|Humorous Views on London Culture, Royals, Gossip and Politics
RIP? Not a Chance - 1 September 2007
You’d think Diana herself was mischievously orchestrating what turned out to be quite a memorial
mess, wouldn’t you?
Her darling sons looked ever so natural and at ease meeting and greeting, smiling and kissing.
Prince Andrew seems to have slid off the face of the earth and only reappears when a royal golf
ball has gone missing. “I believe that’s my ball.” “Your ball! Oh, I do beg your pardon your royal
highness…HRH…um…your royal prince.” “Indeed.” Sophie and Edward appeared to have
slithered in under the radar, heads bowed…before eggs were figuratively thrown… Sophie only
recognisable by that hat which has been crazy glued to the top of her head. And Anne – Anne
who? Princess Anne has renounced her imperious expletive bellowing at the press… surprise,
surprise… for the moment. Prince Philip must have been spitting nails when off camera at the
realisation that he had to not only cut his Balmoral holiday short, but to attend a memorial service
for someone he deemed useless and worthless in his perpetually present dim-wittedness. But it
was poor, poor Charles who seemed most out of his element, with no amount of cufflink-twirling
assuaging his anxieties.
Quite the forlorn, friendless, feckless figure… shoulders rigidly held back, head stretching
forward in turtle mode... even with his 450 special friends and family… he was in charge of the
guest list (you might ask why)… the prince could find no solace in what was touted as the end of
the long nightmare that was Diana. RIP? No chance. Perhaps he himself sensed that there is no
end, no finality, no conclusion, no resolution. The affection for Diana will just go on and on and on
and on in London, in Britain, around the world. Dear me. What’s an adulterous, developmentally
arrested prince to do?
Possibly after his big rows with the ever-queenly Camilla, he lost heart. “Oh bloody hell, Charles.
Just try to imagine how I will be received by the press if I attend, for God’s sake… my newly
spun popularity will all be lost. I’ll be humiliated!” “Oh I can’t…I can’t… I can’t do it.” “Well
try…try harder.” “I’m just so useless…pathetic… please don’t abandon me in my hour of
need…please.” “I’m off to Greece in complete excessive luxury, as suits my station. You sort it!
Now, where is my favourite tiara?” You’d have thought that PC would have been over the moon
at being able to dominate the public stage himself…”C’est moi! C’est moi! C’est moi le roi –
nearly,”… even sans ‘the little woman’ literally trailing behind. Apparently not.
As if there were retribution, karmic debt, justice in the world - a different ‘third person’ in their
marriage now is making it a bit crowded. Could that be Diana giggling?
In all, the service was quite joyless and certainly failed to reflect the life and aliveness of Diana.
Perhaps if PC had filled the 250 seats left empty with those lowly commoners from her many
charities… or even the ticket taker from Whiteley’s cinema, Ronald McDonald, the owner of the
Diana café near Kensington Palace – all places she took her children to acclimate them to reality
– which all seems lost at this point.
Wait. I hear it. It is Diana laughing. Well thank god someone is.