When my dear former Woman’s Day colleague Beryl posted on her Facebook feed yesterday that the entire Royal staff had been called into a special meeting at 11pm at night, I went into a total frenzy.
Who calls their entire staff to a meeting at 11pm at night unless it’s really, really, really serious?
“WHAT IS IT WHAT IS IT WHAT IS IT??? The suspense is killing me” I wrote in the comment section of Beryl’s post.
There were lots of “me too”s from other former weekly mag mates.
The Royals are huge business in Magland. HUGE. I am too ashamed to tell you how much I used to pay for photos of royal weddings and christenings back in the day.
Another former colleague wrote on Beryl’s post: “Part of me is relieved I’m not at WD anymore and part of me is missing the drama.”
My history of writing weekly coverlines is that I can be a teensy bit sensational, so I started firecrackering around the drinks association office telling everyone the Queen might be dead.
You can take the woman out of weekly magazines, but …
I got a few people overly excited, but most were a little perturbed by my hyperventilation.
I spent the rest of the afternoon speculating that maybe it was Prince Phillip that was dead, or maybe the Queen had decided to abdicate, and then I started fretted over whether she could really put Prince Charles in charge? Was there a way she could just pass the crown straight to Prince William,
I also knew that no matter how wound up I was about it all, the current staff of Woman’s Day – and every other publication in the country – would be on high alert. Woman’s Day would be totally freaking out because the mag had already gone to press. There would have been high level meetings about whether to put out a special issue and the financial implications of such a bold move.
I thought there were probably a few people wetting their pants in fear at Fairfax that such news had broken when all the journalists were on strike. Talk about timing! Suck eggs!
Finally, at 8pm, it was announced that Prince Phillip was retiring. At 95. Big effing whoop. What a bloody let down. I then spent the next hour ranting about what a freaking waste of time all my excited speculation had been.
I would have been VERY pissed off if my boss called me into a meeting at 11pm at night to let me know she was retiring.
I’m sure my annoyance was nothing compared to all the magazine staff who’d been made to stay back until 8pm at night for NOTHING.
Stand down, people.