If proof of the afterlife were needed, it came in the ongoing debacle of the wedding of Prince Charles to Mrs Camilla Parker Bowles. No one but Diana could have devised such chaos.
When Mrs PB discovered the Pope's funeral arrangements had blown out the wedding for which she's waited so long, even she must have wondered whether the heavens were against her, like most of the British bread-roll-throwing public.
Overnight, Camilla's wedding was robbed of the archbishop to sanctify it and the PM to give it state authority - and the Queen wasn't coming anyway. No wonder they called it off. And I'm sure the Daily Mirror was right to say Charles had had to be shamed into moving the day.
For her part, the Queen must have been incandescent on learning the wedding had been moved to Sacred Saturday, Grand National day. There was one consolation: the race-loving Queen Mother was not alive to see it.
What a disaster. What fodder for the republicans. And how ironic that the woman described as "non-negotiable" by Charles may ultimately cause the collapse of the royal family. The very thought of Queen Camilla and King Charles is the most damaging blow to the monarchy in our lifetime.
Unlike King Edward VIII, who gave up his crown for the woman he loved and left the institution intact, Prince Charles will marry against the wishes of his people, with devastating effect.
The petulant prince would do well to remember that Camilla may be non-negotiable, but the monarchy isn't.
And a word of caution for any readers attending the celebratory finger buffet after the wedding. Knowing the Queen's legendary thrift, be prepared for wilted table flowers and curly curried egg sandwiches. And I wouldn't risk any prawns if I were you.
Television coverage of the death of the Pope has been moving, especially on the brilliant Sky News, but one could be forgiven for thinking that all Catholics are women. I cannot recall seeing a single close-up of an ordinary man grieving for his Pope - they were all nuns, attractive young women and crying girls. Such media stereotyping insults us all.
I feel very sorry for the former Mrs John Redwood. Not because, as she would now have it, he is a Vulcan, but because she seems to be deeply disturbed.
The letters she wrote to rival candidates attempting to destroy her ex-husband's reputation sound as if they were written in green ink.
Under the Daily Mirror headline: "John is arrogant, heartless . . . please do your best to defeat him", Gail executed her revenge in much the same way Glenn Close did as she lowered the bunny into the boiling pot.
I have known the principals in this drama for some years. Gail Redwood left her husband, who then took up with his parliamentary assistant Nikki Page, yet she is clearly unable to move on with her life until she has destroyed his.
Not a chance. Redwood is a highly respected, hard-working MP, and those who know him have seen something of a transformation since Gail left him, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. In Nikki, John has found a kind, loving partner. If Gail had a shred of decency or any thought for her two children, she would hang up her green pen at once.
Talking of matrons frothing at the mouth, has Anne Robinson got even nastier since her facelift? Impossible, you cry, but it does seem she dug to new depths in The Weakest Link when she repeatedly taunted a female prison officer with being a lesbian. As a fan of Prisoner: cell block H, I have a soft spot for lesbian prison officers and have often thought Ms Robinson bears more than a passing resemblance to one of the show's stars, Vera "Vinegar Tits" Bennett.
The BBC dismissed the incident as light-hearted banter. How can that be? Ms Robinson has no heart.
Laughs of the week - top was the Sun claiming the jury was still out on who it would support in the general election: "Our mind has still to be made up." But I thought the Sun didn't make things up.
And the pop singer Sir Bob Geldof on the Pope in the Independent on Sunday: "I can respect a serious and clever man, and I admired him. He called me once when I was watching Dynasty, though, which did annoy me." How saintly, Bob.
And finally, the secret ad placed for the Beckhams the day after news broke that Posh had sacked her last nanny. "Very high-profile celebrity family require professional nanny for three boys," it read, ". . . must be willing to travel mostly to Spain. Confidentiality and discretion a must." For the nanny, perhaps, but clearly not for the nanny agency.
