All of London seemed to be in mourning, and to this day, I've never been anywhere when everybody was so sad. Even in New York after 9/11, the emotions were more various, even for any one person. I'd always been skeptical about Diana, and I remained so. Her glamour never won me over: all I saw was a trashy soap-opera, as much Coronation Street as coronation. In particular, her manipulation of the media was blatant and shamelessly self-serving, but I had to admit, she made herself a superstar. And this diva had her devotees. You could almost feel the grief in the air.
I spent much of my writing time trying to smarten and toughen up our reports, fighting the tendency to describe Diana as a "real-life fairy-tale princess" — since, after all, the news ostensibly deals more with reality than with fairy tales. I didn't have any responsibility for the 48 Hours broadcast, later that night: they went whole-hog with the fairy tale and won an Emmy for it. Shows how much I know.
But beyond this, I didn't walk away with much insight. I retain a violent aversion to "Candle in the Wind," which I heard roughly 33 times during the day of the funeral, but I don't retain the sort of specific recollections and telling anecdotes with which I'd like to make this blog worth reading.
Still, with every other publication on the planet talking about Diana, I may as well go along with the crowd. I'm not missing out on another Emmy if I can help it.