As if Mr L'Atelier wasn't distracting me enough, last night he emailed me the link to the transcripts of the inquest surrounding the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. Now, I share with Mr L'A a vague disinterest in Diana - certainly any inquisitiveness I had felt about her life and death was more to do with the extent and effect of the media attention and less to do with love affairs and the monarchy and hidden letters etcetera. But I was told that the transcripts were slightly addictive and thus, in a rare quiet moment at work this morning, I began to read them. It's now mid-afternoon and, in between bursts of Excel efficiency, I have managed to skim several people's testimonies, including Diana's stepmother, Lady Spencer and her friend, Rosa; I'm currently up to the lunchbreak that occurs halfway through Paul Burrell's first day in the dock. Mohammed al-Fayed's apparently ludicrous version of events is still to come, about which I am most excited.
I'm reading all this against my better judgment. I do not need to know the contents of the discussion, and before I began to scroll through the pages, I had next to no interest in the case. But, unexpectedly, they are compelling in the extreme - an extraordinary insight into the workings of the Royal Family and this most public of deaths. Embarrassingly, I had no idea quite how much conspiring has gone on in the interim: I was shocked to discover, for instance, that Prince Phillip is thought to have ordered their deaths to avoid a Muslim connection with the Palace. It all seems pretty laughable considering that Diana had been dating another Muslim for the previous 18 months and had only been seeing Dodi for about six weeks - but still, people do love a good scandal.
What's made me laugh is the smug upper class cameraderie that shines through - at one point, Nicholas Soames is asked by al-Fayed's lawyer whether he was shooting in Scotland on a particular date in August and the judge, familiar with the first day of the hunting season, interjected with something like, 'Not for three days?' I can just imagine the knowing smiles going round in the courtroom. I'm not al-Fayed's biggest fan but there's something a bit sick, smug and uncomfortable about all this that makes me feel a bit like I'm reading The Merchant of Venice. I'll admit, though, that I'm now hooked - and in the absence of a current series of Ugly Betty or Desperate Housewives, I suppose I have room to squeeze this new soap opera into my life for the time being. But right now, I must tear myself away and head gymwards. Not long 'til the weekend's paintfest begins - I need to build up my strength.
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