In a move that has sent shivers of bureaucratic delight through the corridors of Vienna, the United Nations’ nuclear watchdog has announced it will be sending its finest clipboard-wielders to inspect Iran’s secretive nuclear sites. The visit, negotiated via the usual cocktail of veiled threats and lukewarm tea, is intended to verify that Tehran’s enrichment centrifuges are spinning only for peaceful purposes. Or as the inspectors call it, a Tuesday.
Meanwhile, His Majesty’s Government, in a fit of diplomatic derring-do, has secured a ‘key war deal verification’ that will allow British officials to poke their noses into certain unspecified agreements. One assumes this involves a lot of nodding, the signing of documents in triplicate, and a general sense of self-satisfaction that only comes from knowing you’ve just inked a deal that will probably make the world fractionally less likely to end in a mushroom cloud.
The timing, as ever, is impeccable. The inspectors will arrive just as Iran’s centrifuges are humming with the gentle efficiency of a well-oiled mullah’s prayer bead factory. The question on every sane person’s lips: will they find anything? Or will they be treated to the usual guided tour of dummy control rooms and sterilised annexes, all while being offered pistachio nuts and a disarming smile from a man in a beige suit?
Let us not be naive. This is a theatre of the absurd, a dance of diplomatic dodgems where everyone pretends the other guy is being transparent. The British deal, meanwhile, is likely so riddled with loopholes you could drive a uranium truck through it. But never mind. The important thing is that men in grey suits are saying the right words in front of microphones, and the stock market hasn’t plummeted. Yet.
So pour yourself a stiff one, dear reader. The circus has come to town, and the clowns are wearing badges.
