George Alagiah

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 mirror when shaving,

sings it in the shower,

enunciates every word when driving to work,

“We have some breaking news:

the Queen

is

Dead.”

He rehearses scenarios:

“She died peacefully in her sleep,”

“She was hit by a bullet through her forehead,”

“She was killed in a car crash in Paris.”

George Alagiah’s wife has not been on holiday for years.

Her suggestions of a week in Spain are ignored

brochures of Tuscany are thrown in the bin

there is no chance of a weekend city break.

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.

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.”

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