Anorak News | Fears For Tears

Fears For Tears

by | 24th, December 2004

‘IT cost £3.6m and it was eight years in the design, but we’re sure you all agree that the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain is a fitting tribute to the dear departed Queen Of Hearts.

‘Please, Ma’am, can I get down now?’

Who can forget that July afternoon when before a crowd of 1,000 onlookers the Queen herself declared Hyde Park’s newest water feature open?

Who didn’t shed a tear when Her Majesty, through gritted teeth, described her erstwhile daughter-in-law as “a remarkable woman” who, er, “brought a lot of happiness to my grandsons”?

And who didn’t laugh their socks off when only a few days later the so-called Circle Of Tears closed after the wrong kind of leaves (real ones, not imaginary ones) blocked the drain?

It turns out that the eight years spent designing the world’s most expensive storm drain were not enough to work out that trees have leaves which they are prone to shed in autumn.

Nor were they enough to work out that children walking on slippery granite are prone to slip, nor indeed that water is a contributory factor in the majority of incidents of drowning.

Only the reassuring presence in the capital for two months in the summer of Mitch Buchannon (in the all-singing, all-dancing, all-over-tanned shape of David Hasselhoff) prevented the water being turned off for good.

Not that we have forgotten Diana nor that we don’t miss her every bit as much as we did that terrible day – whenever it was.

How could we when we have the likes of Paul Burrell, James Hewitt and Diana herself (speaking from beyond the grave) to remind us?

While Burrell found himself truly at home among the creepy-crawlies in the Australian jungle, Hewitt was briefly a guest of the Metropolitan Police after being caught in possession of a white powder.

It was sent off to a laboratory where tests proved that it wasn’t anthrax (as many hoped) but 80% laxative, 20% bicarbonate of soda, 8% flour, 1% rat poison and 1% cocaine.

If Hewitt was embarrassed at being caught with such bad drugs on his person, it was nothing compared with the shame of his companion Alison Bell.

The newsreader was exposed as an ex-girlfriend of Prince Edward, to whom she lost her virginity at the age of 16.

As a result of which, we now know that Slap Ed is a once-a-night man and an emotional desert.

Not so his nephew Prince Harry who showed that not only had he inherited his mum’s brain but he had got her appetite for love as well.

Harry celebrated the results of the Sun’s poll of nine topless stunnas, which had him as the most fanciable member of the Royal Family, by getting his Royal sceptre regularly polished.

If not chatting up the likes of Lauren Pope in Chinawhites, partying with Camilla Simon in Boujis, repopulating the Argentinean pampas or canoodling with Chelsy Davy in the toilets of a Cape Town nightclub, Harry was being accused of cheating in his art A-level exam.

A former teacher claimed that she was largely responsible for the third in line to the throne’s B grade – the qualification that booked Harry a place at Sandhurst.

The Royal Family moved quickly to refute the story, pointing out that, as son of Charles (A grade in whinging and feeling sorry for himself) and Diana (A grade in healing the sick and wearing nice frocks), it was only natural that Harry would excel in academia.

However, the strain was clearly telling on Harry, who postponed his arrival at Sandhurst for six months while he recuperated in the fleshpots of Chelsea…or the fleshy spots of Chelsy.

Although Prince Philip had a disappointingly gaffe-free year, the Queen still could draw upon plenty of material for her Christmas broadcast.

She could recall, for instance, the September day when a man dressed as Batman said Kerpow! to Buckingham Palace security and scaled the wall of what’s supposed to be one of the most secure buildings in the land.

“What if he had been a suicide bomber?” shrieked the papers.

“Where’s Robin?” shouted the rest of us.

“What are you doing out in your pyjamas, Edward,” bellowed Her Majesty. “On a Monday..!”’

Posted: 24th, December 2004 | In: Uncategorized Comment | TrackBack | Permalink