In a development that has sent shockwaves through the international community (and the local badger population), President Volodymyr Zelensky has condemned what he termed a ‘vile’ strike on the Chornobyl exclusion zone. The attack, which occurred in the early hours of Tuesday, has been blamed on Russian forces who, it appears, have run out of strategic targets and are now just kicking over radioactive dustbins for fun. The strike caused no reported casualties, but did manage to upset a number of particularly radioactive wild boar, which is frankly a new low.
Meanwhile, in London, the UK government is bracing for ‘decisive peace talks’ that will almost certainly be as decisive as a committee of hungover goldfish. The talks, which are expected to involve high-level diplomats, a lot of tea, and the occasional biscuit, have been touted as the last chance for diplomacy. Of course, we’ve heard that before. The last ‘last chance’ was about six months ago, and the one before that was approximately a fortnight earlier. At this point, the phrase ‘last chance’ has lost all meaning, like ‘organic’ or ‘for the final time, put your shoes on’.
The Chornobyl strike, meanwhile, has been met with a chorus of global condemnation. UN officials have described it as ‘deeply concerning’, which in diplomatic terms is roughly equivalent to shouting ‘are you utterly insane?’ while shaking a rolled-up newspaper. The International Atomic Energy Agency has expressed its ‘grave concern’, which is basically their way of saying they are updating their emergency contact list.
But let’s talk about these London peace talks. They are being held at a secret location, which is probably just a fancy room in Whitehall that smells of floor polish and broken dreams. The UK government has said they are committed to a diplomatic solution, which is code for ‘we have absolutely no idea what else to do’. The participants will include representatives from Ukraine, Russia, and a selection of other countries who have been invited to nod sagely and look worried.
The irony, of course, is that while these talks take place in a city that prides itself on its stoic ‘keep calm and carry on’ attitude, the real action is happening in a radioactive wasteland populated by mutant animals. This is the kind of absurdist theatre that would make Samuel Beckett blush. Vladimir Putin, who was not invited to the talks because that would be like inviting a fox to judge a chicken coop competition, has dismissed the entire affair as ‘pointless’. Which is probably true, but that doesn’t stop the diplomatic merry-go-round from spinning.
In the end, the only thing that is decisively happening is that the UK is bracing for bad weather, because that’s what the UK does. Braced and ready, with a stiff upper lip and an umbrella. The peace talks will either succeed or fail, and whichever happens, we’ll be told it was a ‘significant step forward’ or a ‘valuable learning experience’. And Chornobyl will still be there, glowing gently like a nightlight for the apocalypse.
As ever, your faithful correspondent is left to wonder: is this the end of history, or just another Tuesday? Either way, I’m off to find a gin that’s not been tainted by radioactive fallout. Cheerio.
