I remember when Diana died. I was tying my shoe laces prior to going to work and flicked the TV on and switched to teletext to get the news. "Diana dies in crash etc etc". "Oh fine" I thought, "I wish she'd told us beforehand that she was going to croak" - then I could have booked a holiday. In the event I stopped at the newsagent on the way to work and cancelled The Telegraph for three weeks. As it turns out, I should have cancelled for six weeks as the newspapers were still wailing on about it even then.
Diana's funeral was such an undignified national embarrassment, because many of the people who made it such, were obviously "show grieving". Diana = saint, therefore the more I grieve and the more publicly I do so, the more virtuous I am. Perhaps worse than the show grievers, were the genuine grievers. These pitiful wretches had not the mental fortitude to withstand the media conditioning that created the mind-candy we now know as "Diana". To them she was really a saint - because they wanted to believe it was so. Look at the Show Grievers in the picture above. These idiots are stroking themselves in an effort to feel good about something. I'll wager that many of them drove to Soham for a spot of grieving there too. What's the betting that they all wear those coloured wristbands - the sign of conspicuous compassion? And what's the betting some Victim brings out a Diana wristband closer to the anniversary?
There are ways of expressing deep emotion without making a fool of yourself over a woman who was, at the end of the day, just a house of cards.