In a development that has sent shockwaves through the chattering classes and caused at least three think-tank pundits to choke on their artisanal crisps, Israeli warplanes have reportedly turned the ancient Lebanese city of Tyre into a rather less ancient pile of rubble. This audacious act of aerial punctuation comes hot on the heels of a stern Iranian warning, which Tehran delivered with all the gravitas of a man threatening to cancel his Netflix subscription. Meanwhile, over in the Gulf, the Royal Navy has assumed the posture of a particularly resolute bouncer outside a nightclub that has seen better days. They are, we are told, 'standing ready' to protect shipping. Which is a relief. For a moment there, I thought they might be standing ready to protect a particularly ambitious pie-eating contest in Portsmouth.
The strikes on Tyre, a city that has the misfortune of being both historically significant and strategically located, represent a classic game of international whack-a-mole. Iran, a nation that has elevated the art of issuing threats to a level that would make a Victorian melodrama villain blush, warned Israel against any 'adventurism.' One can only assume that the Israeli Air Force, upon receiving this warning, convened a committee to define 'adventurism' and concluded that it applies only to unaccompanied hiking in the Golan Heights. Thus, they proceeded to drop enough ordnance on Tyre to make a demolition expert weep with joy.
The Royal Navy, bless their cotton socks, have dispatched HMS something-or-other (the name is irrelevant; it's always a vowel-consonant combination that sounds like a minor character from a Patrick O'Brian novel) to the Gulf. Their mission, should they choose to accept it, is to ensure that oil tankers continue their stately procession through waters that are currently more volatile than a Soho pub at closing time. The Ministry of Defence, in a statement that was entirely bereft of irony, declared that the Royal Navy 'stands ready to protect freedom of navigation.' Which is a noble sentiment, unless you happen to be a sailor on a tanker that is about to become an unscheduled reef.
One cannot help but wonder, as the gin level in my glass sinks lower than the Thames at low tide, what exactly the Royal Navy can do if Iran decides to actually follow through on one of its threats. A frigate, no matter how well-polished its brass fittings, is not exactly a match for a swarm of speedboats crewed by men who have seen more action than a soap opera actor's agent. But perhaps that is the point. The Royal Navy is not there to fight; it is there to look distinguished and remind everyone of a time when Britannia ruled the waves and the worst thing you had to worry about was scurvy.
Meanwhile, the denizens of Tyre, those who are still above ground, are likely wondering what they did to deserve being caught in the crossfire of a geopolitical tantrum. The answer, as ever, is nothing. They are merely collateral damage in a game of chess where the pieces are made of steel and the board is on fire. But do not expect any hand-wringing from this corner. Sentimentality is a luxury reserved for those who have not spent the morning reading reports of the latest atrocity. I have deadlines to meet and a column inch to fill.
In conclusion, the situation in the Middle East remains as stable as a three-legged table on a ship in a storm. Israel continues to pound, Iran continues to warn, and the Royal Navy continues to stand ready. It is a dance as old as time, or at least as old as the 20th century, and it shows no signs of stopping. I, for one, will be watching from the bar, gin in hand, waiting for the next absurdity to unfold. Cheers.
