In a move that has left political pundits scrambling for their thesauruses, Britain has declared it stands 'firm' as Israel rains death on Beirut hours after a US-brokered truce collapsed like a soufflé in a hurricane. The firmness, it appears, is of the same variety one might expect from a blancmange left too long in the sun: wobbly, insubstantial, and equally likely to be blamed on the EU.
Let us set the scene, dear readers. The 'truce' was, of course, a masterwork of American diplomacy. It lasted approximately the same time as a bulimic at a buffet. So fleeting. So ephemeral. It was a truce designed by men who have never met a conflict they couldn't escalate or a ceasefire they couldn't break. Enter Israel, stage right, with precision strikes on Beirut. Outrage from the usual suspects. Concern from the international community. And from Britain? A statement. A firm statement. The kind of firmness you'd expect from a man holding a card saying 'I support peace, please don't ask me to do anything about it.'
Our glorious leaders, with the collective resolve of a startled deer in headlights, have opted for the classic British response: tepid condemnation wrapped in a flag of neutrality. The Foreign Secretary, a man whose face suggests he has just smelt something unpleasant in a ministry lavatory, told the House: 'We urge restraint. We urge dialogue. We urge all sides to consider the... er... implications.' Implications. A word so vague it could apply to a broken parking meter or a nuclear holocaust. Splendid.
Meanwhile, the bombs continue to fall. Children weep. Bureaucrats polish their CVs. And somewhere in a Whitehall office, a civil servant is drafting a memo about the importance of 'measured responses' while his coffee goes cold. The irony would be palpable if anyone had the gall to smell it.
The question, my drenched-in-sarcasm friends, is this: When will Britain stand for something more substantial than a plate of lukewarm fish and chips? When will we trade our 'firm stance' for a pair of actual trousers? The answer, I fear, is as firm as our current position. Which is to say, not at all.
So raise a glass of warm gin to the diplomats. To the men and women who can turn a Beirut firestorm into a paragraph in a press release. To the idea that the best way to honor a collapsed truce is to issue a statement so firm it could prop up a flaccid meringue. Cheers, Britain. You've done it again. You've stood so firmly that no one noticed you were standing still.
