A bit of a do.
Me & My Sun
Pompous politicians, ageing celebrities and Katharine Jenkins, all dressed in their Sunday Best, turned out in their droves, to bid farewell to Margaret Thatcher.
Meanwhile, the mugs who paid for the vile, perverted, old paedophile, Witch’s funeral stayed away.
You see, typically, like everything else the mugs pay but aren’t invited to the gatherings.
But, before we see who did go to this much ado about nothing affair, lets have a look at Maggie Mad Thatcher in action by clicking HERE .
As you will see, it is a bit unclear whether or not Slaggy Maggie is trying to intimidate the woman or hypnotise her.
Be sure to watch the eye’s, its always in the eyes.
Katherine Jenkins leads raft of famous faces at Margaret Thatcher’s funeral
Elegant … Katherine Jenkins looks striking at Margaret Thatcher’s funeral. Quite why the fuck she was there is anyone’s guess. I mean, she would have been all of ten years old when the sick old bitch was turfed out of office by her own party.
KATHERINE Jenkins was one of the first to arrive for the funeral of Margaret Thatcher this morning. Always a good career move for someone who shouldn’t be there.
Wearing a tailored black coat and
chic shit netted hat, she waited patiently to enter St Paul’s for the 11am service. How very fucking kind of her not to wait impatiently.
She was joined by a host of famous faces from the worlds of showbiz and politics. Not one of whom had bothered popping round to see Slaggy Thatcher since she went doolally.
Course, it is a bit of a one-upmanship type ‘fuck-you’, wrangling an invitation to such an occasion… Mind you, they’l be fucking sorry when the real truth about slaggy Maggie finally comes out.
Her Majesty The Queen stayed warm on the grey morning in a black wool coat and hat.
Course, Keeping warm when you’re as cold as Bizzy Lizzy, aint fucking easy don’t cha know.
She wore pearls at her throat and a jewel brooch at her lapel as she and the Duke of Edinburgh made their way to the front of the cathedral.
In other words, it was obvious to all that someone had given Bizzy Lizzy a pearl necklace, as her and the Duck rushed to get the best seats.
David The Cunt Cameron arrived with Cokehead wife Sam antha Cam shortly before the service.
Mrs Cameron added a rare splash of colour to the occasion in a camel pussybow blouse. A CAMELS WHAT BOW BLOUSE!!!
She teamed the 1980s style with a black pencil skirt and overcoat. That doesn’t look like a pencil skirt to me.
Also looking chicken shit was Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg and his wife, Miriam.
Mrs Clegg chose a long-sleeved dress – to hide her anchor and Snake round a dagger tattoos – with a neat gold banded waist and a small silver brooch...
Not that anyone gave a fuck about the pair of thieves.
She too chose a low-key netted hat, worn to the side of her head... I just said no one gives a fuck about the pair of thieves.
Wheres Nonce McAlpine. Thats what I wanna know?
Sun columnist Jeremy Clarkson was up next with his daughter Emily, 18.
Where’s ya wife Jerry. The one you cheated on?
Eyes downcast, hoping no one would notice his Mrs wasn’t with him, they were joined by Baron Lloyd-Webber, who followed closely behind them humming the theme from Jesus Christ Superstar and thinking to himself; ‘I wonder where Jezebels wife is’.
Emilys a bit of alright though… Just saying.
Perhaps the most unusual sight was that of Tony Blair appearing to arrive with John Major.
Its rare that Blair goes anywhere with anyone on account of no one likes the cunt… Not even Peter Mandleson.
As wives Cherie and Norma strode ahead since neither can stand being anywhere near their husbands.
Leaders … former Prime Ministers Tony Blair and John Major are joined by wives Cherie and Norma.
And at one point Blair seemed to offer directions to the ex-Tory PM. Would that be Centre Left, Tony? HAHA, Centre Left! Geddit? What a cunt.
figure Dickhead of New Labour was seated next to fellow paedophile, ex-PM Gordon Brown, there with *aherm aherm* wife, Sarah, for the service.
Mrs Brown, fag whore in an elegant suit, kept giving people wedgies and wore a pillbox hat for the occasion.
Mrs Thatcher’s own family put on a brave face despite their sadness… HA HA HA HA HA. Neither of her kids could fucking stand her.
Muggy Mark, the arms dealer couldn’t be fucking happier in fact. He now gets to play dress up with the other 760 Nonce Ponces in the House of Lords.
Son Mark dressed in a morning suit as he accompanied wife, Sarah, to St Paul’s from his
mother’s newly acquired London home.
The glamorous blonde whore in a netted hat and pearls with a silk and satin frock coat.
Beloved Moron son … Mrs Thatcher’s son, Mark, escorts his wife, Sarah, to the ceremony… He only got lost twice.
sister thing, Carol, left the house in a smart coat with velvet lapels and a bowed velvet hat.
Back in the City, London Mayor Boris Johnson risked a wave to the
thousands of onlookers who’d come to pay their respects Jeer.
Never the less, the risk backfired as the crowd yelled in unison: FUCK OFF YOU TWAT.
He shielded his famous blond locks from the April drizzle an various projectiles thrown by the crowd, with an umbrella
Wave … Mayor Boris Johnson acknowledges the crowd and they did the same, most waving back with two fifths of their hands.
The Duchess of YPorky Pig arrived in a frock coat buttoned high up the neck, hoping that no one would ask to see her invite.
Flashing her signature
auburn Ginger hair, she wore a small black hat perched on the crown of her head. .. Quite where else she would wear a hat is anyone’s fucking guess.
Buttoned-up … The Duchess of
YPork wears frock coat
Also hard to miss was actress Joan Collins, who wore a belted jacket and trilby with Chanel accessories.
The 120 year old actress who knew Mrs Thatcher from various newspaper clippings arrived with a fella who was imagining that he had a cock in his hand… Instead of one on his arm.
Chicken legs … Joan Collins arrives in Chanel suit and trilby. What better way to hide the wrinkles.
iconman Sir Terry Wogan attended without wife, Helen.
The chat show host came in a bespoke suit with an overcoat over his arm.
Quite why Tel got an invite is anyone’s fucking guess… In fact, given the present climate, you would have thought that any long serving BBC deejay would rather been seen anywhere other than at Slaggy Maggie’s send off.
Icon … Sir Terry Wogan was a huge star during Thatcher’s reign and is now seemingly oblivious to the whispering campaign that his presence will inevitably start as he arrives at St Pauls humming the Davey Arthur song ‘Maggie’.
Falklands hero Simon Weston also came to pay his respects. The former Welsh Guard – badly burned in the 1982 conflict – had yesterday called for a “dignified” response to the funeral.
No one believes for a moment that Simon Weston was on regular speaking terms with Mad Maggie. Does he not realise that he is being used as propaganda?
Dignified but should have known better… Falklands hero Simon Weston
Leader of the Opposition
Ed Miliband Wallace chose a morning suit for the occasion. His wife, Justine Gromit, kept the wet weather at bay with a simple raincoat, teamed with black hat and gloves.
Unlike the Prime Minister, Gordon Brown and Nick Clegg, Wallace obviously arranged his own bride… Just saying.
The affair was a largely Tory affair with members of the Conservative Party both old and young coming to say farewell.
Course, the Tories are notorious for their affairs… Usually with children.
Chancellor of the Exchequer G
eorgeideon Osborne Bean looked sombre about to cry with wife, Frances.
Indeed the useless cunt blubbered like a baby throughout the service.
And former Thatcher
protegee gayboyWilliam Hague took time out from planning this year’s G8 summit WW3 to attend with wife, Ffion. Mrs Hague Ffion chose a wide-lapelled coat with 1940s-style accessories.
Former colleagues of Maggie’s all th
ronged on the steps of the cathedral, including ex-ministers John Selwyn Gummer Mr Chumley Warner and Cecil Parkinson who dropped a bollock by getting an old slapper pregnant… Which obviously didn’t go down well with his wife but he lightened the solemn occasion with a silent but violent fart and a knowing smile.