles as the council leaders there fear such brazen displays of weaponry will encourage gun crime (like it needs anymore encouragement with the amount of gun based dramas on our TV screens) and apparently collection boxes in Kidderminster have had to be fitted with tamper alarms as so many of them are being broken into and the contents nicked.

What a wonderful world.

Whilst I realize that one day WWI and WWII will pass almost blandly into the musty annals of history along with the likes of the Peninsula and Boer War, at present it’s important to note that for some the events they signify still exist in living memory and we all should make the effort to remember and acknowledge the huge loss of life that was incurred. Our current world and our very freedoms (such as they are) were formed out of the smoking and bloody aftermaths of these events and it’s both callous and ungrateful to ignore this fact.

Now I realize I’m probably being over sensitive as I’m lucky enough to have a granddad who is still alive and who still retains vivid memories of being in the navy during the Second World War and who came out of the conflict with a host of medals, stories and most of his mates dead... but even without that living spur I’d hope I’d have the decency and respect to recognize how important it is to mark the 11th November.

It’s a question of dignity.

For us as well as for those who have gone before...