The other thread was started after this one. Get a grip, Pink.

I have quite fond memories of the 3-day week (though not of the despicable Thatcherite aftermath). In those days we were used to powercuts anyway, so only idiots didn't keep emergency candles. One week I couldn't buy sugar; a few times I couldn't get exactly the right brand of catfood. That was all; it was trivial. We couldn't afford a television in the shared house I lived in back then anyway, so we had to make our own entertainment (cliché). We had music, drugs, conversation and sex to amuse us. It worked well enough.

Poor old Ted wasn't the bastard we thought him at the time, and the latter part of his life was full of bitterness and disappointment; though it's always difficult to feel any real sympathy for sad rich folk. I wish him peace in death. Margaret Thatcher is another matter, of course. To her, I wish the full sum of the pain she deliberately inflicted upon others; and no peace, even in death, until the world's end.