In a time of sorrow I bring you comfort...

My deepest and sincerest condolences go to My Beloved Grief-stricken British Sinners, whom I know are all devastated at the untimely demise of young Baroness Margaret Thatcher. No doubt the overwhelming burden of sorrow is particularly great for those of you living north of Leicester, or in Wales, although I believe the people of Brixton, who have nothing but fond memories for all she did for them, have also made no secret their heartfelt mourning.

As you all might expect, I was throughout her years of power a close and personal confidant of the woman who single-handedly destroyed communism with the help of Ronald Reagan. It is with great affection I recall the wonderful winter-evenings we shared by her fireplace in No. 10 Downing Street, laughing as we mused upon those dying from cold on account of an inability to pay heating bills vastly inflated through privatization. Or the way she’d softly smile as I suggested it would only be a matter of time before every man, woman, and child in Yorkshire, Liverpool, and Greater Manchester could be rounded up, processed, and sold in Surrey, Kent, and Hertfordshire as pet food...

But it wasn’t all fun and games, not at all. There was also hard work, not least the interminable pastoral visits to families of those killed in the Falklands war. Try as I might, none were ever able to appreciate the honor of having the life of their beloved son, husband, or brother thrown away in a pointless squabble over some rocks in the far south Atlantic, the sole purpose of which was to provide a grandstand upon which a politician could promenade to ensure her successful re-election. Not even later, when in a brave blow against godless big government dear sweet Margaret introduced the poll tax, did I hear any of these still-grieving families (who really should have by then pulled their socks up and got on with life instead of moping about the consequences of their dead loved one’s lifestyle decision to get killed on an island of which nobody had ever previously heard) express their gratitude. Even though she had so thoughtfully saved them from the evils of big-taxing socialism by imposing a new tax significantly greater than that which it replaced. All of which just goes to show how wickedly hard Sinners’ hearts can be.

Yet in this, our time of loss and tears, let’s not forget that dear little Margaret would be the last one wanting to anyone to display anything as pointless as compassion or emotion. No indeed; we can all be certain she’d all want us to continue without wavering towards the utopian beacon of economic rationalism (aka “slavery”) which burns before us just as brightly as it did when she lit its golden flames. Even if these days there is now a statutory charge for gazing upon it, and the plinth on which it stands bears advertising for products proven to cause cancer, and which are now illegal in countries where the media is not controlled by Rupert Murdoch.

Consequently I’d like to ask that you to all wipe away your tears in honor of one who did so much to the people of Britain. Rather than crying, I urge you to join Me in sharing a piece of wholesome family epitomising everything Baroness Thatcher stood for. Sing along as little people are joyfully dominated by big ones, and once again lose yourself in the illusion of a wonderful yellow brick road. Although it’s probably better to not allow yourself to be reminded that the golden pathway along which the young woman singing here journeyed led ultimately to divorce, drug and alcohol dependence, and premature death. Much like yellow brick road along which the woman for whom no more than 40% British citizens voted forced her nation to march...



I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.