Di Di Di!
Creepy as fuck, this. It had me weary for quite some time.

One Saturday in August 1997, I was having a cheap night in due to the lack of cash, and sat in drinking with my folks. It was great craic, my folks are always good for a laugh.

It was getting late and in the background the TV was on, and for the umpteenth time we all groaned when the news gave way to show Princess Diana getting onto a boat with Dodi Fayed and generally going out of her way to pose for photographers while pretending to be offended. Typical! I'm sure you'll remember we were all sick of seeing her plastered unneccesarily over every newspaper and magazine.

But on this news report in particular they were commenting on speculation that Di could marry Dodi.

"Never," interrupted my inebriated mother. "She'll never get to marry him", she drunkenly slurred.

My mum's always been fairly sharp on certain matters of life and logic, so we usually recognise when she gets like this, and we turned our attention over to her completely to allow her to elaborate.

Seeing her suddenly serious demeanour, we fell silent and grew aware of the tense atmosphere in the previously jovial room.
"The Royal Family will never allow her to marry that guy," she said, suddenly sober. "Because they will never allow Arab blood into the Royal blood line. Never!"

The family all sat silent for a moment to think upon the truth my mum had just stumbled across so easily. It's easy to see that such a move would cause a headache for the monarchy. Christ, it would rock their foundations. But taking action against them getting married seems a little too petty to any normal person like you or I.

But my mum wasn't finished. "She's too popular. They're going to kill her. And they're going to do it out of sight."
You could cut the atmosphere in that silent room with a knife.

That's a bit harsh, I thought. At the most they'd just discredit her and do what they could to see that she lost leverage with the British press. But it would make a great film, I thought.

The issue was quickly forgotten about, given that we didn't fancy spending the night talking about someone who were were sick of hearing about in the first place. The evening continued as jovially as it had before. A few more drinks and I was ready to collapse. I crawled upstairs, poured myself into bed and conked out.

The next morning I was rudely awoken, having been visited by the beer monkey in the night. My hair: ruffled, my wallet: emptied, my eyes: poked, and my mouth: shat in.
My dad rushed in shouting "Have you seen the news? Diana's deed?"

"Get to fuck, you lying shit" I cursed. "Just cause we were talking about her last night.

"No, really!" he said, turning my TV on. "She's really dead"

Well, now there was a shock.

Every part of the previous night's conversation flooded back into my mind. Specifically what my mum said. "They're going to kill her . . . .And they're going to do it out of sight!"
The tunnel.

Conspicary theories aside she predicted that she would die . .. soon!

What creeps me out is that she predicted most of an event which seemed wildly crazy to us just hours before it happened. The other parts she mentioned were later heavily speculated in many courts, papers, books, and documentaries. But not until months afterwards. I mean, If she was right about Diana dying under cover of a tunnel, what else was she right about? She may have predicted the conspiracy theories before the event itself even happened. NOw that's spoooky.

She couldn't have known. She's not psychic.

Is she?

You decide.

And it's all true. Spoooooooooooky!

Incidentally, I'm selling a white Fiat Uno with a bit of a scrape down the side. Any takers?


Apologies for girth
(Barry Subchimp, Thu 8 Feb 2007, 15:07, Reply)