In a development that has all the hallmarks of a particularly dour episode of 'Torture Your Nearest and Dearest', a British couple have been sentenced to an extended stay in an Iranian prison, thus providing the Foreign Office with an excellent opportunity to wring its collective hands and issue the sort of sternly worded statement that has all the deterrent power of a wet paper bag. The couple, whose holiday brochure almost certainly omitted 'chain-gang folk dancing' from its list of local attractions, now face the prospect of trading their sun loungers for less accommodating concrete slabs.
One can only imagine the scene at the airport as they were bundled off the plane. 'But we only brought Factor 30,' the wife might have whimpered, as a man with a beard and a machine gun confiscated her duty-free gin. 'That's for the Good Lord to decide,' he would have growled, 'but we have a strict policy against alcohol. And independent thought. And laughter.'
The Foreign Office, that beacon of diplomatic finesse, has announced it is 'deeply concerned'. This is Whitehall-speak for 'we've sent a strongly worded email and are now hoping for the best.' Our ambassador, a man whose career has been built on mastering the art of saying nothing with great conviction, has reportedly requested a meeting with 'the relevant authorities', which in Iran parlance means 'the bloke with the biggest whip'.
Meanwhile, back in Blighty, the families of the hapless couple are no doubt considering a series of increasingly desperate measures. A hostage negotiation? A ransom? A strongly worded letter to The Times? The options are as limited as the Iranians' sense of humour when it comes to foreign tourists straying into the realm of 'disrespecting Islamic law', a charge as broad as it is vague.
The couple themselves are likely wondering what exactly they did. Was it the sunbathing? The public display of ankle? The fact they tried to order a gin and tonic in a country where the sale of alcohol is punishable by 74 lashes? The Iranian judiciary, a body that makes the Spanish Inquisition look like a bunch of liberal arts students, has deemed them guilty of 'propaganda against the state'. A crime that in Iran can be committed by simply looking at a poster of the Supreme Leader the wrong way.
This is, of course, merely the latest chapter in the ongoing saga of 'Let's See How Far We Can Push the British Government Before It Does Something', a game in which the Iranian regime has repeatedly proven itself to be a grandmaster. Our own government, for its part, seems content to occupy the role of the bloke who keeps saying 'Now, now, let's not be hasty' while the bullies make off with his lunch money.
So here we are, dear readers, at yet another impasse. The couple languish in a cell presumably decorated in shades of despair, while our diplomats polish their CVs and prepare for the next round of 'meaningful dialogue'. It is a farce of epic proportions, one that would have Fawlty himself reaching for the nearest pot plant.
But let us not despair entirely. For there is always the gin. And the hope that somewhere, in a parallel universe, there is a Foreign Secretary with a backbone made of something sterner than blancmange. Until then, we raise our glasses to the idiocy of power, the power of idiocy, and the indomitable spirit of the British holidaymaker who just wanted a bit of sun and got an eternity of shade.
God save the couple. And our consular services.
