I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it still. There I was, absent mindedly minding my own business having a lark on twitter laughing at some local comedian. Then before I knew it, Hadley Freeman had popped up, with a YouTube video attached to the comment "Kate pregnant." I looked further up the screen. Was it something from Reuters? Something from a freelancer? Frankly, I just do not know. But I was giggling, and before I knew it, I had proclaimed "hey everybody, there's some stuff on Twitter about Kate being pregnant." Little did I know what I had just done.
"WHERE'S MY BOSS?! KATE IS PREGNANT!" I bellowed at the top of my voice, frantically running as fast as my chubby little legs could take me around the other side of the office. "Damn my legs," I declared to my internal self. "Blast my eyes, for not being able to find my boss." Before I knew it, another member of the team was calling him to let him know the news, at 5pm English time. Never could I find a less likely time for a monarch to declare that they were carrying the future heir to the throne.
I understand for most people, this does not determine itself "newsworthy", but I have been on placement at a fantastic royally orientated magazine for four months, and for better or for worse, I have become indoctrinated. High on the rush of scrambling for info and trawling through news sites, I could not get enough of lending a play-by-play to the site that owed me so much. Even if my followers didn't want to hear it.
"UPDATE: Kate has not completed her first trimester," I chanted, lending myself to the #royalbaby hashtag.
"Come to us if you want all the insider information", I whispered, using the hashtag soI'mkindoflyingaboutthewhisperingthingaren'tI.
There were plenty of people ready to curse and debase, but like anyone who is sad enough to take a pop at someone who has just announced some of the happiest information they've ever had and ever will have in their lives, I couldn't help but feel sad for them.
"Guys, I think I love Kate," I admitted, two hours over my shit allocation.
"I think I just might be ready to defend her to the death, and I am just not exactly sure why. God I love journalism," I grunted, high from the caffeine.
The food baby must just have been sisterly solidarity. I love my job. I love life. And right now, I really fucking love wine.