Dancing

A bit of brightness on a breezy day. Some rain, some sun, some wind. Mr B headed off this morning for London. My otherwise quiet afternoon was interrupted after lunchtime by a text making sure I knew that Thatcher was dead. I unusually didn't have the radio on, so didn't know. Now, I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead - at least not this soon - but I can't think of a good thing to say. Only that, now she's gone, who will I pour my hatred into?

Hatred: now there's a bad emotion - something that will eat you up. Which is why I think it's helpful (unless you're a genuinely lovely person who has no hate in them) to have one figure to aim it all at. So: who's next? Answers on a postcard please...