Red Socks

As I trudge along the M6 in the back of this rickety cold ambulance Margret Thatcher's funeral is currently taking place . Thankfully this way I avoid the pomp and ceremony, and the blanket TV coverage.

Sadly it is difficult to participate in the Wear Red campaign (a protest against the obscene cost of Thatcher's funeral) when your uniform is blue ... but my pants are red and so is the trim of my socks. 

Whilst I resent the huge public cost, I'm not even sure I want to show solidarity with many involved. Since her death I have often been deeply ashamed of how the left have behaved; the protests, the rhetoric, the bile spat. These people don't represent the view of socialism I hold anymore; a true socialism of the heart, compassion. Neither right or left illustrates this, compassion is sadly lacking in so much of modern politics. 

I've commented that she's dead, she can't hear you now. The retort that she can't but history can. An example of the blind self-importance of some. I insist that their protests will only remain as a minor footnote in history, not the major marker they think.

Look at those who actually protest funerals; lunatics, fundamentalists & extremists. Not the most logical or proactive members of society for sure, and certainly not the sort of people I wish to be associated with.