Everywhere I look today I keep hearing the Munchkin voices singing 
 
“Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch!
Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead.
Wake up – sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed.
Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She’s gone where the goblins go,
Below – below – below. Yo-ho, let’s open up and sing and ring the bells out.
Ding Dong’ the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low.
Let them know
The Wicked Witch is dead!”

It sickens and saddens me.

A wife, mother and grandmother has died today. The first and only female PM our country has ever seen. Thatcher Thatcher, the milk snatcher. The Iron Lady.

Whatever your political view point, (those of you who say you don’t have one and then moan about the bedroom tax and the change to the benefit system please kindly go boil your heads) you can not deny the fact that the Boys Club that is the House of Lords got a short sharp shock in May 1979. A woman came to do a mans job in a mans world, and succeeded.

I didn’t agree with her policies, I still don’t. I didn’t like her, I still don’t, I lived through the 80’s and the 90’s and while I am a bit too young to remember it all, I can remember the unemployment, the strikes and riots as if it were yesterday…..surprisingly, it could have been yesterday.

Today, a family has lost someone very dear to them, yet the majority of the country are celebrating her death. I celebrated when she left office, for all of five seconds until I realised the country had been handed to John Major.

Today I celebrate women’s equality in politics and free speech. Not the death of an old lady who was once someone of significance.

I hope when I die, someone will remember to have the champagne on ice, have a boogie, get out the flags and tell my family how glad they are I’m dead. I hope they don’t spare a thought for my son’s feelings, no kindness for my family because they clearly won’t deserve it. Great Britain, I am ashamed of you.