In a development so profoundly baffling that it could only have been concocted by a committee of sleep-deprived charity directors, we are informed that survivors of the Ebola virus are now bringing 'rare joy' to the epicentre of the outbreak. Yes, joy. The same emotion typically reserved for finding a tenner in an old coat or watching a politician choke on their own lies.
But here we are, ladies and gentlemen, with the World Health Organisation – that great arbiter of global misery – confirming that those who have clawed their way back from the brink of haemorrhagic fever are now being deployed as beacons of hope. Because nothing says 'look on the bright side' like a person who has survived a disease that turns your internal organs into a smoothie. The logic, as far as I can glean from the press release, is that survivors are immune to the virus and can therefore care for the sick without fear of reinfection.
A noble pursuit, to be sure. But let's not pretend this is a 'silver lining' story. This is a desperate measure in a desperate situation, where the alternative is watching entire villages perish in isolation.
The report also mentions that UK medical aid remains vital. Vital. That word gets thrown around like confetti at a royal wedding.
UK aid, for all its bureaucratic bungling and ministerial photo ops, is allegedly the difference between life and death in these regions. I suppose we should be proud. Proud that our tax pounds are funding the kind of frontline heroism that most of us can only simulate by watching 'Casualty' with a stiff gin.
But let's not get carried away. The same government that trumpets its aid budget is also slashing it faster than a Butlin's chef with a cleaver. The same politicians who pose with babies in African hospitals are the ones who voted to send arms to Saudi Arabia.
But never mind that. For now, let us celebrate the 'rare joy' of survival. Let us raise a glass to the indomitable human spirit, and to the brave souls who, having faced the abyss, now wipe the brows of those still teetering on the edge.
And let us also raise a glass to the British taxpayer, whose contribution – however diminished – still buys a few more days of borrowed time. Cheers. Now pass the disinfectant.
