In a development that has sent civil servants diving for the sherry cabinet, His Majesty’s Government has issued a sternly worded warning about a phone call between Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu. The call, described by the Foreign Office as “reckless,” threatens to undermine years of delicate diplomacy with Iran. One can only imagine the scene: Trump, barking into a gold-plated receiver about the size of his nuclear button, while Bibi, ever the statesman, nods along while mentally rehearsing his next election speech. It is, as they say, a right royal pants-down moment for international relations.
The Foreign Office’s statement, delivered with the kind of stiff upper lip that usually precedes a declaration of war, noted that “unilateral actions by our allies could jeopardise the fragile progress made in Vienna.” Fragile progress? More like a house of cards built on a trampoline. The Iran deal, already on life support, now faces the prospect of being smothered by a pillow of Trumpian bravado and Netanyahu’s expansionist dreams. It is a diplomatic clustercluck of epic proportions.
Let us not forget the cast of characters. Trump, a man who treats foreign policy like a game of golf, chipping away at decades of alliance-building with the finesse of a toddler with a sledgehammer. And Netanyahu, the master of the high-stakes poker face, who would sell his own grandmother’s hip replacement if it meant another settlement in the West Bank. Together, they are like a pair of flatulent elephants in a china shop, and we are all the terrified chipmunks hiding under the furniture.
What, pray tell, could they have discussed? Perhaps the finer points of bombing Iranian nuclear facilities while simultaneously tweeting about crowd sizes. Or maybe they debated the merits of wearing a tan suit versus a blue one when announcing the end of the world. The possibilities are as endless as they are terrifying. The Foreign Office, in a rare display of spine, has urged restraint. But let us be honest: when has restraint ever been Trump’s strong suit? The man’s favourite word is “fire,” usually followed by “him” or “the missile.”
Meanwhile, Iran sits back, watching the West implode with the quiet satisfaction of a cat about to knock a glass off the table. Their diplomats, no doubt, are practising their best “we told you so” expressions. The entire situation is a farce, a tragedy, and a comedy all rolled into one. But the punchline, as always, is that we are the ones paying for the tickets.
So raise a glass of the cheapest gin you can find to the glorious incompetence of our so-called leaders. They will inevitably screw this up, and we will be left to pick up the pieces. But at least the headlines will be entertaining. As for the Foreign Office, they should probably stock up on aspirin and stronger booze. They are going to need it.
