In a development so dripping with irony that even the North Sea has developed a sense of humour, Emmanuel Macron has tonight gushed over the 'magnificent maritime dragnet' that saw Her Majesty's Royal Navy help seize a sanctioned Russian oil tanker. Yes, the very same Emmanuel Macron who has spent the last decade trying to convince us all that sovereignty is for losers and that the UK is nothing but a sulky archipelago of Brexit-brained maniacs. Cue the champagne flutes and the dramatic U-turns.
Let us paint the scene. The vessel, a rust-bucket of questionable provenance and no doubt carrying enough oil to keep a Siberian oligarch's yacht running for a decade, was loitering off the coast of Dorset. That's right, Dorset. The home of cream teas, fossilised cliffs, and now, apparently, a floating monument to Western sanctions compliance. The Russian sailors, presumably equipped with nothing but a stash of jumbo prawn crackers and a deep-seated fear of the GCHQ surveillance apparatus, were no doubt startled to see the steely gaze of a Royal Navy boarding party. The boarding party, wielding cups of Earl Grey and a sternly worded letter, quickly ascertained that the vessel's insurance paperwork was 'not quite cricket.' And thus, a small victory in the grand theatre of the Ukraine conflict was recorded.
Now, naturally, Macron has hailed this as a triumph of 'European solidarity.' Because nothing says 'projecting strength' quite like needing a former EU member to do your maritime policing for you. The French President, in a statement so florid it could have been written on a napkin in a Left Bank brasserie, declared: 'Our dragnet is magnificent. The cooperation is total. We are united against the Russian aggression.' Yes, Emmanuel. United. Like a pair of albatrosses forced to share a fish. The real headline, of course, is that without British naval power, this vessel would still be gliding through the English Channel with all the grace of a drunken Russian oligarch at a Mayfair casino. But let's not let facts get in the way of a good diplomatic wet kiss.
What of the vessel itself? Its name, presumably something like 'Moscow's Revenge' or 'Putin's Piggy Bank,' now sits in a detention zone in Southampton, where it will be subjected to the rigorous indignity of British customs procedures. Its cargo: a slick of oil worth roughly the GDP of a small Luxembourgian tax haven. Its fate: to be sold off, with proceeds earmarked for Ukrainian reconstruction. Or more likely, a new wing at a quayside museum dedicated to 'Things That Were Absolutely Stolen, Thank You Very Much.'
But let's be honest, dear readers. This is a drop in the bucketed sea of sanctioned oil that continues to slosh its way to global markets. For every tanker seized, there are a dozen more with Liberian flags, opaque ownership, and a very generous interpretation of what constitutes 'essential foodstuffs.' Yet we must savour these moments. For they remind us that, despite the existential farce of modern geopolitics, there is still a faint sputter of common sense emanating from the corridors of power. And also that the Royal Navy, for all its cuts and trims, can still manage to stop a floating gas station with nothing but a firm tone and a copy of the Merchant Shipping Act.
What does this mean for the man in the street? Precisely nothing. Fuel prices will remain eye-watering. The cost of a Cornish pasty will continue its inexorable climb towards a tenner. But somewhere, in a Whitehall briefing room, a civil servant will crack a smile. And in the Elysee Palace, a certain Gallic ego will have been gently massaged. After all, in this madhouse of modern politics, sometimes the only way to feel better about yourself is to steal someone else's oil tanker.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have a date with a gin and tonic and a dictionary of maritime law. The absurdity must be documented.
