In a development that has shattered the peace of Doha’s afternoon tea and crumpet hour, 13 souls have been abruptly promoted to the afterlife, with a supporting cast of dozens more nursing injuries, following a gas explosion that rocked a restaurant in the heart of the city. The blast, which the Qatari authorities are calling a 'tragic accident', has prompted the British Foreign Office to issue its most thrilling piece of advice since the invention of the phrase 'avoid the area'.
Let’s be clear: this is not your average kitchen mishap. This explosion was of the sort that rearranges buildings and unseats chandeliers. It was a visceral reminder that sometimes, the universe decides to play a practical joke involving fire and shrapnel. And as the smoke clears and the dust settles, we are left with the grim tally of human pavement pizza.
The restaurant, a popular establishment in Doha’s snazzier district, was reportedly packed with a lunchtime crowd of expats, locals, and the occasional oil executive trying to digest the morning’s exchange rates. Then, from the bowels of the building, came a sound like God’s own door slamming, followed by a burst of flame that would make a dragon blush. In the chaos that ensued, 13 people received their final stamp on the passport of life, while others were left with souvenirs of broken bone and singed ambition.
Now, enter the UK Foreign Office, that bastion of understatement and bureaucratic caution. They’ve issued a statement that reads like a warning label on a bottle of industrial solvent: 'Avoid the area.' Because of course. After an explosion that left a crater big enough to park a Range Rover in, one must triumphantly advise British nationals to steer clear. It’s like telling someone not to bathe in lava. But this is the language of diplomacy, a language that was born in a committee and raised on a diet of unflappable calm.
Let’s dissect this advice. 'Avoid the area.' What does that even mean when the area is now a smoking hole? Does it mean: 'Don’t go and gawp at the devastation, you ghoulish thrill-seekers?' Or does it mean: 'Please stay indoors and clutch your passport tightly while we nervously twiddle our moustaches?' I suspect it’s the latter, delivered with a stiff upper lip and a slight tremor in the teacup.
But let’s not mock the dead. No, the dead have earned their place in the eternal ledger. They were simply enjoying their lunch, perhaps a nice kebab or a plate of fragrant rice, when the floor became the ceiling and the ceiling became a memory. And the dozens injured? They now have a story that will dominate dinner parties for years to come: 'Remember that time I was nearly reduced to a footnote in a Foreign Office advisory?'
The Qatari authorities, bless them, have launched an investigation. Expect a preliminary report full of words like 'gas leak' and 'maintenance oversight' and the inevitable promise to 'improve safety protocols'. But we all know the real truth: sometimes, the gas pipe gets moody. Sometimes, the infrastructure rebels. And sometimes, the universe just needs to remind us that we are all just one faulty valve away from an unscheduled celestial exit.
So to the 13: may your next journey be less explosive. To the injured: may your recovery be swift and your compensation generous. And to the Foreign Office: please, in future, spice up your advisories with a little more panache. Perhaps: 'Hark, Britons! Doha’s hospitality sector has developed a flair for the dramatic. Proceed with caution.' But no, we get 'avoid the area.' Which is fine. It carries the same weight as a wet tissue.
In other news, I hear the airport gin in Doha is quite passable. If you’re not avoiding the area, that is.
