Mrs Thatcher died yesterday but I’m not going to celebrate her demise. When she resigned in 1990, I ran home to my flat and played ‘Stand Down Margaret’ by The Beat and drank to her downfall.

I’m not going to gloat over her death. Not out of respect because I have no respect for her. I have little respect for many politicians. And this week, from those toads in power or vying for it to those who were part of her cabinet, they’ve all oozed out of the drains to offer their condolences and words of tribute.

Most of them have said little of originality other than ‘like her or loath her, she did a great deal of good’ which is simply not true – look around now at her legacy.

I heard one former toad state that ‘in order to make an omelette, you have to break a few eggs’. Trouble was, Mrs Thatcher broke all the eggs, and the crockery, and the utensils then replaced them all with cheaper alternatives that, even with a bright, gold plated exterior, were inferior and didn’t last anywhere near as long as we should’ve expected.

So how we can celebrate such failure with public out-pouring, ceremony and suggestions of statues is beyond me. Still, do what you like as long as you don’t expect me to pay towards it.