In the latest instalment of the region's longest-running soap opera, 'As the Gaza Strip Burns,' Israeli airstrikes have once again proven that precision is a relative term. Six souls were launched into the great beyond, among them an Al Jazeera cameraman who, one presumes, was framed too beautifully. The UK, ever the global scold, has called for 'restraint' – the diplomatic equivalent of telling a man to stop sneezing when he's knee-deep in pepper.
The man with the camera, bless his cotton socks, was merely doing his job: capturing the very reality that the rest of the world prefers to watch from a safe distance. Now his lens is smashed, his footage silent. As ever, the phrase 'collateral damage' is wheeled out, a term so dehumanising it might as well be invented by a PR firm for the Grim Reaper.
Meanwhile, in Whitehall, men with excellent teeth tutted into their Earl Grey. 'Restraint,' they murmured, as if the word were a magic spell. But here's the rub: when you're the 900-pound gorilla in the room, you don't call for restraint.
You call for a ceasefire, or, god forbid, an end to the occupation. But that would be awkward, wouldn't it? So instead, we get soundbites and sanctions that tickle rather than punch.
The cameraman's colleagues now ponder who'll be next to be 'regrettably' erased. The UK's statement was, of course, perfectly balanced: on one hand, the right to self-defence; on the other, the duty to protect civilians. It's like praising a fire for its warmth while it consumes the house.
And so the cycle continues, a merry-go-round of blood and hand-wringing. Biff out.