Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

I Can Never Forgive Ann Widdicombe



The day they tore the flats down,

a woman dressed in a navy blue

uniform with red silk sash –

buttons and medals winking

with delight in the low March

sun – turned up on site

with a bugle to sound

‘The Last Post’.


Former residents,

well-wishers, the curious

and those glad that their

nemesis had finally

been defeated,

gathered behind red

striped safety barriers

to witness its end.


Two hundred miles away

I watched the scene

on BBC local news

through the SkyBox.


All I could think of, while

comfort eating Turkish Delight,

was Pink Floyd’s chanting

in “The Trial”.



Ann Widdicombe played

to the camera – with that

gleeful chortle and twinkle

hiding the demon within –

she pushed the button

to start the demolition.

Wielding the wrecking

ball that took down

the bridge between blocks.

Her perfect photo-op.


A Tory Housing Minister’s dream;

to laugh while destroying

working class homes

. . . while Roger Waters intones

the coda from The Wall.




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