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I remember hearing about the accident on the evening news, and the initial reports were that it wasn’t that bad, so I figured she’d be okay. The next day I woke to learn that Princess Diana had died in that car crash and said well that’s a fucking drag. Much of the world was equally bummed.
--On This Day in History, Shit Went Down: August 31, 1997--
Allegations of foul play are legion. And it wasn’t really an accident, because their driver was drunk as fuck with blood alcohol at 3.5 times the legal limit. But there was no grand conspiracy by the royal family to rub her out. Diana was romantically involved with Dodi Fayed, the son of a billionaire. The conspiracy fantasists proclaimed Diana was pregnant and Dodi was going to propose, and the royals didn’t want the mother of the future king to be wedding and procreating with some [insert racist bullshit here]. Even Dodi’s father claimed the pair was executed by agents of the British Secret Service MI6. But there is no evidence that the crash was caused by anything other than a drunk driver being chased by paparazzi.
It began on the evening of August 30, 1997, in Paris. Diana and Dodi were at the Ritz Hotel owned by Dodi’s father. A decoy vehicle was sent out to throw the paparazzi off, and they followed in droves. Henri Paul was the head of security for the Ritz and was told to drive the couple and their bodyguard in a rented Mercedes-Benz. Henri, instead of saying “Actually, I’ve been drinking my fucking face off so you should find another driver,” said yeah no problem I’ll drive them. Dumbass.
They left by the rear entrance of the hotel and headed for an apartment owned by Dodi’s father. No one in the car was wearing a seatbelt. Despite the decoy, they were spotted by paparazzi who gave chase. Drunk-as-fuck Henri decided to outrun them, and in the early morning of August 31 he entered the Pont de l’Alma tunnel at more than double the posted speed limit and crashed.
One of the first to arrive at the scene was a paparazzo named Stephane Darmon, who had been pursuing them on a motorcycle. Diana and Dodi were still alive at that point and he opened the door and tried to aid them. Then the other paparazzi arrived and instead of trying to help, climbed on top of the car and began snapping photos. Diana, still conscious, was heard to murmur, “Oh my God. Leave me alone.” What a bunch of fucking vultures. Dodi and Henri were pronounced dead at the scene. Diana died in hospital four hours later.
Nine of the photographers were charged with manslaughter for contributing to their deaths, but the charges were later thrown out. Three paparazzi were convicted of invasion of privacy for taking the couple’s photos as they were dying, and were fined one euro each. The fourth occupant of the vehicle, bodyguard Trevor Rees-Jones, survived his injuries.
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Subscribers: Check out this new post titled “The Marriage-Saver Kayak”
This is actually a story about e-bikes. We’ll get there.
My wife and I used to go sea kayaking together a lot. The first time was when she was five-months pregnant with our firstborn, back in 1998. My parents had recently bought a lovely place on a quiet bay on Quadra Island, which is a couple hundred kilometers north of Victoria just off Vancouver Island. I’d just finished the first hell year of my MBA and had a couple of weeks off before spring session began. We had the place all to ourselves for two glorious weeks. Keep reading …
There are no words really for the depths humanity will go to, to make money. I have such an urge sometimes to go and live in a hermitage in the Himalayas, away from everyone. I was pregnant with my son, living in South Africa as a UK expat, when this story hit. My in-laws had been holidaying and visiting family in the UK and were at the airport due to return to SA. The airport was bedlam, the community grief palpable and the flight back extremely sombre. All for a fucking photograph, and no justice. I'd rather be an amoeba sometimes than admit I'm human.