The Big Bang…. By Martyn Taylor

thatcher vs taylor

1981. The year of the big bang. Mr and Mrs had enjoyed an unplanned, yet particularly fruitful night out around March ’81. Little did they know that their impromptu evening in The Sheffield Steel Workers Union Bar, would have such an impact on the political and social landscape of a yet unknown 1980’s.

A bleak winter in 1981, a child was born. A child just like any other. 10 fingers, 10 toes and 1 brain. Oh but what a brain, what was in that little infants head that could cause Margaret Thatcher such problems? Mrs Thatcher’s spiritual guide and long time advisor had the paranormal knowledge to warn of the birth of a new voice. A voice that could, if left to its own devices, could cause political unrest in the future.
Lets have a look at the families history now. Mr Taylor was working as a successful steel worker during a particular prosperous time during the 80’s. The work was backbreaking, but he knew that it would be worth it in the long run if it meant that his son wouldn’t have to follow in his footsteps.

Maggie Thatcher knew that the child would, as foretold by her medium ‘Madame Foresight’ would become the future charismatic leader or the Labour party. She knew she had to act, and act fast!

Her first act, remove the father, but how could she do this? luckily, Mr Taylor was a member of the Territorial Army. The timing couldn’t be better. The Falklands conflict was brewing at the start of the 1982. Maggie organised the full war to get the one biggest influence out of an as yet juvenile Master Taylor’s life.
As it turns out Mr Taylor’s skills as a Royal Marine rope knotter were never required on the islands. No sooner had he been deployed, he was back at home with his fledgling family, and back in the Sheffield steel mills.

Her plan had failed! Knowing that the future opposition leader was in the clear, she needed a new plan. The evil bitches attention turned to his mother. Mrs Taylor was working down the coal mines in Nottingham, she was one of the only women at the time working in the collieries, a role model to others. If Thatcher could get his mother out of work, it could break his spirit and he may not further him self as Labour’s new protégé.

Maggies plan to cause unionistic unrest down the pits backfired. Mrs Taylor’s and her colleagues resolve was strong in the summer of ’84. The battles with the authorities during the long hot summer months were bloody, but the collieries stood strong. After all the battles, she decided to quit her job anyways. Mrs Taylor got a job working on the lingerie counter in C & A’s until it closed in 2001.

So far the Prime Ministers attempts to tamper with the future ‘Right Honourable M.P Martyn Taylor’ had been a failure. A visit by Thatcher to her trusted psychic resulted in ‘Madame foresight’ predicting a new future for the Sheffield steel industry, privatisation. In 1988 her privatisation plan was put into place for the steel works of Sheffield. This caused Mr Taylor to be made redundant.

Her secondary plan had prevailed. surely now with his father figure a dole bum, Martyn would never make anything of his life. Unfortunately for ‘The Iron lady,’ Mr Taylor was a shrewd business man. He took his pay off from the steel works and moved to Hull with his family. The redundancy money was invested Wiltshire Caravans. Wiltshire Caravans became a roaring success.
Bad luck Thatcher!!!

Martyn Taylor left Kelvin Hall School as ‘head boy’, went on to Wyke
College, where he attained his A levels. He was accepted at Hull University, where he studied politics and philosophy.
Unfortunately, during the summer of 2001, Martyn discovered Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. He now goes by the name of Lee Langman!

AUTHORS DISCLAIMER!!!!!!! I may have made a slight portion of this story up a wee bit. I’ll leave it up to you to decide which parts…

 

MartynMartyn Taylor is a 31 year-old father of three and lives in Hull. His pastimes include watching 80s action films over and over again and and debating the all-time Premiership XI with Mr Miles. His knowledge of American sitcoms of the 90s stands second to none. He once walked into a men’s public lavatory absent-mindedly singing the theme tune from Two And A Half Men. You can find him on http://www.twitter.com/shirleysblower but he never tweets, so just follow him on here.

Andi Ware: On Refusing to ‘Tweet’

It was with great regret and a heavy heart that I learned of the death of Baroness Thatcher this week.  This was because I learned about this momentous occasion via the medium of Facebook. Yes, I first heard about the death of the last great truly despised figure of the Western word because someone I met during an evening class ten years ago made an ‘amusing’ comment on Facebook. Busy writing Lesson Plans and Schemes of Work I decided to take a break from my computer screen and skip over to the office kitchen to make a coffee. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil I slipped my phone out of my pocket and browsed Facebook to find that a virtual friend had decided to share his wit with the rest of the world and in doing so ruin a sense of occasion that I was entitled to. The death of Margaret Thatcher is something that one should learn about on Radio 4 or in the pages of the Guardian. It is an occasion that deserves the commentary of a true professional skilled in the art of news delivery. Needless to say the individual who ruined my occasion is now dead to me. I immediately de-friended him and he now floats around in the deep, rich black void that is not being able to count me as one of his Facebook friends.

To prevent tragedies like this from ever happening again I urge all readers to think before you post. Due to the immediacy of the internet when you make a comment about something as huge as the death of Margaret Thatcher on Facebook or Twitter you could be relaying the news to someone for the very first time. That individual will never get that moment back. For example in twenty five years whenever I am asked where I was when I heard that Margaret Thatcher had died I will have to grimace and say that I was reading some comments on Facebook whilst waiting for a kettle to boil. Other people may have been on the toilet. If you are moved to comment on something like the death of Maggie then at least have the integrity to write it as thoroughly and eloquently as my fellow poster Paul Featherstone. I only wish that it was by reading a piece of writing such as this that I had learned of the death of Thatcher.

The trouble is that through Twitter and Facebook the idiot is almost validated. When their flippant and juvenile comments appear in printed text on our screens they become that much more concrete. This is augmented by the fact that we live in a culture that takes its Facebook and Twitter very seriously and with the invention of the Blackberry and tablet age Facebook and Twitter are very much part of us. Our hand sets are an extension of ourselves constantly in the palms of our hands. There are people for whom the world is the grey coloured border around the screen of their smart phones. There was once a simple and glorious time when there was a clear definition between our virtual activity and our cyber activity. However, due to our excessive use of the internet, especially Facebook and Twitter, the lines have been blurred.

Twitter is especially vulgar as it has created a world in which people comment on issues as varied as the crisis in Syria to the happenings on Geordie Shore all with a limit of 140 characters. To Tweet about an issue is to be value it and I would go as far as to say that Twitter is nothing more than a self-indulgent arena for the moron. That is, of course, not to say that all who Tweet are morons.

I am currently enjoying the new David Bowie album ‘The Next Day’. It is a truly unique record simply because its creator was not Tweeting about every bar of tambourine that was recorded. It was released without any prior announcement and this makes the music sound that little bit sweeter. Yes, Twitter has taken the mystery and magic out of popular culture (especially music). As an eighteen year old I can remember being obsessed with Radiohead. I would scour the pages of ‘Q’ magazine for any hints as to whether or not the band were in the studio, writing new material or planning further live dates. I stalked the band (not in the literal sense) like a hunter and it was absolutely exhilarating whenever a new album was released, a tour was announced or even when the tiniest nugget of information was discovered. But as I write this I know that I could log on to Twitter now and find out what Thom Yorke has eaten for breakfast. Twitter has taken the fun out of music for me through sheer over exposure.

So I shall not be Tweeting whenever I post something new on here. For those of you who are interested you will just have to exert the energy and find my posts on the site organically.

Xavier DwyerAndi Ware is 32 years-old and has a small dog called Oliver. He is a paid-up member of the Labour Party and used to play bass in semi-legendary Hull band Sal Paradise. In his spare time he makes his own wine and watches rugby league. He once claimed his favourite album was Electric Warrior by T.Rex, which was a complete lie. He holds a degree in Philosophy, but you’d already guessed that. You can find him at http://www.twitter.com/XavierDwyer1