It is 1997. I am deeply asleep in a friend’s spare room. The door slams open and a silhouette appears in the doorway. “SHE’S DEAD!” It screams.
I spring awake, sensing disaster. “What?” I mumble. “Who’s dead?”
“Diana!” Wails the silhouette.
“Diana who?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Princess Diana!” Comes the reply.
I look at the clock. It is 5am. After ASMing a 24 hour theatre technical rehearsal, I have had precisely 2 hours’ sleep. I turn to the silhouette.
“I. Don’t. Care,” I enunciate and dive back under the covers.
Yeah, I remember where I was.