In an astonishing display of diplomatic muscle flexing that would leave a wet noodle feeling inadequate, Her Majesty's Government has formally condemned the latest Russian strikes on Kyiv. The condemnation, delivered with the ferocity of a damp handshake, was swiftly followed by the revelation that UK aid has been reaching 'sleepy' Ukrainian neighbourhoods. Sleepy, one presumes, in the way that a fox is sleepy when it's been clubbed over the head with a cricket bat.
The Ministry of Defence, in a statement that read like a love letter to bureaucratic inertia, congratulated itself on getting supplies to areas that have been 'sleepy' since the first bombs fell. I can only imagine the confusion of a Ukrainian pensioner, emerging from a bomb shelter to find a crate of British aid labelled 'For especially somnolent districts only'. The sheer cheek of it. The audacity to describe a war zone in terms more befitting a village after a heavy Sunday lunch is a new low, even for the diplomatic corps.
Meanwhile, Russian strikes continue to rain down on Kyiv, turning apartments into abstract art installations and parks into craters. And what does Britain do? It sends a strongly worded letter and some aid to a 'sleepy' neighbourhood. If I were a cynic, I'd say this is less about supporting Ukraine and more about ensuring the Foreign Office has something to do between tea breaks.
But let us not be too harsh. After all, Britain has a proud tradition of condemning things. We condemned the Opium Wars (eventually), we condemned apartheid, and now we condemn Russian strikes. It's almost like a national sport. Perhaps we should send a team to the Olympics. Gold medals in tut-tutting and finger-wagging are surely within our grasp.
And yet, the people of Kyiv sleep. Not the sleep of the just, but the sleep of the exhausted, the terrified, the bombed. They sleep in basements, in metro stations, in the cold embrace of uncertainty. And Britain sends aid to 'sleepy' neighbourhoods. Perhaps the aid includes pillows. Or maybe it's just a metaphor: the neighbourhoods are sleepy because the people are dead. But that would be too grim, even for this column.
No, we must focus on the positives. The aid is arriving. The condemnation is on record. And somewhere in the Foreign Office, a civil servant is patting themselves on the back for a job well done. The gin has been poured. The speeches have been written. The world can rest easy, knowing that Britain has done its bit.
But as the bombs fall and the sirens wail, I can't help but wonder: will history remember the condemnation or the aid? Or will it just remember the word 'sleepy', a bizarre linguistic choice that makes war sound like a minor inconvenience? One thing is for certain: the nightly news will have a field day. And I shall be here, gin in hand, ready to mock it all.
