I woke up warm. It was a beautiful morning and I'd been sleeping on the roof of a house in Brighton. I often found myself on rooftops, and up trees as a photographer - following road protests and such like. I didn't really like high places but on this occasion, I'd escaped a noisy party and found a half quiet place with a view of the sea. I'd closed my eyes. It was comfortable and quiet, and I'd been asleep for the first time in days.

During the night, The Princess of Wales had been killed in a car accident in Paris.
In the morning, I climbed down and everyone was talking about it, as they would for weeks to come.

I chatted to a group of friends who owned the house and in unison, we suddenly realised how quiet it had become. Moments later, something clicked and we collectively remembered the environmental health officer, and the police, and the neighbours from the night before. The music, the people, and the noise of the raucous party came back to us.
The sound system was gone - having been seized by the authorities.
The house was wrecked and there were semi conscious strangers dotted around the living room.

Diana was dead, and despite being unconnected to most of us, it was a strangely sad time.
As a group of hung over twenty somethings though, we had a house to fix, we needed breakfast, and - we needed to sort out some tunes.


Thanks to Lisa Horton and her late father for keeping the newspapers and passing them on to Random-Things