So, 'Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead' for Number One, as one Facebook wall is calling for?
Or, to stick to a musical theme, is it a case, as George Galloway would have us believe, of 'Tramp The Dirt Down'?
Interestingly, none of those who used song titles to express their views on Thatcher's demise seemed to invoke perhaps the most obvious contender – Morrissey's 'Margaret On The Guillotine' which featured the immortal refrain of 'When Will You Die' (Viva Hate, 1988).
As someone who grew up in the era of Thatcher, I never bought into the sulphurous bile and hatred she provoked.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I was an ardent admirer, and there are too many '. . . buts' in her time in power to give her unqualified support.
But it just seemed that so many people back then simply seemed to be getting their impressions of the woman from Spitting Image sketches.
Still that never stopped the deafening chorus from telling us that anyone who didn't want to dance on her grave was somehow a traitor.
The thing is, I, like many people from that generation, loathed the Provos with a greater purity than we did the Iron Lady and my money was always on her in that squalid conflict. Likewise she put paid to Arthur Scargill.
But it looks like history is already proving to be kinder her in death than it ever was in life.
Even yesterday's Liveline seemed to display a strange nuance to her legacy – the hardliners on either side were cancelled out by a general feeling that maybe it's time to bury that old hatred of the woman.
Every story needs a villain, and she took to that role with aplomb.
But here's a little game you can play – the next time somebody starts gurgling on about not having enough female politicians, just mention Maggie's name to them and watch the backtrack furiously.
Paris Brown – now that's a learning curve
On the face of it, 17-year-old Paris Brown is like most other teenagers.
But Brown is also 'Youth Police Tsar', one of those daft British roles that aim to show authorities is well wicked and down wiv da yoof and shit, innit?
The media has circled the kid since it emerged she is responsible for a raft of racist and homophobic Tweets, but it looks like she has what it takes for a long career in public life. Because while she gave a tearful apology for her remarks, she still insists that she won't be resigning from her 15-grand-a-year (plus driver) job.
Yeah, she sounds like a quick learner . . .
Looking for a free read? (I said 'read')
I'm only doing this because the author is a vile moral degenerate, but even if his heinous threats of blackmail weren't at work, I'd still urge people to get out and buy Aidan Coughlan's The Broadsheet Book Of Unspecified Things That Look Like Ireland.
Actually, it's proof that sometimes bad people can produce good books.
The first five people to email their name and address get a copy.
Well, a bet's a bet. I suppose.
Drunken bets are always a bad idea. And I noticed a classic example of this with one local Australian man who was dared into a bet by a friend of his – to ride a log the length of his swollen local river. And did I mention that the river is full of crocodiles?
So, along with the angry reptiles he set off on his potentially perilous journey and admitted: "When I woke up the next day I thought it was a bit silly, looking back on it. But a bet is a bet."
If the bet is getting stark bollock naked before venturing into croc-infested waters, I shudder to think what the forfeit would have been like . . .
To protect and sever
Well, I bet you feel happy now, don't you?
This comes following the news that ushers in the Dáil are now being trained in martial arts to protect politicians from irate citizens.
Funny that – I would have thought that we were the ones who needed protection from the spivs, frauds, chancers, careerists and functionally retarded gombeen men that pass for a political class in this country, and not the other way around.