In an event that has shaken the political establishment far more than the tectonic plates, Venezuela has experienced a seismic jolt of considerable magnitude. The earth moved, they say. So did the collective trousers of the British diplomatic corps, who are now reportedly 'on standby' for any nationals who might have misplaced their collapsible union jacks or lost their gin rations in the panic.
The tremor, which struck near the coastal town of Cumaná, was no doubt a mere hiccup in the grand geological scheme, but for the Foreign Office it was a chance to dust off the 'Consular Assistance in Overseas Emergencies' handbook. The handbook, handwritten on parchment by Sir Humphrey Appleby in 1982, contains only one instruction: 'Remain calm. Breakfast at 8. Call the Admiralty if the Empire actually implodes.'
British nationals, we are told, are 'advised to follow the instructions of local authorities'. This advice comes from the same people who advised us that Brexit would be a 'smooth and orderly process'. So one can only imagine the locals running around in circles while the nationals chuckle knowingly, sipping tea from their hip flasks.
The real tragedy, of course, is the potential disruption to the oil supply. Not the actual oil, you understand, but the metaphorical oil that lubricates the wheels of international diplomacy. And the gin supply. God forbid the gin supply is interrupted. The Foreign Office has assured me, off the record, that they have a secret stash in the Caracas embassy, buried beneath the foundation in case of just such an emergency. It is called 'Operation Mother's Ruin'.
I rang the Foreign Office hotline for comment. The recorded message said: 'If you are calling about the Venezuela earthquake, we are currently experiencing an exceptionally high volume of calls. Please hold. Your call is important to us. Your call will be answered in approximately... [static] ...weeks.' I suspect the operator was too busy checking if the gin was still cold.
Meanwhile, the British Ambassador to Venezuela, a man whose spine is as rigid as his morning routine, released a statement: 'We are in close contact with the Venezuelan authorities and are monitoring the situation closely. Our consular team is on standby and ready to assist as required.' This is diplomat-speak for: 'We have no idea what's happening. We've put the kettle on. The gin is slightly warm, but it's still drinkable.'
In other news, the earth will continue to spin, the planet will continue to rumble, and the British government will continue to be utterly unprepared for any event that does not involve a cucumber sandwich. They are, after all, the experts in having no expertise.
As for me, I shall be in the corner, refreshing the BBC news feed and muttering curses at the Foreign Office. My gin is lukewarm. My patience is cold. My liver is pickled. And the earth, as always, is an unreliable place.
Over and out from the edge of sanity.
