In a stunning display of maritime theatre that would make a panto villain weep with envy, Her Majesty's Government has confirmed that Russian warships have been seen frolicking in the English Channel. Yes, the same stretch of water that has historically served as Britain's moat, now apparently open for business to any passing submarine with a grudge and a faulty compass.
According to sources so deep they're practically in the Mariana Trench, a Russian vessel, possibly a corvette or perhaps a particularly aggressive fishing trawler, was detected creeping through our waters. The Ministry of Defence, never one to miss an opportunity for a stiff upper lip, has deployed HMS Whatever's-Not-Being-Repaired to shadow the interloper. One imagines the conversation: "I say, old chap, you seem to have taken a wrong turn at Murmansk. The vodka emporium is that way."
The Prime Minister, looking as though he's just been told his morning tea has been replaced with borscht, declared that Britain 'will not tolerate any violation of our sovereignty'. A bold statement from a man whose sovereignty over his own cabinet is often in question. Meanwhile, the Russian ambassador, a man with a face like a slapped fish, has been summoned to the Foreign Office for a stern talking-to. One pictures him being handed a strongly worded letter on vellum, while MI6 agents in the background polish their silenced pistols.
But let's be honest, what is this really about? Is it a genuine naval incursion or just Vladimir Putin's idea of a bank holiday joyride? Perhaps the Russian navy is simply lost, their GPS programmed to 'anywhere that annoys the British'. After all, nothing says 'we're a global power' like sailing a rustbucket through the Dover Strait, causing minor delays to cross-Channel ferries.
The intelligence community, a collection of men and women who look like they've never seen the sun and communicate solely in acronyms, are 'monitoring the situation closely'. This is Whitehall-speak for 'we have no idea what they're up to but we'll pretend we do'. Expect a flurry of activity: reshuffled papers, furrowed brows, and perhaps a hastily arranged meeting over stale biscuits.
Meanwhile, the British public, who are currently more concerned with the price of a pint and the latest iteration of Love Island, are being assured that everything is under control. Because nothing says 'under control' like a Russian warship doing breaststroke through your backyard.
So raise a glass of presumably smuggled Russian vodka to the brave men and women of the Royal Navy, who are even now trying to look menacing in their hi-vis jackets. And to the Russians: welcome to the Channel. The water's fine, if a bit chilly. Mind the Brexit paperwork on your way out.
