It was only a few weeks ago that everyone was preparing for your funeral, with Republicans swirling above your bloodless body like a pack of vultures.

Donald Trump was going to sing “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina”, Sean Hannity had already handwritten his own coroner report to finally prove that you were pumped full of drugs before that presidential debate, and Stephen Bannon had bought the television network rights of the ceremony for Trump TV.

But, like a good sport, you were in on the joke, and made great fun of it at the Alfred E Smith dinner.

“Speaking of health, Donald has been very concerned about mine,” you said. “Very concerned. He actually sent a car to bring me here tonight – actually it was a hearse.”

See, even if you’re a wizened old witch, you still have a raucous sense of humour.

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But, you nasty woman, you like to prove us all wrong. Despite a solid year of frets and concerns over your health, you have clearly colluded with the FBI and the Justice Department to outlive us all and steal our grandchildren in the process. You only have two grandkids so far, and we know you’re greedy, greedy, greedy.

If you hadn’t died before the age of 69, don’t worry, there was a plan B. Rudy Giuliani was waiting in the wings with handcuffs, ready to lead you down to the ole’ gaol. He really didn’t like your jokes about him at that dinner.

Well, your heart may still be beating – 70 beats a minute, was it? ha! – and your blood pressure may still be boiling like a cauldron brew – 100/70, I believe – but you don’t fool anyone. We’ve all seen that video where you appear to buckle at the knees at the 9/11 memorial service before your security staff throw you into the car “like a side of beef”, and that means we can treat you as if you have passed your expiry date.

I’m surprised Donald Trump will even look at you, given you are now almost exactly double the age he deems a woman to become irrelevant. The way he loomed behind you at that debate, though – he was either still interested in a relatively older women and was leaning on every word that came out your mouth, or he wanted to finish you off before that whooping cough did.

Trump and Clinton trade barbs at 'good-natured' gala

However long you linger on, with your frail, paper-thin hands clawing towards the Oval Office, just remember the Trump supporters are coming. They speared a model of your head on a stake and have marched it through the streets. There was even a small child on her father’s shoulders, wearing your face as a mask and dressed in a striped jumpsuit.

No one cares about your historic achievement. As a “woman”. Put your tax returns away. Stop trying to show off and play by the book. We all know you wrote emails. Hundreds of ‘em. And we know your allies corresponded about buying basil and crème fraîche. What kind of weird spaghetti were they trying to make?

It's only two weeks until the election. There is no hope! Start digging that six-foot grave in Chappaqqua – it will test your stamina – or at least you could give up now and prepare for the quiet life, darning Bill’s socks and giving him a bit of trouble in the evenings.