There used to be a section in the afternoon on Radio 1 called 'Our Tune'...1991 was the year Maggie Thatcher: Milk Snatcher stepped down as Prime Minister...what follows is the transcript of the 'Our Tune' that I recorded that year, to the backing of the 'Romeo and Juliet' theme (Geoff Love Orchestra) that the dj always read it out to...
(by way of explanation; 'Our Tune' was a 'remembrance slot' for a lover who had died in dramatic circumstances/split up/whatever...and was compulsory listening in the 6th form common room!!)
Our Tune : RIP Dennis Thatcher 1991
It was a cold morning in November. Margaret Thatcher looked out of her window in Number 10 Downing Street for the very last time in her tyrannic reign of almost eleven years.
As far as the proletariat were concerned, Margaret - affectionately known as 'Maggie the milk snatcher' - had ruled the country with a strict neo-fascist regime and had made the poor poorer and the rich richer with her infamous community charge - more commonly known as the 'Poll Tax'.
It was somewhat of a relief to THEM that she, the Iron Lady, had finally stepped down from leadership...but her husband, Dennis, for some reason did not find it so.
He had, for some while, been living with the opinion that as long as she was out of the house he was free to do as he pleased. Dennis, husband of the Iron Lady, as Maggie came home, did not know what to do.
He had contacted several agencies for mental help, but had not succeeded simply because the NHS waiting list was far too long, and the rest of the Tory cabinet were way further ahead on the list than he was.
To Dennis, there seemed to be only one option left open to him - SUICIDE. It was that or face the Iron Lady becoming the 'Ironing Lady' in that comfortable home of his, only to be thrown out by a MAJOR removal firm and have to live in a cardboard box like the proletariat that Maggie so despised.
What was he to do??
Here he was, degenerate husband of an ex-leader who was probably leader of a master race of Nazi's so far as he knew, and he was about to be thrown out of his dear home that he had spent so many of his hen-pecked years in...oh, they were happy years!!
He thought of going to the Queen, but quickly realised that the fascist Tory government had made her defenceless and powerless to help years ago.
He thought of going to the NHS, but they didn't have the time or the money to cope with a blubbering wreck like himself. Maggie had seen to that.
He thought of becoming a Communist, but Maggie would have had him shot.
There was no alternative.
He put the pistol to his head and, as Maggie returned from the window, he at last said goodbye to the world and blew his brains out.
'Thank God for that!!' said Maggie, who promptly faxed through to her favourite ex-leader Ronald Reagan, and caught the next plane over to Texas where she disposed of Nancy and lived happily ever after...
...until her favourite Nuclear Missile from Greenham Common exploded in the bath and sent the last known remnants of a Nazi regime hurtling into space, never to be seen again.
Oh dear, oh dear...looking at my 'files', I was a bit obsessed with political satire aged 17 lolol!!!
Best get to bed before I bore you with any more of this shit;)
(In particular the entire transcript of a play I wrote, inspired by Dario Fo's 'Accidental Death of an Anarchist', called 'You can't nick me, I'm MAD'. A court-room 'drama' with witnesses including the Pope himself, and based on the insanity of McNaghten's insanity clause; basically stating that in order to be proven innocent the judge and jury have to decide that you are mad, rather than the medical establishment...)
*hides in shame*