In a development that has sent the price of gin soaring and the nation's collective blood pressure through the roof, the Foreign Office has issued a stark warning to British shipping: the Strait of Hormuz is now effectively a maritime no-go zone, thanks to Tehran's latest tantrum. Yes, the ayatollahs have slammed the door on the world's most important oil chokepoint, and Whitehall is in a flap. One imagines the telegram arriving at the FCO: 'Regret to inform: Iran has closed the strait. Suggest you tell the tanker captains to grow gills.'
The strait, a narrow ribbon of water through which a fifth of the world's oil passes, has been sealed by the mullahs in a fit of pique over the ongoing US-Iran talks. Talks, I should note, that are about as productive as a punch-up in a pub. The US wants Iran to stop enriching uranium and behaving like a regional bully. Iran wants the US to stop existing, presumably. And in the middle, we have the Royal Navy, valiantly trying to keep the shipping lanes open while the Admiralty probably runs on a spreadsheet and a prayer.
But let's be honest: Britain's ability to project power in the Gulf is a bit like a 90-year-old trying to bench-press a double-decker bus. We have a handful of frigates, a lot of goodwill, and a national debt that could choke a horse. Our finest naval minds are probably sitting in Portsmouth, drinking lukewarm tea and wondering where it all went wrong. The last time we had a proper naval engagement, Jane Austen was writing novels.
Meanwhile, the global economy is having a collective coronary. Oil prices have shot up like a rocket-powered escalator, and the cost of living, already higher than the Tower of London, is about to break the sound barrier. I wouldn't be surprised if by the end of the week, petrol costs more than a bottle of single malt. And don't get me started on the knock-on effect for the price of avocados. The millennials will be in open revolt.
But the real absurdity is the theatre of it all. Iran's closure of the strait is a diplomatic two-step: they want to look tough for the home crowd while simultaneously negotiating from a position of manufactured crisis. It's the international equivalent of a toddler holding his breath until he gets a sweetie. The Foreign Office's response, a sternly worded press release, is the equivalent of a schoolmarm wagging her finger at a hurricane.
And what, pray tell, can British shipping do? They can take the long way round, past the Cape of Good Hope, adding weeks to journeys and billions to costs. Or they can hire private security, which is just a tax write-off for mercenaries. Or they can pray to Poseidon. The shipping industry, already battered by pandemic and war, is now expected to navigate a geopolitical obstacle course with the grace of a drunken badger.
So, dear reader, stock up on tinned goods, fill your tank, and pour yourself a stiff one. Because if the Strait of Hormuz stays closed, we're all going to need a drink. And perhaps a lifejacket.
