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 | So it's twenty five years after the Falklands now, and I'm kind of torn on the whole thing | |
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| With the proviso of course that it was all wrapped up more than a year before your author was born | |
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| Naturally. But anyway, on one hand, sovreign British territory WAS invaded by a hostile power. It's all very well saying it's just a tiny speck of a bunch of islands with nothing but mud, sheep, penguins and inbred Spanish-speaking yokels, but it was important to the people living there | |
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| On the other hand, a thousand people died over said sheep, penguins and yokels, and you can't help thinking that, as the great man said, There Should Have Been Another Way. | |
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| We are forced to conclude that there were probably plenty but Margaret Thatcher wasn't interested in them because it wouldn't have earned her instantaneous cred like a good old war would have | |
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| So in conclusion, f#*k Thatcher and everything she ever did, even stuff that we might even grudgingly have to admit were good things, like...um, TV-am maybe. And, well, we can't think of anything else. And we're not sure TV-am counts anyway. | |
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