A toast in the night

This is a casual conversation between myself and my Saudi 'sponsor' as best I remember the words from back in 1999, or thereabouts. It is night time. The half moon and a myriad of stars sparkle on a coal black Arabian Gulf. Hot, hot, humid. We walk side by side along the beach, bare footed in warm sand, glasses in hand. Behind us is the Sheik's well illuminated house, some would say mansion, complete with servants preparing the feast to come.

Him: You know, Bryan, we loved your Mrs Thatcher.

Me: Is that right? Not everyone at home loved her. Any special reason?

Him: Oh yes. She kindly handed your inheritance to us and to many others of what you call the developing world.

Me (puzzled\): How's that then?

Him: Your industrial base, or revolution; she had no understanding of how and why it created your traditional wealth, therefore no desire to protect it. Her female mind as well as her upbringing was that of a shopkeeper. A good one. In this she was misled by her her friends, many of them of Israeli persuasion, in the City of London. And so every time she and those who come after her closed one of your factories, we opened one. This is why she is loved by us. He stops, turns to me, glass raised. For that reason I think we should drink our toast to your ex Prime Minister.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.