Zürich, a city of chocolate, cuckoo clocks, and now, evidently, a sudden outbreak of stabby-stabby on the S-Bahn. Three souls find themselves acquainted with cold steel, and the entire British railway security apparatus shudders into a frenzy of simulated efficacy. Because if there's one thing a Swiss stabbing teaches us, it's that we must urgently review the colour of our hi-vis vests.
I imagine the scene in Whitehall: a dozen men in suits, each with a clipboard and a sense of profound self-importance, nodding gravely. 'The Swiss tragedy,' intones one, 'underscores the need for additional signage. Perhaps a poster of a stern gentleman pointing and the legend: 'Stabbing: Not on our trains, thank you.' Another suggests a mandatory five-minute video on 'knife awareness' before purchasing a ticket. A third proposes that all platforms be patrolled by unarmed actors in badger costumes, because nothing deters a blade-wielding maniac like a chap in a furry suit.
Meanwhile, the actual security: a man with a bowl of lukewarm soup and a radio that only catches the shipping forecast. The CCTV cameras have the resolution of a potato photographed through a jam jar. 'We have reviewed the footage,' the statement will read, 'and we are confident that the perpetrator was a blurry shape of indeterminate species.'
The panic is, of course, about copycats. As if the British public are a herd of easily-impressionable lemmings who, upon hearing of a stabbing in Basel, will think, 'By Jove, I hadn't considered stabbing! What a capital idea!' Let's be real: the average British commuter is more likely to stab themselves with a broken umbrella than to commit mayhem. Our violence is reserved for queue-jumpers and those who chew with their mouths open.
But oh, the protocols! The 'review' is the sacred cow of British bureaucracy. A stabbing occurs, a report is commissioned, a committee is formed, a sub-committee is established to oversee the committee, and eventually, a document is produced that recommends more meetings. The actual security measure? Perhaps a copper with a truncheon and a profound sense of ennui. 'Ello, 'ello, 'ello, stop that stabbing, there's a good fellow.'
Let us not forget the gin-and-tonic of it all: the sheer absurdity that a nation which could not protect a train from a bloke with a knife is now 'reevaluating' its protocols as if they were ever evaluated in the first place. I propose a simple solution: replace all railway staff with actual Swiss guards. They have halberds and a reputation. Or, failing that, issue every passenger a complimentary pocket watch and a stiff upper lip. The Swiss have their precision; we have our passive aggression.
So here we are, three injured in a faraway land, and our railway security czar is sharpening a pencil. The only thing being stabbed in the UK today is common sense. And perhaps my liver, as I drown the absurdity in a double measure of the juniper berry's finest. Cheers, Switzerland. Your chaos has given us an excuse to do absolutely nothing with great purpose.
