Six souls have been plucked from this mortal coil in Gaza, their lives extinguished by the brutal choreography of war. The UK, ever the gentleman, has responded with a sternly worded request for 'de-escalation' - a phrase that sounds wonderfully impotent when your hands are stained with the blood of inaction. I imagine Whitehall mandarins polishing their monocles and tutting over tea, as if the bombs are merely a breach of etiquette.
'Awfully sorry, old chap, but could you kindly stop killing people? It's frightfully bad form.' What next?
A strongly worded letter to the Grim Reaper himself? The absurdity would be hilarious if it weren't for the bodies piling up. I propose a new foreign policy: instead of asking nicely, we send crates of gin to the warring parties.
If they're too drunk to pull a trigger, we might see some actual peace. Or we'll just have a lot of very merry war criminals. Either way, it's more honest than the current performance.
The real de-escalation needed is the one from our own moral high horse.
