In a development that has sent tremors of confusion through the cocktail circuit and beyond, the United States has commenced bombing Iran following an attack on a cargo ship in the Gulf. The Royal Navy, for its part, has been placed on alert, presumably to ensure that no one spills their tea during the excitement.
Let us be clear: the chain of events is as follows. A cargo ship, name unknown, flags of convenience flapping in the breeze like a confession of fiscal impropriety, was attacked by persons unknown but widely assumed to be Iranian, because who else would be having a bad day in the Gulf? The US, never one to let a diplomatic impulse get in the way of a good explodey response, launched airstrikes on Iranian positions. Cue the dramatic music, the solemn-faced politicians, and the immediate deployment of think-tank experts to explain why this time it's different.
Meanwhile, the Royal Navy has been told to be 'on alert'. This means that somewhere in Bahrain, a Royal Navy officer has put down his copy of 'The Sailor's Guide to Not Starting a War' and is now staring intently at a radar screen. The alert status, we are told, is 'high', which in Royal Navy parlance translates to 'we've had to postpone the curry night'. Elsewhere, defence analysts are wheeled out to opine that this could be the start of something big, or possibly the continuation of something medium-sized, or perhaps just a bit of a kerfuffle.
The cargo ship in question was reportedly carrying 'unspecified goods'. This could mean anything from grain to guided missiles, but the ambiguity is essential to maintain the dramatic tension. The attack itself was swift, brutal, and caught on grainy footage that will be looped on news channels for the next 48 hours, interspersed with interviews with men who have maps and very serious ties. The perpetrators, naturally, are 'terrorists' or 'hostile forces' or possibly 'a group of particularly stroppy seagulls'.
What we have here, my dear readers, is a masterpiece of modern theatre. The actors: a superpower with an election coming up, a regional hegemon with a penchant for the dramatic, and a smattering of cargo ships playing the role of innocent victims. The script: tried and tested, featuring the 'you hit my boat, I hit your country' plot device, which has been a crowd-pleaser since the days of galleons and parrots.
The Royal Navy's role in this farce is to look concerned and be ready to evacuate British expats from Dubai if things get really sticky. They will issue statements full of words like 'deterrence' and 'stability', though the only stability likely to be achieved is in the price of Brent crude. Oil markets, unsurprisingly, have responded with the enthusiasm of a drunken sailor on shore leave, prices spiking like a fever chart of a hypochondriac.
Let us not forget the human cost. There will be funerals, there will be rhetoric about 'our brave boys', and there will be a great deal of earnest commentary about the complex geopolitics of the Strait of Hormuz. But underneath it all, the same bitter comedy: we are bombing a country because someone attacked a ship, and we don't know who that someone is, but we know who we want it to be.
In conclusion, the world is on fire, the Royal Navy has been told to look sharp, and the only winner is the arms industry. Pass the gin. I need a stiff one.
