Written by MonkeyInTheBath

Tuesday, 12 July 2011

image for The Margaret Thatcher fan club
One day it might be safe to admit you like her

Few of us can have missed the tragic tale of Jeremy Chisel, the professional footballer "outed" as a fan of Margaret Thatcher. For weeks before the story became public, his team-mates had teased him with jibes about the poll tax, before he finally gave in to the pressure, quit his job and left his wife. His current whereabouts are unknown. Perhaps one day, the world will be ready to accept a Margaret Thatcher-admiring footballer, but not today.

I met the head of Thatcherites Anonymous, a burly young man called Wilbur Anvil. From looking at him, I would never have guessed his political leanings.

"I still haven't told my parents," he said. "I'm terrified of what they'll say. They always wanted me to grow up admiring Tony Benn or some...lefty. But I can't help the way I am."

Mr Anvil discovered he was an admirer of Thatcher when he was 19. He explains, "Some workmates were discussing whether to join the union or not, and for some strange reason I felt this overpowering urge to just smash their faces in. I knew then that I was different."

He finds it hard to meet fellow Thatcher fans, but over time he has developed what he calls "Thatcher-dar", where he can detect others like himself.

"It's not 100% accurate, but there is an unwritten code for how we recognise each other. First one person mentions the Falklands, then the other makes a joke about the ERM. Then we know we're safe."

Mr Anvil has to deal with a lot of intolerance from strangers. The other week, he was walking home from the pub with some fellow Thatcherites. They were discussing the miners strike from a point of view sympathetic to the government. Unfortunately a gang of youths overheard them and attacked them.

"At least it was just an ordinary gang who thought we were a soft target. There are groups out there like the Michael Foot Fan Club who want to actually kill us."

It is Mr Anvil's hope that one day they will be able to organise a parade through the streets of London - "we'd march down the street swinging our handbags and stealing milk from passers by," he says hopefully. However it looks as if it will be years before such a parade is accepted.

"The unions wouldn't allow it," he says, clenching his fists and barely concealing his anger.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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