Reality TV reaches out into the Great Beyond

It is a reliable rule of thumb that, when good-hearted folk complain that a book, TV programme or public happening is in poor taste, then the object of their disapproval will be interesting and possible even worthwhile. There was Chris Morris's Brass Eye series, Hanif Kureishi's allegedly autobiographical novel Intimacy. Even Channel Five's famous nudist quiz, in which Keith Chegwin exposed his dear little winkle to public gaze, had a sort of mad integrity to it.

This weekend's "sickening" breach of decency seems likely to be no exception. On Sunday, a pay-per-view programme will allow subscribers to tune into a live interview (although perhaps "live" is not quite the right word in this context) with the late Princess Diana. Chaired, for some mysterious reason, by the 1960s Avenger Patrick Macnee, what has been described as "the largest gathering of Diana's innermost close circle of friends since her untimely death" will gather as a psychic couple, Craig and Jane Hamilton-Parks, make contact with the princess across the ether. She will be asked about Dodi, what went wrong with Prince Charles, the truth about her death. At some point, according to the Hamilton-Parks's website www.spiritofDiana.com, Craig will produce "unique evidence" that it is indeed our beloved princess on the other end of the celestial hotline.

The group of friends certainly seems to capture the flavour of her life. Oona Shanley-Toffolo, said to be Diana's healer and acupuncturist, will be there, as will Janet Filderman, apparently her stylist and closest friend, not to mention Gerard le Roux, "Painter of the Rich and Famous". More surprisingly, there will be contributions from Andrew Morton and Mohamed Fayed.

Even those who have expressed outrage at The Spirit of Diana , presumably on the grounds that it intrudes into the princess's privacy in the spiritual world, will have to admit that Mr and Mrs Hamilton-Parks have come up with a cracking commercial idea. Down here on earth, celebrity voyeurism has been taken just as far as it will go; access to the Great Beyond will open up a whole new heavenly horizon.

There is a huge potential audience for this kind of thing, at least in the US, the programme's main market. There are millions of Americans for whom communicating with the dead will seem entirely plausible. Two of the last three presidents expressed open disbelief in the idea of evolution. According to a recent Gallup poll, a mere 28 per cent of Americans believe in evolution, as opposed to 48 per cent who believe in creationism. An impressive 68 per cent are believers in the existence of the devil.

If, as seems likely, America is in the grip of a fundamentalist revival, the idea that Diana is up there in the balmy fields of heaven with the big guy with a beard will be logical and attractive. There might even be the opportunity for some propaganda from beyond the grave: as a peace-lover, the princess might argue gently with the more warlike evangelicals. Her work on earth with Aids sufferers could encourage her to guide born-again Christians away from their opposition to sex education and condoms.

Saner people, who know that the idea of communicating with the dead is tosh, should perhaps be grown-up enough to recognise that stunts like The Spirit of Diana can offer harmless comfort to those who are grieving or whose lives are lacking a spiritual dimension. One of the funniest and most moving chapters in Selina Hastings's brilliant recent biography of Rosamond Lehmann, recounts how, after the death of her beloved daughter Sally, the novelist consulted mediums like the famous Ena Twigg, and found "vast, unshakeable consolation" in spiritualism.

One marvellous aspect of receiving messages from the astral plane was that the news was always good. Sally was blissfully happy in heaven, Lehmann learnt from a variety of "sensitives". One even received a letter from the Great Beyond in which Sally wrote about how she was learning how to grow clothes and about how she looked in heaven – the same as in the real world but with an aura. Her earthly interest in music proved of great use in the afterlife: she had particular responsibility for teaching the unborn birds to sing.

On the other hand, Cecil Day-Lewis, Lehmann's much-despised former lover, had a tougher time when he passed over. In his communication, he begged for her forgiveness and, when this was refused, was doomed to remain in purgatory.

Rosamond Lehmann's spiritualist beliefs caused much quiet hilarity among her more hard-hearted acquaintances, but the gentler souls, most noticeably Laurie Lee, accepted them, recognising that they offered a crutch and a comfort to someone who was in a vulnerable state.

Perhaps sceptics might take a similarly relaxed and generous attitude to the Sunday's televised communication with the spirit of Diana.

terblacker@aol.com