Representatives from the union of Documentary and Tributary Film Makers will today travel to Buckingham Palace to protest about the queen mother's seemingly endless longevity.
"We've had the queen mother's life tributes in the can since 1961," said camp-lipped, limp-wristed documentary director Max Interferon, "and our worry is that if it doesn't go to air soon, much of the footage will deteriorate until it is useless. We've got interviews with people who have since pegged it themselves, and tributes from dead folk aren't as nice as those from living, breathing people."
Excitement amongst tribute documentary makers mounted just last month when it was revealed that the queen mother almost choked on her dental floss, a claim that was later strongly refuted by the palace who pointed out that anyone with such brown teeth could never have used oral hygiene.
"It's a problem," shrieked Max Interferon, girlishly. "We've about three million documentaries lined up, and all of them must be fitted into the three months' official mourning period."
Head of the BBC Gavyn Davies OBE spoke of his sympathy to the tribute maker's cause. "We're in talks about creating a new digital channel," he said. "The Decomposing Channel, which will air twenty-four hours a day, initially, perhaps longer if someone really famous was to pop off in a funny way. And already we're thinking of a sister channel, Decomposing Gold, upon which we'll have archive footage of Tommy Cooper's last performance and exclusive, interactive views of Rod Hull falling from his roof."
But, professional television watcher Mrs Alma Thunder (97) of Prestwick Road, Basingstoke remained cautious of such a venture. Speaking from her deathbed, Mrs Thunder said: "The queen mum is a lovely person. I once stood in the rain for three hours to see her, and she walked past me without so much as a nod. And why shouldn't she, because she's royal, she is, whereas I'm just a crusty old common bugger. No, on that terrible day when the queen mother departs, I hope she's afforded the dignity of her status and that her demise isn't turned into some sort of media circus."
Max Interferon reacted with camp horror at such a suggestion. "Lordy, lordy, no," he squealed. "We're saving the circus for when the pope clogs it."