In a development that has sent a shiver of schadenfreude through the chattering classes, John Bolton, the man with a moustache that could double as a badger and a résumé that reads like a manual on How To Make Everything Worse, is facing the very real prospect of exchanging his suits for a rather less flattering orange jumpsuit. Yes, the former National Security Advisor to the Don of Disorder Himself, Donald J. Trump, is being dragged before the courts for allegedly blabbing classified information in his memoir. The book, titled "The Room Where It Happened," appears to have been less a historical account and more a guided tour of the nation's most sensitive secrets, complete with souvenir commentary.
Meanwhile, in a fluster of activity that suggests someone finally spilt their tea and noticed the red light blinking on the secure phone, MI5 and GCHQ have initiated a comprehensive review of all intelligence shared with the United States during the Bolton era. Because, you see, dear reader, there is a nagging suspicion that the man who once declared he would happily bomb Iran into the Stone Age might not have been the most discreet custodian of Her Majesty's most intimate intelligence. One imagines the review involves a lot of sighing, rubbing of temples, and the occasional exclamation of "Bloody hell, we told him about that?"
Let us pause and consider the sheer absurdity of this situation. John Bolton, a man who looks like he was carved from a block of granite by a sculptor who had never seen a human being, is now the centre of a legal and diplomatic kerfuffle that would make a farce blush. The Americans are indignant that he might have revealed state secrets. The British are reviewing their own leaks with the frantic energy of a man who accidentally posted his diary to his mum. And the rest of the world watches, popcorn in hand, as the great Anglo-American intelligence alliance threatens to unravel over a book deal.
Of course, let us not forget the man at the centre of this storm. Donald Trump, who has the emotional range of a rabid badger and the legal acumen of a slightly confused dog, is reported to be "furious" with Bolton over the leaks. But then, Trump is furious about everything from the colour of the carpet in the Oval Office to the fact that the average IQ of his staff appears to be dropping below room temperature. His anger, like his hair, is a constant and confusing feature of the political landscape.
But what of the consequences? If Bolton is jailed, it will surely set a precedent. Will every former advisor who pens a tell-all be subject to the same scrutiny? Will we see a parade of ex-aides in handcuffs, each clutching their book royalties and looking bewildered? The publishing industry, for one, is watching this with bated breath. They have already given advances to at least a dozen former White House staffers, each promising to dish the dirt on the Sausage King of Pennsylvania Avenue.
And the British review? It is a delicate dance. The Special Relationship is predicated on a certain level of trust, a trust that has been repeatedly tested over the last four years. The Prime Minister, a man whose approval ratings are currently lower than the temperature in a meat locker, will need to tread carefully. He cannot afford to alienate the Americans, but neither can he afford to look like a lapdog. It is a tightrope walk, and one misstep could see him plummet into the abyss of political irrelevance.
In the end, this whole affair is a tragic comedy wrapped in a farce. John Bolton, a man who has spent his life chasing power and influence, now finds himself a pawn in a game he cannot control. The intelligence agencies, those bastions of secrecy and caution, are forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, they should have thought twice before sharing their deepest secrets with a man who thinks diplomacy is for wimps. And the public, as always, is left to wonder what other secrets are lurking just beneath the surface.
So pour yourself a stiff gin, dear reader. This story is far from over. And something tells me the next chapter will be even more surreal than the last.
