In a development that has sent shockwaves of indifference through the international community, Britain has proudly assumed the helm of a cutting-edge underwater drone development pact with the United States and Australia. This trilateral agreement, known as AUKUS, is apparently the geopolitical equivalent of three grown men arguing about who gets to steer the remote-controlled boat in the park pond.
Let us not mince words: this is a monumental achievement in the art of spending vast sums of money on machines that will do nothing but lurk beneath the waves, presumably composing poetry about the crushing loneliness of the abyss. The drones, I am told, are ‘autonomous’ and ‘unmanned’ which, in my experience, is exactly how all bureaucrats prefer their employees: silent, obedient, and incapable of demanding a pay rise.
But what of the leadership? Britain, once the ruler of the waves, now the ruler of a puddle in a Canberra back garden? Our Prime Minister, a man whose hair appears to be running for office independently, has hailed this as a ‘landmark step’ for the Royal Navy. A landmark step into a pothole of mediocrity, more like. I can already see the headlines: ‘HMS Futility Launches First Autonomous Drone, Promptly Runs Aground in the Thames.’
The yanks, of course, are providing the technology, the Australians the location, and we are contributing… what? ‘Expertise in underwater acoustics’? Translation: we have a man in Plymouth who owns a waterproof microphone and a particularly damp shed. This is the same nation that once invented radar, the jet engine, and the concept of queuing. Now we are reduced to a supporting role in a high-tech version of ‘Who’s Got the Biggest Sonar?’
But do not underestimate the symbolic power of this pact. It means that, should Vladimir Putin decide to annex a guillemot colony in the North Sea, three nations will be able to convene a virtual summit, send a strongly worded tweet, and perhaps deploy a drone to take a fuzzy picture of a periwinkle. The deterrent value is staggering.
In other news, I have decided to lead my own pact: the BARKUS Accords, dedicated to the development of self-important drones that carry gin glasses across crowded rooms. The opening ceremony will be held in a pub in Whitehall. I shall bring my own waterproof microphone.
Britain, you have outdone yourselves. You have taken the mess of global politics and added a layer of pointless aquatic complexity. Tomorrow, I suspect, we will announce a joint venture with the Falkland Islands to develop a penguin-powered submarine. Or perhaps a robotic sheepdog for the Scottish coast guard. The possibilities are as endless as the taxpayer’s patience.
And so, as the underwater drones hum their lonely tune in the Atlantic abyss, I raise my glass of dubious airport gin. Here’s to progress, you magnificent, foolish bastards.
