What I liked more than anything about Thatcher was what she brought out in other people; how she just had to stand there being herself and a whole host of characters who had previously passed for decent revealed themselves as sneering, silver-spoon snobs.
(…)
My heart, like Macmillan’s, was with those working-class heroes, fluttering their banners, piping mournfully with their brass bands.
But my head was mutinously thinking even as I cheered them on: “Is it REALLY the best way for men to live, like trolls or moles in the dark, dying young of lung disease?”
