I Should Like To Have Been Killed

As I Look Ahead, I Am Filled With Foreboding. Like The Roman, I Seem To See "the River Tiber Foaming With Much Blood.

I Do Here In The Most Solemn And Bitter Manner Curse The Prime Minister Of England [sic] For Having Cumulated All His Other Betrayals Of The National Interest And Honour, By His Last Terrible Exhibition Of Dishonour, Weakness And Gullibility. The Depths Of Infamy Which Our Accurst "love Of Peace" Can Lower Us Are Unfathomable.

I Do Not Keep A Diary. Never Have. To Write A Diary Every Day Is Like Returning To One's Own Vomit.

The Prime Minister, Shortly After She Came Into Office, Received A Sobriquet As The 'iron Lady'. It Arose In The Context Of Remarks Which She Made About Defence Against The Soviet Union And Its Allies; But There Was No Reason To Suppose That The Right Honourable Lady Did Not Welcome And, Indeed, Take Pride In That Description. In The Next Week Or Two This House, The Nation And The Right Honourable Lady Herself, Will Learn Of What Metal She Is Made.

It Is Like Watching A Nation Busily Engaged In Heaping Up Its Own Funeral Pyre. So Insane Are We That We Actually Permit Unmarried Persons To Immigrate For The Purpose Of Founding A Family With Spouses And Fiancées Whom They Have Never Seen.