In a stunning display of diplomatic theatre that would make a Gilbert and Sullivan opera seem restrained, Israel has once again rained hellfire upon Lebanon, and the international community has responded with the kind of decisive action one expects from a committee of flatulent jellyfish. Yes, folks, the bombs are falling, the rhetoric is soaring, and the tea is getting cold in Whitehall as His Majesty's Government tepidly calls for a 'cessation of hostilities' – because nothing says 'robust foreign policy' like a strongly worded press release.
Let's set the scene. It's a Tuesday. Which Tuesday? Who cares. They're all interchangeable at this point. The BBC has dusted off their 'Breaking News' banner again, rolling it out like a tired birthday bunting. Israel, emboldened by a 24-hour window in which the world was distracted by something shiny on Twitter, decided to remind everyone that they possess a truly exceptional collection of high explosives. Trump, apparently still smarting from the time he was told he couldn't have a third scoop of ice cream, issued a stern rebuke – the kind where he types in all caps and then goes back to watching Hannity.
And what of the UK? Our noble leader, having perfected the art of looking both concerned and entirely out of their depth, stood at a lectern and read from a card that had been chewed by a bored civil servant. 'We urge all parties to de-escalate and return to meaningful dialogue,' they said, with the same conviction a teenage boy uses to explain why he hasn't done his homework. The Foreign Office, that hallowed institution of fudge and waffle, issued a statement that was translated from the original language of 'we hope everyone is okay and please think of the children.'
Now, I don't claim to be a military strategist. My knowledge of geopolitics comes from equal parts gin-fuelled bar chats and accidentally reading the Guardian crossword clues. But even I can see the glorious absurdity here. Israel bombs Lebanon, Trump says 'Don't do that,' Israel does it anyway, UK says 'Please stop,' and everyone is shocked – shocked! – that the cycle continues. It's like watching a man repeatedly stub his toe against a concrete wall and then being surprised when he yelps.
Meanwhile, the actual people caught in this maelstrom – the ones with names and dreams and a desperate desire for a decent internet connection – are left to pick through rubble that has been liberally seasoned with American-made explosives and British-made diplomacy. The Prime Minister's statement used the word 'disappointed' three times. I think I counted four. I was too busy choking on my G&T.
So here we are again. The UN Security Council will hold an emergency meeting where they will all agree that this is Very Bad and then do precisely nothing. The US will send a special envoy who will get his suit rumpled. The EU will issue a strongly worded memo. And the UK? Well, the UK will continue to call for a ceasefire, like a persistent butler offering canapés to a room full of people who are actively setting fire to the curtains.
Is this satire? No. This is journalism. Or rather, it's what journalism looks like when it's been force-fed a diet of sorrow and tonic. We report the news, you watch it unfold, and somewhere a cat videos gets more views than a humanitarian crisis. Welcome to 2024. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with a bottle.
