Thatcher's Death: Rejoice, Rejoice

There has been a lot of po-faced sermonising about how unseemly it is to celebrate someone's death. Indeed. This was the woman who after hundreds of young men died horrible deaths on board the Belgrano trimphantly chanted: "Rejoice, Rejoice". And despite the unanimity yesterday - that she was "right" - about the Falklands - that was a totally unecessary war in which about as many people were killed (and certainly more were killed or maimed) than the number of people living on the island. Each of them could have been given a million pounds to relocate to Buckinghamshire and it have cost less and avoided the carnage. But no, had a compromise been reached - leaseback, for example - it would have cost Thatcher her premiership. The war was fought to ensure her re-election.

And that it to leave asise what she did to the inner cities, to mining communities, to the most vulnerable and least advantaged people. The Camerons and Osbornes loved her, and called her "Mummy". Of course they did. The identikit, look-alike, sound-alike personality-free Blair-clones who populate the frontbenches on both sides yesterday mourned their heroine, as they will next week. The funeral next week is really a £10 million Conservative Party political rally, or perhaps an all-party Thatcherite rally. The street parties and protests are necessary to show that not everyone shares the view that Thatcher was a new Messiah, although I gather Spooks and Plods are monitoring emails, Facebook, blogs, Twitter etc and may be making pre-emptive arrests, so I may be in clink by this time tomorrow. Ah, democracy.