For once it seemed that we were getting tough. Our patience had apparently snapped. We had been worn down by the constant news stories about foreigners whom the UK government was unable to deport — the child rapists, the fraudsters, the thieves, the gangsters, the jihadis who want us all dead, and just your plain old common-or-garden illegal residents. It always seemed that the more vile and murderous the individual and the more misery he or she intended to wreak upon the rest of us, the more likely they were to be given leave to stay here by some idiotic judge. But Myrtle Cothill was a bridge too far. When the Home Office read the case of Cothill they knew something had to be done, sharpish. So for once they acted with ruthless rapidity and decisiveness: Cothill was told, in no uncertain terms, that she must get on a plane within four days — the Home Office stipulated a Tuesday morning — and return from whence she came.