Occasionally, when half in a daze, a single line from someone, or a song on the radio,  sends me off on a bizarre train of thought that has no logic or reason to it. This happened a few nights ago…

I am now trying to write a script for a radio play about a former miner, who following the strike in the 1980’s went through years of restart programs, job seekers training, and general discordance. The retraining courses never amounted to much, because doing a six-month course in electrical engineering or plumbing doesn’t actually get you a job, so the department for education has been coming up with new, different courses for years, which are increasingly a little bizarre.
He is a tad resentful about this, and like many former miners, he blames the tories and one of their former leaders in particular.
Then one day, having been told to sign up for a course or lose his benefits, he stumbled upon a course in practical voodoo…

Six months later …
he is standing over the grave of a former Prime Minster, face painted white, with a chicken in one hand and a shovel in the other, dancing to a strange drum beat and singing
“Wake up Maggie; I think I have something to say to you ……..”

This is swiftly followed in part two by a Tory party leadership election where they elect the rotting reanimated corpse of ‘dear Maggie’ as leader….

Which leads to the inevitable question, what’s worse, Teresa May or the rotting reanimated corpse of Mrs Thatcher…

I think I need coffee…