Friday, August 31, 2007

Diana who?

Well it was ten years ago that all sense of perspective was tragically ripped from the nation and I had to pretend that a posh lady that took too many holidays dieing in a car accident was the most upsetting thing since I realized that Father Christmas had exactly the same hand writing as my mum, in fear of being strung up from the nearest lamppost should I voice my dissent. The sense of grief only equaled the horrible alienation felt by those who retained there senses and couldn’t give two shits, because we were there, for every 10 simpering tear-sacks and patriotic hand-wringers there was one slightly bemused and vaguely scared person not actually allowed to voice there opinion; it was like being in a secret club. I was eighteen at the time finally having sex and attempting to drink the bars of Birmingham dry, in short having a grand time.

One night, walking through the Cathedral Square we walked past the elaborate homage of flowers, hundreds and hundreds of floral tributes lay on the grass and lit by candle light it was quite a moving sight, if a little wasteful seeing as all that money could have been given to charity or spent on vodka. While looking at it a flicker of an idea tickled in my head and eventually spread to an almost overwhelming urge “jump in the flowers” said Evil Me “Do it, take a run up and do a flip”, I don’t know if it was that self destructive urge I live with taking a creative route, or just an expression of the frustration of not being allowed to express the views I knew to be sane and rational, or even have these views expressed in the media, because somehow, amazingly the English lost there sense of humor for a couple of months, and it was terrifying. I didn’t jump in the end my girlfriend of the time saw the glint in my eye I get when negotiating with Evil Me and dragged me away.

I have no idea what this guy is playing at, really I cannot even begin to put myself in the position where this would be a good idea. Do you think the princes will see him and think “that’s how our mom would have liked to be remembered, by having a simpleton get carried away and paint her name on his face” or do you think that it would take away from the notion that the nation actually cared that much and land the phenomenon in the mass hysteria category?

Now playing: Betty Boo - Where Are You Baby


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