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Princess
Diana's Paddle Puddle Kafuffle
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Our
arts critic Brian Seaweed waxes lyrical again
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 Good
morrow-morn! You join me as one sits, inconsolable,
upon the warmly moist Hyde Parkian grass;
face squidged in en-dampened paws;;eyes
weepily-carressing the dried out Diana Paddle
Puddle, which has, once again, been closed,
and sits, sadly, all alone, behind a minimalist
security fence. One's
well honed art eye is being challenged 
on so many levels here, by this almost, but
not quite, sub-divinely, prescient, metaphor
that has materialised in the form of a fountain
with no water in it. Oh, how playful! Oh, how
out of the ordinary! Oh, how Diana!
For,
this is, once again, Diana's spirit whisked
away from us, all of a sudden, by causes extraordinaire
(do we know, per chance, if the injured tourists
were drunk? The thought itself is too painful
to even... oh... too late.) And, now, all that
remains is a ruddy great piece of stone being
tended by a lowly stone mason (Diana's people)
employed to etch veritable imperfections into
the floor to stop clumsy tourist-tats from falling
upon their collective bottoms once more.
How
much, gentle reader, one asks, upon top of the
£3.6mn already devoured by
this monument, will these changes cost? Well,
there was only one stone mason, working in 6
hour shifts,
when I was there. So don't expect much change
from a million quid guv.
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22
July
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