In a development that will shock precisely no one with a functioning brain stem, the German government has thrown a spectacular diplomatic strop, blaming Moscow for its humiliating defeat at the UN Security Council. The vote, which saw Britain and France join forces to slap down a German-led resolution on something or other, has been described by one anonymous Berlin official as 'an ambush orchestrated by the bear'.
Yes, dear reader, the bear. Because nothing says 'mature foreign policy' like blaming a furry woodland creature for your own diplomatic incompetence. Meanwhile, across the Channel, His Majesty's government has been spotted engaging in a curious ritual: pretending to care about 'European unity'. This from a nation that spent four decades perfecting the art of being simultaneously in and out of Europe, like a flustered tourist trying to decide whether to enter a Parisian brothel.
The UN defeat, frankly, was a masterclass in political theatre. The German ambassador, a man whose face appears to have been carved from a block of Westphalian ham, spent the entire session looking as though he'd just discovered his sauerkraut had been spiked with a laxative. His British counterpart, meanwhile, delivered a speech so dripping with smugness that several delegates were seen checking their shoes for residue.
But let us not forget the real victim here: the noble art of diplomacy. In the old days, great nations would settle their differences with a spot of sabre-rattling and perhaps a duel. Now we have this: a bunch of overpaid functionaries in ill-fitting suits arguing over commas in a document that will be forgotten by teatime. Truly, we are living in an age of unprecedented progress.
As for the British government's sudden enthusiasm for European togetherness, one can only assume it's part of their ongoing campaign to gaslight the electorate into forgetting the whole 'Brexit' debacle. 'European unity', apparently, now means 'agreeing with whatever London says', a definition they've borrowed from their old colonial handbook.
The Germans, to their credit, have responded with typical Germanic phlegm. Their foreign minister, a woman with the weary expression of someone who has just discovered her lederhosen has been stolen, issued a statement blaming 'dark forces' for the defeat. When pressed, she clarified that by 'dark forces' she meant 'the Russians, obviously'.
And so the great game continues. The UN, that magnificent temple to bureaucratic inertia, churns on. Resolutions are passed, vetoes deployed, and the world's problems remain unsolved. But at least we have the entertainment. After all, what could be more amusing than watching Germany blame Russia for its own diplomatic failures while Britain plays the role of Europe's saviour? It's like a particularly confusing episode of 'Yes, Minister' if it were written by a drunk Tolstoy.
The author, Barnaby 'Biff' Thistlethwaite, watched this farce from the press gallery, fortified by a hip flask of Navy-strength gin and a profound sense of disdain for all involved.
