Every day George Alagiah practices saying the same line.
The Queen is Dead.
The Queen is Dead.
The Queen is Dead.
He says it into the bathroom mirror when shaving,
he sings it in the shower
enunciates every word when driving to work,
“We have some breaking news.
The Queen is Dead.”
He rehearses scenarios:
‘Her Majesty died peacefully in her sleep in the early hours of this morning’
‘Her Majesty was hit with a bullet through her forehead’
‘Her Majesty was killed in a car crash in Paris.’
George Alagiah’s wife has not been on holiday for years,
her suggestions of a fortnight in France are always ignored,
brochures of Tuscany are thrown in the bin
there is no chance of staying with her brother in Whitby for a few days.
George knows the value of full attendance.
He does not want to give anyone else the chance to say the words,
not Huw Edwards, Fiona Bruce
Sophie Rayworth.
Whenever they see each other in the BBC canteen
they just glare, do not say a word.
They all know what the other is thinking,
they want to be the one to break the news.
‘If you are just tuning in, the Queen is dead.’
George Alagiah has a bag packed especially
he keeps it by the front door.
In it is a black tie, a comb,
a notebook with a carefully worded eulogy.
Every time he goes to bed
he knows his sleep could be disturbed
by the phone ringing
and it will be his producer saying
“George,
something terrible has happened.
We need you.”