The latest act in the Levantine pantomime has hit the stage, and the script is, as ever, a shambolic mess of broken promises and cocked-up diplomacy. Intelligence sources, those anonymous purveyors of doom who spend their days peering at satellite images and drinking bad coffee, are now wailing that Iran is about to escalate after Hezbollah so brazenly, so cheerfully, flouted the UK-backed ceasefire with Israel. Yes, the same ceasefire that was meant to bring peace, stability, and possibly a nice cup of mint tea to the region. What a lark.
Let us set the scene. London, that grey metropolis of soggy umbrellas and self-regard, puffs out its chest and declares a ceasefire. Israel, perhaps with a wry smile, nods along. Hezbollah, the chaps in the party hats of the resistance, simply says 'no thanks' and carries on firing rockets. And now, intelligence sources whisper that Iran, the great puppeteer in the shadows, is gearing up for a bloody encore. But who writes this farce? It must be a committee of bureaucrats with a tin ear for the absurd.
The British government, in its infinite wisdom, thought it could broker a truce between a state that regards itself as the only democracy in the Middle East and a militia whose raison d'être is that state's annihilation. It is like asking a fox to mediate a peace treaty with a henhouse. And now the intelligence community, that cabal of spooks and soothsayers, warns of Iranian escalation. Escalation from what, precisely? The region has been a bonfire of vanities for decades. The only thing escalating is the price of gin in Whitehall bars.
Let us consider the characters. There is Benjamin Netanyahu, the magician of Israeli politics, who can turn a ceasefire into a photo op and a war into a campaign promise. There is the Iranian mullahcracy, a bunch of men in robes who think the Mahdi is coming and fancy a bit of apocalyptic fun in the meantime. And then there is Hezbollah, the 'Party of God', which seems to have missed the memo that God is meant to be a merciful deity, not a rocket-launching one. The British government, meanwhile, plays Tom to their Jerry, forever chasing the tail of a conflict that refuses to be caught.
The surrealist metaphor of the week: This ceasefire is like a card house built on a trampoline. It looked sturdy for a moment, but then Hezbollah bounced on it and everything collapsed. Now intelligence sources, those soothsayers of the shadows, say Iran is ready to jump on the trampoline too. And the UK? The UK is standing back, clutching a cup of tea and a copy of the Geneva Conventions, looking bewildered.
The truth, dear reader, is that the Levant is a meat grinder that chews up diplomacy and spits out irony. The British government, with its grand traditions and colonial hangovers, thinks it can wave a wand and make peace. But the wand is a soggy biscuit and the magic is a parliamentary motion read by a sleep-deprived minister. Iran laughs, Hezbollah fires, Israel retaliates and the world watches, shaking its head while ordering another round.
So here is the prognosis: more rockets, more sanctions, more headlines that end with 'fears of regional war'. The intelligence sources will keep warning, the politicians will keep blathering and the rest of us will keep pouring gin into the void. Because that, mes amis, is the only honest response to a farce that has run for far too long. The curtain falls. The audience groans. But the show never ends.
And the airport gin is, as ever, disappointingly warm.
