“Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.
Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was perfect and without spot. She smiled where ever she went, and where ever she went she was loved and adored. Because she was so very nice she became a living legend and became the very soul of her people.
One terrible night when wild drink was raging the unthinkable happened and the beautiful princess was dead.
But the people who were made childish by their adoration of their fairy tale princess could not believe that a simple accident could deprive them of the light of her presence and so they built up another fairy story which made it possible for them to accept their loss.
They believed that only an evil ogre could have killed their perfect princess; an evil ogre with a vile horde of black hearted villains who helped him plan the terrible act.
The king sought the advice of wise men that had spent many years searching for the truth, but when the wise men explained what they had discovered, the people would not accept their truth and turned to foreign poltroons who spoke fantasy and turned the heads of the people.”
Once again the fate of royals has presented the British people in a contemptible light. The Princess of Wales’ death has brought out all the moronic conspiracy theorists and they are given validity by the credulous British public who seem unable to accept that their fairy tale was ended by the everyday realities of death by drunken driving.
Like James Dean, Dianna is doomed to be for ever youthful and to live on in that iconic vacuum which she so assiduously created during her publicity fuelled lifetime. It is surely a sign of our continuing infantilism that we seem unable to accept the death of a person whose reality for most was as paper thin as her carefully groomed image in photographs.
It is ironic that the tickets for the anniversary concert planned by Diana’s children has sold out and tickets are now available on eBay to howls of moral outrage that anyone could think of merely making money from the sainted memory of that woman. A woman, one is tempted to add, whose life was defined by conspicuous expenditure and living a lifestyle which predicated easy access to money, and vast quantities of it.
Perhaps the life of Dianna has gone beyond any reasonable or rational explanation. It can only be understood in terms of myth. Give it another couple of millennia and god knows what status the Patron Saint of Self Publicity will have achieved.
Especially when the ravings of Dodie el Fayed’s father fuel the purient interest in squalid yet futile speculation through acres of newsprint and sound bite after sound bite.
I suppose that I am even more bitter at the publicity that the report on Diana’s death has had at a time when the deaths of sex workers in the east should be concerning us and the safety of other women there should be of overriding importance.
Tomorrow will be better and less angst. I trust!
Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was perfect and without spot. She smiled where ever she went, and where ever she went she was loved and adored. Because she was so very nice she became a living legend and became the very soul of her people.
One terrible night when wild drink was raging the unthinkable happened and the beautiful princess was dead.
But the people who were made childish by their adoration of their fairy tale princess could not believe that a simple accident could deprive them of the light of her presence and so they built up another fairy story which made it possible for them to accept their loss.
They believed that only an evil ogre could have killed their perfect princess; an evil ogre with a vile horde of black hearted villains who helped him plan the terrible act.
The king sought the advice of wise men that had spent many years searching for the truth, but when the wise men explained what they had discovered, the people would not accept their truth and turned to foreign poltroons who spoke fantasy and turned the heads of the people.”
Once again the fate of royals has presented the British people in a contemptible light. The Princess of Wales’ death has brought out all the moronic conspiracy theorists and they are given validity by the credulous British public who seem unable to accept that their fairy tale was ended by the everyday realities of death by drunken driving.
Like James Dean, Dianna is doomed to be for ever youthful and to live on in that iconic vacuum which she so assiduously created during her publicity fuelled lifetime. It is surely a sign of our continuing infantilism that we seem unable to accept the death of a person whose reality for most was as paper thin as her carefully groomed image in photographs.
It is ironic that the tickets for the anniversary concert planned by Diana’s children has sold out and tickets are now available on eBay to howls of moral outrage that anyone could think of merely making money from the sainted memory of that woman. A woman, one is tempted to add, whose life was defined by conspicuous expenditure and living a lifestyle which predicated easy access to money, and vast quantities of it.
Perhaps the life of Dianna has gone beyond any reasonable or rational explanation. It can only be understood in terms of myth. Give it another couple of millennia and god knows what status the Patron Saint of Self Publicity will have achieved.
Especially when the ravings of Dodie el Fayed’s father fuel the purient interest in squalid yet futile speculation through acres of newsprint and sound bite after sound bite.
I suppose that I am even more bitter at the publicity that the report on Diana’s death has had at a time when the deaths of sex workers in the east should be concerning us and the safety of other women there should be of overriding importance.
Tomorrow will be better and less angst. I trust!
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