Diana. On covering her life and her death.

I don’t know how much more anyone wants to read about Diana. Twenty-five years on though, there are still documentaries about how she died. In a car crash, in a tunnel. There are still conspiracy theories about her murder which are believed by otherwise sane and rational people: she was pregnant and coked up and “the firm” could not countenance a biracial child of a Muslim playboy.

My favourite fantasy though is the one that has her not actually dead. It was all an elaborate way to escape. To where? Florida? Geneva? Nice? She lives as if in a witness protection programme happily indulging her middle-brow tastes. She has indeed found love and disappeared into it.

In some sense though, she really is very much alive so I thought I would just tell you what it was like to have covered all this at the time, to have gone to the funeral and to have watched the moment a culture shifted, in ways that still resonate today

(I kept this of course)