People seem inordinately surprised that Ann Widdecombe is enjoying herself so much these days. That she delights in anything as shallow as dancing, panto, hair dye or celebrity seems to go against everything we know about her — the formidable, strict, presbyterian, no-nonsense, buttoned-up parliamentary taskmaster. The lonely spinster and workaholic who eschewed frivolity for public office, who sacrificed children and marriage for her beliefs, put her mouth where her conscience was, and other cliches that are always presumed where Ann Widdecombe is concerned.

What doesn’t seem to occur to them is that after a lifetime of servitude, she deserves a bit of fun, and that it’s a case of better late than never. A childhood spent in Singapore, a succession of convent and strict girls’ boarding schools, an all-girls college at Birmingham University and then three years at Oxford, becoming an MP, working her way up the political ladder to the Cabinet and 23 years in government, absorbed every second.

That a new media star has been born has taken up the kind of column inches most politicians would die for, and despite the mainstream and enormously populist content of her new projects, Ms Widdecombe has managed to maintain her dignity, while attracting a whole new legion of fans.

So why do we mind so much? Isn’t it about time she had a good time and let her hair down? “I thought so,” she agrees. “I thought it was about time I stopped being so serious and had some fun.”

Fittingly, the 65-year-old is staying at The Carlton Club when we speak, her regular London bolthole, where in 2008 she became its first female member. “They resisted women for years until they got legal advice,” she laughs wryly, “but my attitude was always libertarian; if men want to get together and pay for their own membership in a private club they should be able to make their own rules, although I was absolutely delighted when they changed their minds,” she said.

Being up-front about preferring the company of men to women — “they are more relaxing, sharper, wittier and more interesting,” she writes in her book — it comes as no surprise that Ann thought nothing of making it in a man’s world. So is she a feminist? “Yes, but a ’70s feminist,” she says. “[In those days] we wanted to show men we were as good as they were rather than today’s version which I hate, all this positive discrimination business which I call whingeing.” The answer gives you a glimpse of Ann Widdecombe on her political soapbox.

It may not surprise you, then, to hear that the last time she came to Oxford for a book signing she was mobbed and had custard pies thrown at her. “Oh yes,” she says, entirely unperturbed. “I was shadow home secretary at the time and we had a particularly controversial asylum policy on the agenda at the time so when I arrived there was a large demonstration waiting for me.

“What was funny though was that all the books which had custard pie stains on them sold out instantly.” So was it her first custard pie attack? “Yes, but I’ve had eggs thrown at me in church before.”

Considering Ann is still anti-abortion, anti-women’s ordination, pro-defence (especially during the Greenham Common demonstrations), pro-capital punishment, anti-hunting and anti-socialist, there’s a long list of possible culprits. “I don’t have enemies, just adversaries,” she says dismissively, “and I don’t bear a grudge.”

Here instead to talk about her new autobiography Strictly Ann, a no-holds-barred account of her life, she’s on great form. Enjoying her retirement in no uncertain terms she was a surprise hit in BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing, went on a country-wide arena tour with the Strictly cast, did panto with Craig Revel Horwood and performed at the Royal Opera House, before settling down to write her book.

She doesn’t miss her MP days, even though her whole life was dedicated to it, but writing her memoirs brought back her favourite memories, Oxford featuring largely: “I’d have had a totally different life had I not been to Oxford,” she admits. Not that Ann was anything other than determined when she arrived, dripping with political ambition.

Having earned her degree at Birmingham University, she said the difference at Oxford was that you didn’t say you wanted to be a journalist but the editor of The Times: “It was undisguised ambition and as I knew clear as day I wanted to be an MP and future Home Secretary, it was very exciting to be there, because I was mixing with a supremely confident and ambitious group who really cut a swathe.”

Heading straight for the Oxford Union, Ann, a lithe 6st 12lb back then, instantly carved out a name for herself, particularly in the debating chamber, swiftly becoming Secretary.

Happy days then? “Oh yes, on writing the book Oxford stood out as a really unusual and very vivid experience because we had a sense that tomorrow was ours. We believed it would deliver.”

And it did. “Yes it did for the majority of us, although politics is a real labour of love,” she insists. Reading how hard Ann slogged away to get on the political list of potential future Conservative MPs, then to win a seat, first in Burnley, then Plymouth and finally successfully in Maidstone, makes you realise how hard she worked just to get on the first rung. “It’s all different now.

“There’s the A-list and fast-track system, but that’s what you had to do then. It was a hard slog and you had to sacrifice time and money. God help me if I’d had a family, but now it’s like becoming a bishop before you’ve even been a family priest.”

Oxford also offers us her only love affair of note, a fellow student called Colin Maltby with whom she had a three-year relationship. So did she mind fuelling the fire with these disclosures? “No, I knew I had to be honest and include Colin – I can’t pretend he didn’t exist. It was just a question of how much he’d feature and when I finished that chapter I sent it to him for accuracy’s sake.” You’re still friends then? “Oh yes,” she says. I suggest his inclusion is more reassuring than anything else, that amongst all the political wrangling she had time for a love life. “I think it would be hard not to fall in love in Oxford with all the punting down the river, dreaming spires and glittering balls,” she says.

And before I can even ask, she adds: “But as I have said to everybody, it’s not that I ever decided not to have a family, it just didn’t happen. The truth is I was never against it but assumed someone would come along, like Colin had. “But it never got to the point where I had to decide between a family and career or whether my biological clock was ticking. I don’t remember that.

“But I do remember the crystal-clear moment when I realised I liked living alone. My sister-in-law asked if I didn’t miss someone being there when I got home and I thought ‘that’s when I don’t want anybody there at all,’ and the strength of my response caused me to pause,” she remembers, a subject she must be terribly bored of by now.

So does she find our preoccupation with why she is still a “grumpy old spinster” as she calls herself, irritating? “No dear, I stopped being irritated a long time ago, then weary and now it’s just a case of ‘here we go again’. “I will never understand what’s wrong with being single though,” she sighs. “It’s not as if I’m the first single woman who existed. Think of Florence Nightingale or Mother Teresa. Thank God for single people!” she adds more animatedly. After all the hard graft, parliament was presumably everything she’d hoped for? “Yes, those were heady times, the Thatcher years. We were confident so it was an exciting place to be, all-night sittings and camaraderie, expectations and socialising. It lived up to my expectations — and more — and was the fulfilment of my ambitions. I was where I belonged.”

Emotive stuff, and yet surely, once the backstabbing and in-house fighting of the Conservative shadow cabinet had begun, the lure of politics lost its lustre? “I did feel myself winding down,” she admits, “and that’s when I went. I remember Peter Lilley saying he’d be going out feet first but I didn’t want to do that.”

No regrets then? “None, because I stopped being an MP right there and then.” Even after 23 years? “Yes, because when you are no longer running the government you are a very different animal. You are in government one day and then not the next. It was that quick so I left in 2010 and became an ex-MP.”

Ann then did a total about-turn, turning down the ambassadorship to the Vatican, and heading instead for the bright lights of showbusiness, surprising everyone, including herself, by joining Strictly.

“I thought I’d last three weeks but got through to the quarter finals, and sometimes I still scratch my head about how I lasted,” she laughs. Perhaps we all enjoyed seeing her having fun, I suggest. “Yes, I think there was an element of that, though lots of people were laughing at me, but I didn’t care because I was enjoying myself and people were getting pleasure out of that.”

So what was the appeal? “It was fantastic to have no responsibility, no-one was going to die based on my decisions. I couldn’t mess up anyone’s lives except Anton’s,” she laughs, “because I did kick his shins on a regular basis, but apart from that it was just fun and frivolity. Which is great because at my age not many people get a sustained period of fun and frivolity again and I did.”

However, even with Strictly, Ann did it her way — “no short skirts or dresses, suggestive moves or innuendo. I didn’t try to conform, neither would I have a spray tan or wear a hairpiece,” she says.

Wembley followed: “Of course people didn’t just come to see me; but I brought an extra dimension to it, the comedy angle, although I never fooled myself about that,” she adds.

And now? “I want to go home to Dartmoor and put my feet up,” Ann chuckles. “I’m good at that, I know how to switch off. But even though I’m not planning a career in showbiz, you don’t know what little projects might get passed your way and that’s exciting.”

And as The Right Honourable Ann Widdecombe prepares to depart, I quote a line from her autobiography about when she left Oxford, ‘did we really think the world would be so easy? I laugh at the self confidence on our faces.’ and ask if that sums it up. “Absolutely,” she says, “but I’m the least introspective person I know, so when I think of Oxford all I do is smile.”

Anne Widdecombe is Signing copies of her book Strictly Ann at Jaffé & Neale, Chipping Norton, on Wednesday, June 26, at 6.30 pm.
Call 01608 641033 or visit chippingnortonbooks.co.uk