A Tribute to my friend Diana...

So, he IS getting married again, after all this time, eh? The news splashed across the screen, a friend from Singapore called for confirmation after receiving a text message and by noon everyone was already talking about it. How could he? I am so upset.

Well, I was there when he married the first one. Such a lovely girl, English rose and all. I remember tripping all over the campers camping all along Fleet Street leading to St Pauls, to catch a glimpse of what was hailed a Fairy tale wedding. The world and her grandmother came, and those who couldn't, stayed home and watched TV.

This time, even if I am in town, I will not go. I will even unplug the TV on April 8th.

My memories and loyalty to the first one is still very strong. Reminds me of my Tok Su. When he took on a second one, I couldn't forgive him. I am always loyal to the first one.

Apparently, their marriage (not my Tok Su's) was doomed from the beginning. Well, I read somewhere that while the first one was still blissfully ignorant of the threat of the other woman, he was constantly on the phone to her...and at one point even admitting that he wished he was the tampon in her er...small things! Yearggghhh!

How can a woman take so much from her husband and at the same time try to put on a public face? I really admired her. Still blooming in the face of all these terrible things happening to her and publicly too!

When their first baby was born, mine was only a year old. But in my mind, I imagine us sharing bringing-up baby tips together. You know, she was the kind of person who can be anyone's friend. It's difficult not to imagine otherwise when she was in your front room day and night, staring at you from the glossy covers of magazine in bookshops, and smiling coyly from everything from postcards to mugs at souveiner shops.

I imagine telling her how to change nappies and deal with nappy rash on the royal bottom. I imagine we'd meet at the Mothers and Tots for coffee, before her chauffeur whizzes her off to another ribbon cutting ceremony. And I imagine she'd confide in me about the other woman that we were all reading about in the tabloids. And I'd hear her giggle over my dress sense!

The closest I got to her was of course via the man whose hands touched her royal feet to make her shoes. He used to make me laugh with his impersonation of her - looking coyly from underneath those lashes, with that tilt of her head at a certain angle.

Their separation was announced on my wedding annivesary and I remember feeling so sad. We who have nothing yet have everything (that matters).

Anyway, I lied when I said the closest I got to her was through her shoe maker. I actually saw her at close distance at the annual garden party in Buckingham Palace. Oh, no, I lied again...I only saw her nose - such a big nose too. At these garden parties, for shorties like us from Malaysia, its difficult to get a good view of the royals doing their rounds because people tend to wear big, funny hats. So, in between those feathers and wide hats - I caught a glimpse of her nose, before I was flapped sideways by a giant hat, pushing her way to the front.

Back to he who made her shoes. He was of course devastated when she was killed in the crash. He had just received a fax for another order of her favourite design. I had to counsel him on what black shirt to wear.

I remember that day very well. I was on the way to a Merdeka celebration, in my bright red kebaya!! And when I got there, the women were all crying having heard the morning news. Rushed to Buckingham Palace and got some verbal abuse from the mourners there. What with me in glaring red on a day of mourning and pointing my camera everywhere! Such audacity, and from a Malaysian paparazzi pulak tu!

Anyway, I spent the next few days joining the mourners and looking at the sea of flowers, reading those heartfelt messages, outside her residence in Kensington Gardens. I really felt the loss. Every woman, who is a wife felt for her and felt her loss.

And now on my trips to Paris, I never failed to visit the place where she met her tragic fate. Its like paying respects to an old friend who went before her time, before she could share tips with me on how to dress well.

So, okay Charles - go on then and marry Camilla. At your age, you can do with the companionship. A blogger buddy and I were bitching just now and we came up with several advise for them. It was suggested that Charles go for some traditional urut and Camilla for mandi bunga.

Personally, I think, Diana could have done a Bobbit!