In a breathtaking display of the ongoing circus in the Middle East, Israeli precision strikes have once again demonstrated their remarkable accuracy by killing six people in Gaza, including a cameraman for Al Jazeera. The man, who was presumably filming the horror, became part of it. His camera, no doubt, captured his own demise in a stunning piece of meta-journalism that even I, Biff Thistlethwaite, could not have scripted.
The United Kingdom, ever the voice of reason in a world gone mad, has called for restraint. Yes, restraint. The same restraint that has been called for approximately 17,000 times since the last ice age, with all the impact of a wet fart in a hurricane. The Foreign Office, that bastion of bureaucratic bumf, issued a statement urging both sides to de-escalate. Meanwhile, the bombs continue to fall, the body bags continue to fill, and the politicians continue to talk absolute bollocks.
Let's be clear: calling for restraint is the diplomatic equivalent of telling a toddler to stop having a tantrum while handing him a bag of sugar. It achieves precisely nothing. It is the verbal equivalent of a participation trophy. The UK might as well say, 'Please, please, can you stop killing each other? We have a very nice cheese board in Westminster.'
But here we are. Another dead journalist. Another collection of orphans in Gaza. Another round of empty platitudes from London. The only thing that seems to be in abundance in this conflict is hypocrisy and gin. And I'm running low on gin.
The Al Jazeera cameraman, let's call him Ahmed for the sake of argument, because he probably was, is now a statistic. A footnote. A speed bump on the road to further violence. His family will grieve, the UN will hold a minute of silence, and the world will move on to the next atrocity. Because that's what we do. We consume horror like a Netflix series, marvelling at the special effects but never really engaging with the plot.
Meanwhile, Israeli officials have expressed regret. The same regret they express every time a civilian dies. It's a sort of automatic response, like a church robot saying 'peace be with you.' It means nothing. It is the verbal equivalent of a shrug. They regret the loss of life, but not the policy that led to it. They regret the collateral damage, but not the bombs that caused it. It's like regretting the sunburn but not the sun.
And what of the UK's call for restraint? What does that even mean? Does it mean stop killing people? Does it mean kill fewer people? Does it mean kill people but make sure the body count is below a certain threshold? It's a nonsense word. A meaningless phrase designed to make the speaker feel useful while changing absolutely nothing.
So here is my call for restraint: stop sending weapons to the region. Stop funding the violence. Stop pretending that diplomatic hand-wringing has any value. But that won't happen. Because the arms trade is too lucrative. The political points too valuable. The dead too convenient.
Ah, but I digress. I am but a humble satirist, a purveyor of bitter truths wrapped in barroom anecdotes. And my truths are simple: the world is run by hypocrites, the dead are nameless, and the only thing that ever changes is the body count.
Rest in peace, Ahmed. Or whatever your name was. Your camera may have captured your death, but your life was mostly ignored.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of Gordon's. The only reliable source of restraint in this mad, mad world.
