Margaret Thatcher, heroine of the Falklands, the scourge of the miners, the ‘most divisive’ Prime Minister in recent British history, maybe any British history, died in 2013. She was 87.
Legions of trendy-lefty commentators danced in the streets, and people far, far too young to have any recollection whatsoever of what Dame Margaret Hilda Thatcher actually did, filled their Facebook drivel, er, pages, with claptrap about how much they hated her and were glad to see her gone.
Well, I remember her reign, and indeed it was not pleasant. But what is forgotten, perhaps wilfully, by those who celebrated her death, is what life was like before Thatcher. They forget too, that without her, a great part of what the ‘British’ now accept as normal, simply would not exist.