Her

I'm not going to say anything, because everyone else is; apart from the fact that the repercussions of what she did and the way she made people think are still being felt today. Awful.
Last night Martin recorded a version of The Bachelor Boys for me on his computer; we sat in my front room and set everything up amongst the books and coffee cups. It's not bad at all, though not finished. It felt like an oasis of calm; our street has risen up in protest at a huge housing development that is being mooted, plonked on to our neighbourhood with fanfares of press and radio before it's even got planning permission. We are going to a council meeting in a minibus to show them that we exist, the call of 'We're here!' echoing the Dr Seuss animation of Horton the Elephant rescuing a tiny planet whose population climbs to the tallest building and chants those words through a mega-megaphone until Horton hears them and rescues them.
Except in this case, the rescuers have to be ourselves.