IRN Journalist
The Prime Minister on top form in Leicester demanding a massive majority, but with politics out of the way, it was off to a factory. First a knitting factory and then on to Burton Latimer to visit the home of Weetabix. Mrs Thatcher clearly seems to enjoy trekking round these places and chatting away.
MT
Have you changed the recipe for this, because that one I tasted seem to be much crisper?
Weetabix Operative
Never, no, never, no, never alter the recipe of Weetabix, that in fact has stayed the same.
MT
Not over the years?
Weetabix Operative
No, that stays, that stays the same.
MT
Well then, does it change when it's in the box?
IRN Journalist
So now we know what Mrs Thatcher has for breakfast, but how exactly does she like it?
Weetabix Operative
Well, the most popular is obviously with milk, but I certainly like you prefer it with butter or honey.
MT
Yes, I think it's much better. Butter or honey.
IRN Journalist
So the Prime Minister likes it with butter or honey. And as usual on these trips, timings get a little bit haywire and Mrs T. has to flee. The trouble is all this rushing about is beginning to annoy the coachload of journalists following on. It's OK for the television cameras, indeed, most of the trip seems designed for them, but the writers are getting fed up, and so they've even composed a song for the road: [end p1]
Assembled Choir of Print Journalists
[singing to the tune of Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do] “Maggie, Maggie, speak to us Maggie do/We've got questions we'd like to put to you/We know that you think us a menace/ And reptiles according to Denis/But really we're sweet/ So why don't we meet?/Just give us an interview” .