Others may have swooned over Mrs Thatcher – including those who should have known better – but she always baffled me
Things have calmed down a bit now. She's gone, I haven't felt like partying, and by Wednesday it will be almost over. I have always been baffled by the Thatcher phenomenon – why did so many people admire her and take her seriously? To me, she always looked slightly potty: the glaring eyes, the imperious tone, the clunking and hopeless attempts at a "joke". She didn't seem well. Why did no one else notice?
Then I watched her talking about the death of her father, whom she adored. Tears came to her eyes. And to mine! There I was, mesmerised by a woman I thought I hated, and blubbing along with her. I had to give myself a sharp slap in the face to snap out of it. But what power. Even at that safe distance, through a telly. What ever must a real-life meeting be like?
Pretty grim, apparently. I once knew a chap who, early in Thatcher's career, gave her an elocution lesson. He had such a frightful time that he refused to give her another one. But it could go either way. Olivia's husband went out to a dinner and sat next to her. He came home almost in love, in a sort of daze, with a soppy look on his face, and he had never voted Tory. Olivia and her friends mocked him, but it made no difference. He was done for. Only temporarily, luckily, but the effect had been shocking.
Learning from this experience, Olivia applied Thatcher techniques while campaigning for a byelection in Kensington. She addressed male Labour campaigners like infants, handing them whatever they needed, and saying strictly: "Pen? Notebook? Leaflets?""Yes," mumbled the men, "Then, off you go!" said Olivia, giving them a motherly pat. And it worked. They did exactly as they were told. The campaign ran like clockwork.
For a few days, Olivia experienced power. But she was never going to really have any. Not with Labour in Kensington. Anyway, what would she have done with it? Power is not often a good thing. As we all now know to our cost. Reported by guardian.co.uk 17 hours ago.
Things have calmed down a bit now. She's gone, I haven't felt like partying, and by Wednesday it will be almost over. I have always been baffled by the Thatcher phenomenon – why did so many people admire her and take her seriously? To me, she always looked slightly potty: the glaring eyes, the imperious tone, the clunking and hopeless attempts at a "joke". She didn't seem well. Why did no one else notice?
Then I watched her talking about the death of her father, whom she adored. Tears came to her eyes. And to mine! There I was, mesmerised by a woman I thought I hated, and blubbing along with her. I had to give myself a sharp slap in the face to snap out of it. But what power. Even at that safe distance, through a telly. What ever must a real-life meeting be like?
Pretty grim, apparently. I once knew a chap who, early in Thatcher's career, gave her an elocution lesson. He had such a frightful time that he refused to give her another one. But it could go either way. Olivia's husband went out to a dinner and sat next to her. He came home almost in love, in a sort of daze, with a soppy look on his face, and he had never voted Tory. Olivia and her friends mocked him, but it made no difference. He was done for. Only temporarily, luckily, but the effect had been shocking.
Learning from this experience, Olivia applied Thatcher techniques while campaigning for a byelection in Kensington. She addressed male Labour campaigners like infants, handing them whatever they needed, and saying strictly: "Pen? Notebook? Leaflets?""Yes," mumbled the men, "Then, off you go!" said Olivia, giving them a motherly pat. And it worked. They did exactly as they were told. The campaign ran like clockwork.
For a few days, Olivia experienced power. But she was never going to really have any. Not with Labour in Kensington. Anyway, what would she have done with it? Power is not often a good thing. As we all now know to our cost. Reported by guardian.co.uk 17 hours ago.