I’m sure most of you remember most of this, but just in case you were wandering out about in some sort of self-induced coma ..’
It’s September 1997, and a wannabe Brit pop hanger on is struggling to write a book about the excesses of the time. And then it happens. Princess Diana is killed in a car crash in a Parisian subway. The country goes into grief frenzy meltdown.
He goes in search of a subject to say something about something about where we’re at.
‘Because, Princess Diana, I didn’t hate her or nothing. She was just some cartoon creation knocking about on the front of the tabloids every other minute. I did watch some of that programme where she looked dead scary, and dished the dirt on the rest of the waxworks. But apart from that, seriously, I was not arsed. So, why, I asked myself, was I now stood there, in the middle of this model village of maudlin tat, bawling my eyes out.’
A one man tour de force that is affectionate, deeply scurrilous, and very funny.