In a development that has sent tremors through the international community and caused an unprecedented spike in gin sales at Westminster, the UK has found itself at the vanguard of global condemnation following a joint US-Nigerian airstrike that successfully vaporised a senior Islamic State commander. The deceased, identified as one Abu Something-or-Other (possibly with a middle name of 'The Beheader'), was reportedly enjoying a quiet afternoon of goat-wrestling and Caliphate-themed embroidery when a Hellfire missile interrupted his schedule with extreme prejudice.
The Ministry of Defence, in a statement that wafted through Whitehall like the ghost of empire past, expressed 'grave concern' over the 'unilateral action' that had left a smoking crater where a dangerous terrorist once stood. Foreign Secretary Dame Prudence Fumblethorpe, resplendent in a tweed ensemble that screamed 'I have opinions about hedges', declared: 'We condemn this reckless use of force in the strongest possible terms. Does no one think of the paperwork? If they're going to go around eliminating threats to global security, they might at least have the decency to file the appropriate forms in triplicate with the UN Security Council.'
The irony, of course, is as thick as the fog over the Thames. The UK, a nation that has itself launched more cruise missiles than it has had hot dinners (which is saying something given our culinary traditions), now plays the role of disapproving aunt at a family barbecue. We tut-tut over the charcoal while secretly eyeing a burger.
Downing Street sources whisper that the Prime Minister was particularly miffed not to have been consulted, having spent the morning rehearsing his 'firm but measured response' for a minor cabinet reshuffle. The absence of a warning, a senior aide told this correspondent (over a glass of something medicinal), was 'a bit off, honestly. It's like they don't appreciate our diplomatic heft. We've got heft. We've got policies on terrorism. We've got a man who once shared a platform with a man who knew a man who might have been involved in a counter-insurgency operation. That counts.'
Meanwhile, in the blurry netherworld of modern warfare, drones buzz and politicians posture. The US Pentagon, in characteristically understated fashion, confirmed that the strike had 'removed a high-value target from the battlefield' and that 'collateral damage was minimal, aside from a few angry letters from the Foreign Office.' Nigerian officials, for their part, seemed delighted to have been part of something that didn't immediately trigger a humanitarian crisis.
The real question on everyone's lips, however, is not about international law, sovereignty, or the ethics of extrajudicial killing. No, dear reader, the pressing issue is this: what shall we have for lunch? For in the grand theatre of geopolitics, the UK's role is clear: we provide the disapproving backdrop, the arch comment, and the lingering suspicion that deep down, we're just jealous we didn't get to press the button.
As I nurse my fourth G&T of the day (strictly for journalistic fortitude), I reflect that in a world of chaos and uncertainty, one thing remains constant. The UK will always, always lead the global condemnation of action that we ourselves would gladly undertake, if only we had the decency to ask permission first.
Update: The Foreign Secretary has just released a follow-up statement. She is 'deeply disappointed' and 'hopes lessons will be learned'. I'm off to the pub. The lesson I've learned is that my next round should be a double.
