OK, so an attractive woman was tragically killed in a road accident.
The astonishing outpouring of public grief, even at the time, I found rather disturbing. It seemed to be more about society's guilt at our conflicted feelings about this dramatic, disturbed and damaged woman, than any real feeling for someone that most of us had never met.
The fact that every anniversary has been marked with tabloid gush, to me just shows the breathtaking hypocrisy of the dead tree press as they continue to defy their falling readership numbers.
This latest wheeze, after the Diana memorial fountain, playground, walk, charity, stain glass window and for all I know no few tattoos, is the Concert, where the fight to get on the guest list has descended into black farce. How Paul Burrell can think that the Royal family hold him in higher esteem than pond life scum is beyond me.
So another year of mawkish mourning for dead Diana..
Its creepy.
2 comments:
She was a saint, you heartless monster!
No she wasn't, just a flawed human being. Well said, Cicero.
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