Some people believe she was stuck in a loveless marriage, shunned by the Royal Family and hounded by a relentless press… while other people think she was a bit of a fruitcake. I couldn’t possibly comment. But there is one thing that I am definitely sure about: Diana didn’t deserve to be lumbered with a memorial as poor as this. But that’s what happens when you annoy the Queen – you end up with a concrete river as your tombstone. Most royals get a statue in a square or a polished plaque in Westminster Abbey – Diana got a concrete water drain fifty feet from the cafe toilets.
When you read through all the bumph on their website they try and make it sound like a piece of sculptural art, shaped by “sophisticated computer-guided cutting machines” to express her “spirit and love of children”.
Each half of the circular stream is supposed to represent an aspect of her life: one half has been polished smooth to reflect the happy times whilst the other one is all ruts and gullies to represent the tumbling turmoil of her wilderness years. Even those three little bridges are imbued with secret symbolism… they let you cross over the troubled waters and “enter her heart”.
Now let me explain to you what it really is. It’s basically just a big circle of stone on a flat field, like a half pipe in the grass. The water is pumped out from the top and burbles and gurgles its way to the bottom whilst pushchair mums sit on the sides paddling their feet, dads kick giant inflatable footballs about, and excited kids run around like they’re competing for last place in the Olympics. On a sunny day it’s not unlike a child riot. Fortunately for me it’s a cold November morning so there’s nobody here except a few bored crows.
During the Bronze Age they used to chuck offerings into a river to appease their gods, but Diana’s only donations are an old Costa cup, a couple of crooked fag ends and a crumpled up sandwich packet that’s floating like a boat. Wads of leaves have got stuck under the bridge and are turning the water into a bubbly brown foam.
I’ve just noticed an old lady standing beside the spindly winter trees. Most of the central grass has been fenced off with poles and rope because it’s too slippery to walk on so she’s stopped ten steps from the gate, and is staring into the cold waterfall of water. I wonder what she’s seeing in there? It looks like she’s replaying a memory of some sort. I wonder if she knows she’s picked the tumbling turmoil side of her life to watch it.
If you enjoy this then try Kensington Gardens (you can walk it in 7 mins) and Kensington Palace (walk it in 14 mins or travel from South Kensington to Queensway by underground)
