Ewan did not of course live to witness the political demise of Margaret Thatcher. When I used to sing this song occasionally a few years ago, I took the liberty of concluding with a verse of my own:

Her days in power were numbered as the election it grew near,
It broke her heart to hear those words "You'll have to go my dear"
I'm sure she wakes in a sweat at night and thinks she's on the rack,
Dreaming of those bosom pals who stabbed her in the back.

For me, to see her go would have been enough, but the manner of her parting really was icing on the cake.

I hope he would have approved.

Rog