I HEAR that a woman of child-bearing age is going to have another baby. Exactly why this constitutes news is a mystery, but there you go.

The news was broken to this indifferent audience of one by the subtitles on the TV at work. “Duchess suffered morning sickness with Prince George... Duchess suffering very bad morning sickness”. The words ran silently above my head, possibly in search of a more receptive audience. “Oh, God, here we go again,” said the words inside my head.

Plenty of women suffer from morning sickness, but the Duchess of Cambridge has what is called hyperemesis gravidarum. This might or might not be morning sickness for women of some importance and wealth. Kate, who is 32, had a bad case of this last time round, before dutifully producing the baby who would be king.

According to the Mail website, this debilitating condition causes extreme sickness in pregnant women. Whereas the Daily Mail merely causes mild nausea in non-pregnant middle-age male columnists.

It is, of course, a little mean-spirited to be disobliging about a pregnancy. If it’s in the family or among one’s circle of friends, that’s all very uplifting and so on.

Less so, however, when we are expected to get excited about the arrival of another royal. Can’t we just be sensible about this? It will surely suffice to say, “Well, that’s well and good but we’ll not say another word about that for the next few months”, wouldn’t it?

There seems to be an unwritten national rule, an invisible constitution telling us how to feel and react, that we must all be pleased by a pregnant royal. Politicians are certainly obliged to express their unbounded happiness. David Cameron fell over himself to congratulate the couple, saying: “I’m delighted by the happy news that they’re expecting another baby.” For his part, Labour leader Ed Miliband piped up with: “Fantastic to hear that Prince George will soon be a big brother!”

Fantastic, Ed? Oh, how about ‘mildly depressing’ in that we will now have endless months of toadying coverage on the television and in the newspapers. Nicholas Witchell, the BBC’s royal lickspittle correspondent, will be dragged on to our screens to say nothing much at great length, as he always does. He will try to seem enthusiastic, while all the while having in his eye the haunted look of a man condemned to parrot this stuff for all eternity and then a bit more.

He was at it in dumb-show a moment ago, silently mouthing some obsequious platitude or other above my head on the silenced TV. Incidentally, I can recommend this method of consuming royal news. Either that or sticking your head in a bucket of iced water. Both ensure you don’t have to pay too much attention to what is going on.

Back in Daily Mail internet-land, proud dad William was beaming while pregnant Kate was heaving, thanks to that extreme morning sickness.

The new baby will be fourth in line to the throne, or the next generation’s Prince Harry, if I have understood this matter correctly. Another “spare to the heir”, as second-born royal children are sometimes dubbed.

If you consult those who know or care, you will find that such ‘replacement royals’ can end up as monarch. George VI, the country’s last king, only rose to the throne when his older brother, Edward VIII, abdicated in 1936.

Personally, I cannot get excited about all this – much as, nowadays, I cannot be bothered to do a bad-tempered Republican jig and demand that the Royals be abolished. However much it might seem the modern thing to do to bring us into the modern age, it will never happen.

So if you’re not interested, turn away or turn down the sound. Prince William was saying something or other above my head just now, but I didn’t catch it. After that a hapless reporter on the BBC 24-hour News looked admirably engaged while silently passing on what little news there was to convey. Which, to be honest, was hardly anything at all. And 24 hours is a long time to fill with nothing much to hand. But that’s the news for you nowadays.

And, yes, should anyone feel moved to raise a heckle, I did have a similar moan when the Duchess swelled last time. A bit like her morning sickness, it’s come round again.