Margaret Thatcher is dead: long live compassion

Margaret Thatcher died this morning following a stroke, her spokesman Lord Bell said.

One of my neighbours, who was not divided in her opinion about Margaret Thatcher, and arguably less eloquently, declared ‘Thank God That Bitch Is Dead.”

Wherever my own politics lie, I found that latter sentiment extremely sad because of what it takes away from us when we hate to that degree. And hate is the only word that can adequately describe what many felt (feel) about Baroness Margaret Thatcher.

I once felt that black, inky hate for another individual who walked this earth and the strength of the emotion I felt shaped me negatively for a long time. May still have left its mark on me.

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RIP Steve Jobs

1955 - 2011

Everyone who feels different and isolated, especially while pursuing a dream needs a champion. I was once encouraged by an extract from Apple’s ‘Think Different’ advertising campaign and had occasion to read it again only yesterday.

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The rebels. The troublemakers. The ones who see things differently. While some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”

RIP, Steve Jobs.

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Two degrees of silent separation

Bronson Hart Fargo Jr. 11 June 1957 - 15 January 2010

Isn’t it a fascinating notion that we are only ever six steps away, or less, from being linked with any other human being on the planet. No matter who they be?

The Six Degrees of Separation Principle.

And while this next thought may not seem linked (yet) to the one above, I have also thought how cool it would be to invent something which is then so successful it becomes the icon of the industry in which it sits.

What do I mean by that?

For instance, we often use the term ‘to hoover’, when what we really mean is to vacuum since Hoover is a brand name.

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Our son is a quarter of a century old today – pass it on

Our eldest son, Robbie, is 25 today.

And while I only usually write a birthday post for milestone birthdays – 13, 16, 21 – it seems to me that a quarter of a century old is something to mark.

It could also be spite at someone calling me half a century old last month, but I’d like to think I’m better than that. A little bit better than that.

I first met Robbie when he was knee high to Tom Cruise – little. And I remember trying to take his hand to wander down the stairs sweetly we two. He wasn’t having any of it. Off he marched imperiously in his tennis whites leaving me to follow behind him.

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