Ding Dong the Witch is Dead!

   In the National Portrait Gallery bookshop I was suddenly assailed by the smug, fake-pious face of Margaret Thatcher sneering out at me from the cover of the 'authorised' biography. Something primal took over and without thinking twice I took a black marker pen from my shirt pocket, and making as though I was reaching for an adjacent book, I managed to add a lot of bold scribbles to the book jacket, completely obliterating the horrible face she had for so long presented to the world. The enormous satisfaction that this afforded me is hard to accurately describe.
     A little later, upstairs in one of the galleries, I briefly toyed with the idea of administering the same corrections to Rodrigo Moynihan's awful, syrupy portrait of the old bag, but a guard was posted nearby. Perhaps other people had come close to the same actions lately.

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