In a move that has sent shivers of patriotic glee down the spines of algae everywhere, Donald Trump has ordered an immediate, top-to-bottom restoration of the Washington Reflecting Pool. This is a man who knows the value of a good reflection, having spent a lifetime staring into various mirrors. The pool, he declared, must be made 'great again,' presumably so he can see his own magnificence without the distraction of a little green slime.
Cue the British. With the stiff-upper-lip arrogance of a man who has just been asked to recommend a good plumber, the National Trust has dispatched a team of heritage experts to advise on 'algae control at historic sites.' I imagine them arriving at Dulles Airport, tweed jackets flapping, a thermos of weak tea in one hand, a slide rule in the other. Their advice? 'Use a bit of salt, mate. And stop throwing so many flags in there.'
But let us pause to consider the sheer absurdity of this situation. The most powerful man in the free world, the leader of the global hegemon, is calling in the boffins from a small island nation that can't decide which way to drive, to fix a puddle. This is the diplomatic equivalent of asking your ex-girlfriend for cooking tips. The British, for their part, are no doubt relishing the opportunity to patronise the Yanks. I can see the headlines now: 'How we taught the Americans to clean a pond.'
The logistical challenges are, of course, immense. The Reflecting Pool is not a bird bath. It is a vast, rectangular basin of symbolic heft. It reflects the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the collective guilt of a nation. To repair it is to tinker with the soul of America. And who better to do that than a bunch of people who still think the Monarchy is a good idea?
I imagine the meetings. Trump, purple-faced, demanding the job be done in a week. The British experts, slow-blinking, murmuring about 'the need for patience, old boy.' There will be talk of 'traditional methods' and 'heritage-approved treatments.' There will be spreadsheets and risk assessments. And in the end, they will probably just throw a load of duckweed in there and call it a day.
Meanwhile, the British press is having a field day. The Daily Mail is running a piece on 'How to beat pond scum: The Royal Family's secret recipe.' The Guardian is arguing that the pool should be left as a 'natural habitat.' The Times is simply running a list of the best British pubs near the White House. It is a glorious mess, a beautiful, pointless exercise in cross-cultural misunderstanding.
But let us not forget the real victims here: the turtles. Yes, there are turtles in that pool. They have been living there for years, breathing in the fumes of American democracy and snacking on the odd tourist's penny. Now they face eviction, or worse, a spa makeover. 'Operation Turtle Tidy-Up' they are calling it. The turtles are not amused. They have seen presidents come and go. They will see this farce through.
So here's to the Reflecting Pool. May it reflect the best of us: our hubris, our love of bureaucracy, our ability to turn a simple cleaning job into an international incident. And may the British, in their infinite wisdom, remember the most important lesson of all: never trust an American with a pond.
