As a fan of heavy metal, I have often been accused of being in league with the devil. Pseudo intellectuals seem to think I am part of a cult that is being brainwashed by long-haired Satanists and that my ambition is to live a life of debauchery with a view to gathering enough Satanic Brownie Points to make my transition to Hell as easy as possible.
I have laughed this off as mumbo jumbo, although in my youth I used to take it seriously enough to argue with people about it.
Now I just mock these people for being complete idiots, both to their faces and also in this very blog.
However, recently I have been thinking about exactly what I would need to do to actually guarantee my place in Hell, if the place were to actually exist.
You may well be aware that the death of a certain woman in the UK last week has caused quite a stir.
I am, of course, talking about Margaret Thatcher, the so-called Iron Lady.
In the UK there has been a mixed reaction to her death.
Conservative party members, her beloved political party, are in mourning, lamenting the loss of, in their words, the greatest Prime Minister in British history.
Some people, mainly youngsters, are saying “Who?”
A few people are wondering what all the fuss is about. To them she is just another politician.
A large number of British citizens despised the woman in life and of that number, a fairly healthy percentage have taken to the streets celebrating her death to the tune “Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead!”, which incidentally has reached number 2 in the UK charts:
What has this got to do with the devil, I hear you ask?
The people who are quite literally dancing on her grave are happily speculating that the Iron Lady is, as I type, on her way to Hell for the horrendous pain she afflicted on the people of Britain during her reign of terror.
I was a student when she was in power and the anti-Thatcher movement was really strong. It was bordering on anarchistic with people rioting, marching to London because of the shortage of jobs and miners striking as she destroyed the lives of a large number of working class people by savagely slashing the manufacturing industry and all but destroying the coal mining industry.
She was one of the least popular Prime Ministers I can remember. At the time I hated the woman; she was divisive, arrogant, driven and cold. The only reason she was Prime Minister for so long was that the Falklands War happened during her first term in office. If it wasn’t for the Argentinians invading the Falkland Islands, she would have lost her second election.
Despite this, I’m not bitter and I have drawn the line at thinking about dancing in the street. In the end she was just a sick old lady whose life ran out. I won’t mourn her. To me, she is just a politician who I choose to forget.
But that doesn’t stop me airing my views when provoked, as I was on my trip to Oman last week. While I was there I had a rather entertaining discussion with a colleague who, unlike me, actually had a lot of respect for the Iron Lady.
Over a few beers, he did his best to get me to start ranting about the woman mainly, I think, to have a go at me when I started singing Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead.
I disappointed him. All I did was point out to him why I hated her and we had a bit of a political argument. As I consumed my second pint, I decided that I didn’t want to talk politics because it is a sure fire way to get people to argue, sometimes angrily. I don’t like arguing at all; I like discussing politics even less.
I decided instead to lighten the mood with a few cracks about what may happen to Mrs Thatcher if there is an afterlife. Here are some of the quips that I threw into the conversation.
“I’ve heard that Maggie Thatcher has already taken over in Hell and closed two incinerators.” (Ed – not an original Plastic Mancunian joke)
“If you are really upset about Mrs Thatcher’s death, why don’t you see a psychologist? He may help you face your demons. And if you are lucky – one of them might be Thatcher herself.” (I thought of this myself – I think at least. Apologies if you thought of it first, dear reader).
“St Peter was absolutely terrified when he heard Mrs Thatcher had died; he thought she might come to Heaven.” (Ed – again not an original Plastic Mancunian quip).
Finally, I said “I tell you what, with my luck, I won’t go to Purgatory. Listening to all that rock music will give me a free pass straight to the bowels of Hell. And when I get there, I reckon that Thatcher will be my mentor.” (Ed – ever the pessimist, eh PM?)
It looks like I’m doomed either way.
Rest assured I won’t be watching the funeral tomorrow. To me she is just like another celebrity, albeit a celebrity who did her utmost to ruin the lives of a fair portion of the UK population. I’m a bit sore that, as a tax payer, I have to contribute to it – but then I expected that much anyway.
I will certainly not miss her.
That’s the end of this political post and I promise that I will try not to write another one again, as I hate discussing politics at all.
I will leave you with my favourite song by the Rolling Stones, which coincidentally has a very apt title. If Mrs Thatcher really is going to Hell, then I really do have sympathy for the devil – and for me, if those pseudo intellectuals are correct.