In what can only be described as a masterclass in diplomatic desperation, Her Majesty's Government has announced a feverish pursuit of bilateral trade deals with North American powers as the continental free trade deadline hurtles towards us like a hungover freight train. Whitehall mandarins, no doubt fuelled by lukewarm tea and the ghost of empire, have been spotted loitering outside the Canadian High Commission and the US Embassy, clutching copies of Truss's 'Axe the Tax' and looking profoundly lost.
This is the same government that promised us a glorious, sunlit uplands of global free trade, and now appears to be treating a trade deal like a desperate date at closing time: 'We'll take whatever's left, thanks. Even if it's just a crate of maple syrup and a crate of Bud Light.'
The NAFTA renegotiations have become a sort of geopolitical theatre, a Circus Maximus where ministers perform fiscal acrobatics while the nation watches through spread fingers. The UK's pitch? 'We're small, we're plucky, and we won't complain if you give us slightly fewer chlorinated chickens than the Americans.' It's the diplomatic equivalent of a dog begging for scraps under a table, but dressed in a Savile Row suit.
Let's be clear: this is not a trade deal. This is a shambolic jumble sale of national sovereignty, where we flog our regulatory standards for a chance to sell Marmite to people who already have Vegemite. The negotiators will emerge, blinking, from some airless room in Ottawa, clutching a document that promises 'enhanced co-operation' and 'mutual recognition of standards' which translates to 'you can have our kidneys if we can have your digital services.'
Meanwhile, the deadline looms like a Dementor over Hogwarts, sucking the joy from any remaining optimism. The Canadians are playing it cool, the Americans are playing it loud, and the British are playing it meek, offering to host the QLMTs (Quarterly Lobster and Maple Syrup Tribunals) as a gesture of goodwill. It's a pantomime of power where we're the comic relief, tripping over our own red tape.
But fear not, dear reader, for the government has a plan. That plan is to hope that the Americans are too distracted by their own domestic chaos (which, let's face it, is like a 24/7 soap opera written by a coked-up marmoset) to notice that we're offering them a slightly worse version of what they already have with Canada and Mexico. The strategy? Blinding them with politeness and a desperate need for validation.
As the clock ticks down, one can almost hear the gin glasses clinking in the bars of Westminster, where MPs console themselves with the thought that at least we tried. And if we fail, well, there's always the Commonwealth, surely they'll take us back. Right? Right? Anyone?
