In a development that has sent ripples through the diplomatic teacup, Xi Jinping is packing his best Crocs for a jaunt to Pyongyang, where he and Kim Jong Un will engage in what experts call ‘a masterclass in geopolitical table-tennis’. Meanwhile, Britain’s grand Indo-Pacific tilt, that glorious swivel of the Union Jack towards the Orient, appears to have hit an iceberg made of quicksand. One official, speaking on condition of anonymity (or perhaps just common sense), muttered: “We’ve got more warships in the Thames than in the South China Sea, and half of those are the HMS Gin Palace.
” The visit, slated for a date still to be fixed in the celestial calendar of statecraft, promises the usual pantomime: handshakes that could crack walnuts, exchanges of tediously predictable gifts (a framed photo of a hydroelectric dam for Xi, a bottle of Château Lafite 2005 for Kim), and a communiqué so bland it could be used as wallpaper in a dentist’s waiting room. But behind the velvet curtains of protocol, there’s a tremor in the earth. China’s embrace of North Korea, that most radioactive of hermit crabs, is a reminder to Britain that the Indo-Pacific is not a jigsaw puzzle where you can just snap a piece into place after a stiff G&T.
The Foreign Office is now frantically colouring in its maps with crayons, hoping to show it still has a seat at the table. But as Xi and Kim cosy up, Britain’s voice grows fainter: a whisper in a hurricane, a hiccup during an aria. The strain on the tilt is showing.
The ship of state is listing, possibly because someone forgot to balance the budgets. And all the while, the gin in Whitehall flows like a river of denial.
