The friends of Mr Thatcher

An evening with the friends of Mr Thatcher from Sandford signalled the end of the lockdown where I live. An outdoor significant birthday party for a village legend, attended by something like five times as many people who will be allowed to meet from next Monday. The cider flowed, the sounds of the Clash, the Jam and the Beat could be heard. Most of us continued to observe social distancing as rigorously as we have always done but there was one theme that dominated proceedings: if Boris’s mate can interpret the government’s rules to suit his own circumstances, then so can we.

The party-goers all joined in with the final Clap for Carers at 8.00 pm but tellingly no one else did in our village. And, if I am being honest, it turned out to be more of a round of applause for the birthday boy. Clap for Carers was already running out of steam. The organ grinder Dominic Cummings and his pet monkey Boris Johnson killed that one off for good.

Listening to the radio this morning, the surreal state of the country got even more surreal. In Wales, people will be able to visit people who live no further than five miles away. “‘Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello,” says Inspector Knacker as he pulls you over in your car. “By my reckoning, you’ve driven 5.1 miles. You’re nicked!” Play the Dominic Cummings gambit and I suspect you will get short shrift. “He’s not the prime minister, sah. He’s more important than that. Get your credit card out.”

After the party had been going on for about three hours – and it was not a loud and raucous effort – the police turned up. They had a brief chat with a few people, then drove off again. The police know better than anyone that lockdown is over and will rightly feel they have been hung out to dry.

Do I have any regrets? Not really. Just the second wave of the hangover that’s beginning to wash over me. I was invited to an old friend’s birthday party, I saw people I haven’t seen for three months, it felt like a dark cloud had been removed from over my head. It won’t last, but my God after three months it was the nearest thing to heaven I know.

We do need to take personal responsibility for our own actions. I get that. Boris Johnson and Dominic Cummings didn’t arrange a street birthday party last night. But by their actions, they gave it a degree of legitimacy.

The police will be very busy this weekend as spring turns into summer. For better or for worse, the genie is out of the bottle and it won’t be possible to put him back in it again. Having one rule for the illiberal elite and one for everyone else has had consequences. I am still going to keep my distance from everyone but I’ll follow my instincts in future, like Mr Cummings did. And I’ll expect Johnson to defend me if anyone has a pop.