Iron Ladies

Of all places, I was able to catch The Iron Lady in Montevideo, in English with Spanish subtitles. Very few people were in the cinema unit  to see it, but I went with a fellow ex-pat Mum, and we enjoyed the mutual memories of those dreadful eighties as the trailers warmed up.  The cinema is a great favourite with Uruguan ladies of a certain age, all much better dressed than we were, and fully coiffed etc, but most were there to see The Artist I think.

I found it a very moving film, mainly because of the resonances with my mother’s final year of gallant wrestling matches with reality versus fantasy, and the blurring of timelines between past and present.  By all standards, Merryl Streep was outstanding, and now that the Oscars are over, I can see as well why the make-up artist won one. You completely lose her in the character.  Whether or not it was the Margaret Thatcher, or one Margaret Thatcher I am not sure, but it had huge integrity.   My only feeling is that , well she is still alive on the planet, but then so is the Queen, and she has had to put up with several quirky and eccentric takes on her life and private affairs. Can’t be as bad as spitting image anyway!   Critics from right and left should go to see this film, but they whisked it off at Chesterfield far too quickly. frightened off by the ex-miners’ wives pickets? How sad, and bizarre, free speech is essential.

After the cinema our sons took us out for a late supper. Wonderful fresh crunchy fish gougons, and the speciality chips with mushroom sauce.  They talked business, both little children during the Thatcher years, now riding the wave of entrepreneurship she kicked out of the doldrums.  We mothers discussed retirement possibilities in Uruguay.  Here’s to you, Mrs Thatcher. All the best, wherever and however you are. I find I’ve forgiven you, which is strange, but then  I’ve forgiven many others who have done much worse!

About mrsgarnettsgarden

After a life in International Development where I have seen many resililent women farmers bring abundance out of almost nothing, I'm now more often at home in Derbyshire with my husband David, a retired Archdeacon who runs the churches on the Chatsworth estate. Our garden and my allotment are the setting for a little diary of plants and pottering, aided and abetted by our dogs, Spaniel jess, and Collie, Pip. David is a hen fanatic so the chicken runs encroach ever nearer the house. I work freelance as an assessor for Comic Relief International grants, and also run a little not for profit agency to help African women get going in business, called "Lasting Solutions."
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