If it weren't for the ongoing Saint Diana of Bulimia story, more attention would have been paid to the unveiling of the Willie Hortons of the 2000 campaign, a bunch of bald bespectacled Buddhist babes. They will be back, reincarnating their way into our hearts.

I promise not to use alliteration again for the rest of this post.

So what about Saint Diana of Gucci, you ask? Well, the tabloids' new-found collective commitment to privacy lasted a day and a half, but no one seems to have noticed the irony of the increasingly strident demands for the royal family to "Show Us You Care" (The Express). Nope, no contradiction there.

As for the photographers, well, how much assistance do you ever expect from photojournalists? As Alexander Cockburn comments in Salon, people win awards for taking photographs of starving Ethiopian children, who'd probably rather have a piece of bread than their picture taken. The same could be said for war correspondents.

As for the idea that no one wants to see the photographs of the wreck, yeah right. The last time I went to Disneyland, there was a major slowdown on the freeway a mile or two away, which turned out to be a car pulled over to the side of the road. More people had slowed down to see a minor accident involving people they didn't know than were lined up for It's a Small World. And that's the business we call show.