In a move that has sent tremors through the Ministry of Gin and the Department of Desperate Hoping, the government has pledged to sever its sycophantic umbilical cord to Russian diesel and jet fuel by the New Year. Yes, you read that correctly. Britain, that plucky little island nation that once ruled the waves and now struggles to rule its own thermostat, is finally going cold turkey on Vladimir Putin’s liquid assets.
This is not a drill. This is a sovereignty push, a grandstanding gesture of geopolitical independence that will see us all clutching our mugs of tea and shivering in the dark until someone invents a way to power the National Grid with pure British pluck. But fear not, for the Department for Transport has assured us that this is a “major sovereignty push,” and we all know that nothing says “sovereignty” like freezing your knackers off while the cabinet ministers helicopter to their second homes.
The timing, as always, is impeccable. We are mere weeks away from the New Year, a time traditionally reserved for broken resolutions and the vague hope that next year will be less of a dumpster fire. And what better resolution than to tell Russia, “No more, Ivan. We’re done. We’re going to power our jets with the tears of Remoaners and the hot air of Tory backbenchers.”
But let us not be churlish. This is a bold, some might say bonkers, gamble. The government has been vague on the specifics, as is traditional. They have not said exactly how we will achieve this miracle of energy independence. Will we be burning the memoirs of Boris Johnson? Will we be pedalling furiously on static bikes to power the Houses of Parliament? Will we be distilling our own gin from the bitter herbs of Brexit? The possibilities are as endless as they are implausible.
One imagines the civil service has been burning the midnight oil, or rather, the midnight diesel, to come up with a plan. Perhaps we will import all our fuel from Norway, replacing one dependency with another, like an alcoholic switching from gin to meths. Or perhaps we will all be forced to drive cars powered by the sheer force of our disappointment.
The real genius of this announcement is that it is both urgent and vague. It is a masterpiece of political theatre. The government is signalling its intent, its resolve, its sheer gumption. And if it fails, well, they can blame the Russians again. It is a win-win for the suits, and a lose-lose for the rest of us.
The reaction from the opposition has been predictably tepid. Labour has said it is “cautiously supportive,” which is code for “we have no idea either but we don’t want to look weak on sovereignty.” The Lib Dems have called for a public inquiry, which is what they always call for when they don’t know what else to do. And the Greens have suggested we all just wear more jumpers, which is probably the most sensible idea of the lot.
In conclusion, I salute the government’s ambition. It is the kind of ambition that only comes from a deep, abiding faith in the power of British exceptionalism and a complete disregard for the laws of thermodynamics. The New Year deadline is a stroke of genius. It gives us something to look forward to, a deadline for the final showdown between hope and reality. My money is on reality, but I am a cynical old hack. I sincerely hope I am wrong. I would love to see a Britain powered by nothing but the hot air of its politicians and the cold fury of its citizens. That, my friends, would be true sovereignty.
