In a stunning display of diplomatic improvisation, Ukrainian drones decided to offer their own interpretation of Putin's "Strategic Sessions of the St Petersburg International Economic Forum" by turning parts of the city into a delightful symphony of shattered glass and panicked oligarchs. The Kremlin, clearly miffed that its carefully choreographed propaganda festival was disrupted by what they described as "uninvited party balloons with a political grudge," has promised a response that will make the last round of power cuts look like a disco ball malfunction.
Britain, meanwhile, sharpening its sanctions like a miser honing a soup-spoon, has hinted that more punitive measures are imminent. It seems the Foreign Office has finally found something more entertaining than Brexit recriminations: watching Russian military bloggers attempt to explain why Air Defence Systems are apparently allergic to hobby-shop quadcopters.
The drones, reportedly manufactured from melted-down copies of the Daily Mail and recycled regret, were launched with pinpoint accuracy into the heart of Putin's security briefing. Sources claim that one drone was overheard humming the EU anthem before delivering its payload of mild inconvenience and intense embarrassment. The St Petersburg forum, meant to showcase Russia as a beacon of economic resilience and friendship, has instead become a monument to the fact that you can't spell "welcome" without "wince."
Let us not forget the symbolic wound: hitting St Petersburg is like slapping the Queen's corgi. It is personal. It is the city of Peter the Great, the cradle of revolution, and now, the site of the world's most awkward cocktail party where the only thing being passed around is blame. Putin's security forces, renowned for their ability to find dissenters at the bottom of a vodka bottle, have vowed to find the perpetrators. Good luck to them. The trail leads straight to a cottage industry of drone enthusiasts who are currently more popular than free beer at a football match.
While the bombs may be small, the message is enormous: there is no safe space for authoritarianism, not even the halls of one's own gleaming window-glass palace. The next time Putin tries to sell Russia as a holiday destination for rogue states and fossil fuel tycoons, he might want to check the local restaurant listings. The special of the day is kamikaze drone served with a side of humiliation. Bon appétit, Mr President.
