Who Would Be A Newsreader? Poem by David Mitchell

It must be terrible to read the news,
Sitting and reading words from autocues
Day after day, pretending that you care
About the latest trophy that the mayor
Has given to some well-deserving chap,
When you don't care unless some grave mishap
Has taken place, particularly if
It has to do with you. If some old cliff
Is likely soon to fall into the sea
That rolls against a coastline that, maybe,
Is not near to your home, or if someone
Has hurt his neck in Norwich, 'twas not fun
For him, nor can it be for you, with zeal
To talk of things about which you don't feel
Particularly strongly: you don't know
Much about sport, but you are forced to go
To football-matches you don't wish to view
With feign'd enthusiasm; nor do you
Know anything at all about the stocks
And shares: to you they're only stumblingblocks.
In view of this, it makes me wonder why
People become newsreaders ere they die.