Hopes of a recovery are slim.

The chances of her being allowed to rest in peace are, for the foreseeable future, slimmer.

Will this inquest finally lay the matter to rest? Who knows, but I have my opinions.

What I do know is that Diana died in a car when it crashed into the walls of a Paris tunnel. In 1997.

Entire species have evolved and become extinct since.

Meanwhile we, the British public, have been treated to eleven years of period patterns, contraceptive methods and secrets everyone knew.

It's like an elongated series of Big Brother.

The only good thing that could possibly come from this is if Paul Burrell gets choky for alleged perjury. Fingers crossed.

But in spite of all that, Lord knows, it makes you proud to be British, doesn't it?

Where else in the world could an Egyptian demand the taxpayer stump up £2.5 million for a second inquest into an accident involving a boozy chauffeur and a 100mph chase?

Two and half mill of public money, though?

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for finding the truth.

But surely that could have been better spent on looking into more likely conspiracy theories like if the Loch Ness Monster exists or what really happened at Roswell?

Or on giving our MPs a few extra quid to pay the pet budgie's wages for its one day a week of political research.

Never mind. Perhaps it can be recouped from the NHS or by cutting the education budget. Then everyone's a winner. Except the poor. And, frankly, they don't really count, do they?

What about al Fayed though?

Crocodiles. Nazis. Frankenstein. Dracula.

That's a man who's waited 11 years to get things off his chest – and who isn't going to let a little thing like credibility stand in the way now he's got the chance.

"Has he lost his Fayed?" asked one newspaper.

And I admit I've had a few suspicions myself. I mean, what kind of a man sacks Lawrie Sanchez anyway?

Al Fayed's all right though, isn't he?

Contorted by grief, his ramblings in the box reminded me of a bear who finds her cub dead and begins lashing out at anything in its path, like that might bring the baby back.

There's the point really, I suppose.

His son's dead. Diana's aren't.

Not for pots of gold, nor all the gin in China Whites, nor even for the throne of England can a mother be replaced. Still less can it make up for one who's entire life is pillaged before your very eyes in the name of justice.

Didn't anyone think of the children?

No wonder Harry turned out the way he did.