I was never a fan of Thatcher but she did have tireless energy, determination … and greatness

What, you may wonder, is the link between the superlative Banksy Exhibition now wowing London and the Blessed Margaret Thatcher? Well, probably nothing unless, like me, you not only saw the best art show for years but also watched the five-part BBC series, Thatcher: A Very British Revolution. 

The connection is Banksy's 2009 oil on canvas entitled Devolved Parliament. It depicts the Commons chamber packed with chimpanzees and was his dystopian view of politics and politicians. As for the Thatcher series, it reminded me of the calibre of the so-called Big Beasts who once stalked the stage in this country. Compare and contrast with today's bunch of career chancers, pipsqueaks, mountebanks and character-free automatons who currently say they represent us. On all sides of the House.

I was never a fan of Thatcher though one couldn't but admire her determination, resolve and tireless energy. She certainly wasn't a rounded human being and she left no time for the things normal people do. Like family (ask daughter Carol whom I knew well in my Express days), outside interests, holidays or sleep. I didn't much care for her politics, but I knew she was the right person for the time. And she had cabinets, not of 'the vegetables' as Spitting Image memorably had it, but of serious and clever people.

Most notably were Geoffrey Howe, once my constituency MP, who of course was the undoing of her; Norman Tebbit, a more decent man than his Chingford Skinhead popular persona, Ken Clarke who had a huge and delightful hinterland (jazz and cricket and friends), Nigel Lawson, Douglas Hurd and, of course, Michael Heseltine. There were two notable human oil slicks — Cecil Parkinson and Kenneth Baker — but in the main her team were men (and there were very few women) who could easily have made good prime ministers themselves.

I met Thatcher a few times and in the flesh she was exactly as her image of the Iron Lady portrayed. She came to lunch in the Lubyanka and, despite going straight on to the Commons for PMQs, drank two large glasses of Scotch and some wine. On another occasion she arrived at a party given by Nick Lloyd in the Blackfriars building with husband Denis in tow. She was in good form and when, after an hour or so, she announced she was leaving, she looked for Denis. 

He was on the other side of the room, gasper on the go and in conversation with David Owen. "Denis, we're off", no reply; "Denis, we have to go", no reply. Maggie made one last attempt and this time she got a response: "You go on old girl, I'll follow on in an hour". The reason for her departure, she confided, was an early start the following day for a flight to the Commonwealth Prime Ministers' Conference.

Labour also had its fair share of outstanding people; John Smith whose death brought great sadness across the House; Margaret Beckett, David Blunkett, Roy Hattersley, Tony Benn, Gordon Brown and of course Tony Blair.  And what have we got today? A government front bench stuffed with unimpressive nodding donkeys. Only Wes Streeting, John Healey, Pat McFadden and Shabana Mahmood are possible exceptions. The Opposition is no better with the ridiculous Chris Philp, shadow home secretary if you please, who can never pass a microphone without making a fool of himself. He is out-clotted only by Robert Jenrick whose departure to Reform, I suspect, is blocked because Nigel Farage, wisely, doesn't trust him.

As for Keir Starmer, his wooden exterior hides a much more interesting man, or so I believe having listened to Radio 3's Private Passions programme when he talked about his parents (yes, there was the inevitable reference to son-of-a-toolmaker) and his brother's death. He chose Beethoven, Mozart and Tchaikovsky and came over as a warm and decent man. How different from the one we see making a speech or being interviewed as Prime Minister. I suspect that Kemi Badenoch has similar depths which shouldn't be kept hidden.

Of the PMs I have met — Thatcher, Major, May and Heath — Maggie was clearly the one with greatness before she made the mistake of not realising  when her time was up. As for her old foe Ted Heath, he was unutterably boring. We were making (very) small talk 30 years ago when he told me he was advisor to the South Korean Association of Shoemakers (I promise I'm not making this up). I made the mistake of saying "Oh, how fascinating" and that was his cue to go into every sodding detail.

Only a flight to Pakistan that afternoon gave me my escape.

*****

So now it's plain Mr Andrew Mountbatten Windsor. He will leave Royal Lodge and meanwhile Ms Sarah Ferguson is looking around for accommodation. There are 81 properties in the UK, owned either personally by the Royal Family or by the Crown Commissioners so there is quite a choice. But hang on, she is no longer in that family and has no title — no longer HRH or Duchess — so why does she think she is entitled to one of them? 

Do what the rest of us have done, either buy or rent. Rachel Reeves has a nice place just down the road from me in Dulwich which she rents out for £3,300 a month. There are plenty more like that and when we were in Old Brompton Road for the Banksy Exhibition we spotted in an estate agent's window a rather chic apartment available for £32,000 a month.

Surely one of her daft, gullible friends could fund that. Then again, no title, so perhaps no friends.

*****

AND FINALLY

An Irishman is struggling to find a parking space. "Lord", he prayed, "if you open up a space for me I swear I'll pack up the Guinness and I'll go to Mass every Sunday." Suddenly the clouds parted and the sun shone down on an empty space. "Ah, never mind", says he "I've found one".      

ALAN FRAME

31 October 2025