Thatchermania has died down now, and I’ve personally stayed out of it. The quality of commentary from people around at the time has been outstanding, not least The Spectator’s own Charles Moore. The Thatcher drama is one where I can’t even claim to have been a spectator. I was not into politics when I was young, not listening to Budget speeches on the school bus like the young George Osborne. Strife didn’t hit us much in the Highlands. I once crossed a picket line with my mum when teachers at my school, Nairn Academy, went on strike. She was a special needs teacher there and didn’t talk much about it, except to say she didn’t believe pupils should be made to suffer in disputes between adults. I agreed with the sentiment and insofar as I thought about Mrs T, I was all for her. But I’m afraid to say that, during the 1980s, I was far more influenced by The Kids from Fame than anything that happened in Westminster.
But I did meet The Lady a few times, during events where she would generally say very little and patiently listen to those who queued to pay homage. Once she was sitting down, and I knelt to talk to her. “Stand up,” she told me. “You’re a journalist, you can’t kneel to a politician.” The other time was an event in Mayfair where a businessman was being similarly effusive. He’d started a small business which had become a large one, all due to her. Or so he said. This seemed to irritate her. The exact words were reported back to me, and went something like:
“No, you have got it wrong. If you’re thanking me, then you have misunderstood what my government was all about.
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