Thatcher may be dead, but Neoliberalism lives on...
Chelsea’s only memory of meeting her grandfather / Was Christmas ‘91 at a pub in Denby Dale / Going through the motions of an early family trip, distracted by her Gameboy chewing on her bottom lip / She couldn’t comprehend the nature of their stay / And in his youth he’d been formidable, but the sickness left him skeletal and frail.
As the grown-ups buried hatchets and did their best to make their peace / Chelsea was oblivious, blissfully at ease / Until the old man started ranting about LaMont and Hesseltine / And as the fire in his belly rose, it captured her attention for the first and only time / And he looked at her, and he gave her some advice / And it stuck with her, it was simple and precise.
He told her “Never trust a tory, they’ll betray you when it matters / They will scramble to the top and then they’ll kick away the ladder, hinny / Never trust a tory, or a tory in disguise,
You can see it when you look them in the eye”
It’s been over twenty years since they put him in the ground / He died on Christmas day and looking back it’s really quite profound / How those words have stuck with her, how they’ve influenced her life / How they trace a track of lineage; a genealogy implied / And she knows it’s kind of cynical and tribal to think along those lines / But time and time again she’s seen the old fella proven right.