In a stunning display of diplomatic hand-wringing that would make a Victorian governess blush, His Majesty's Government has called for an immediate ceasefire after Israeli airstrikes murdered 17 souls in southern Lebanon. The Foreign Office, that grand old temple of polite outrage, issued a statement so carefully calibrated it could have been written by a civil servant on sedatives.
The statement, delivered with the same emotional force as a lukewarm cup of Earl Grey, expressed 'deep concern' and 'urged restraint' from all parties. Which translates, in the language of diplomacy, to: 'We are very cross about this, but not cross enough to actually do anything.' Perhaps they'll send a strongly worded letter. Perhaps they'll convene an emergency meeting of the UN Security Council. Perhaps they'll do what they always do: nothing of consequence.
Meanwhile, 17 families are now learning to live with the jagged, bleeding hole where their loved ones used to be. Children who were playing in the streets are now playing in the rubble. Parents who were making dinner are now making funeral arrangements. But fear not, the British government is 'monitoring the situation closely'. A monitoring so thorough, so intense, that it will surely bring comfort to the bereaved.
The Israeli government, for its part, expressed regret over the 'tragic loss of civilian life' while simultaneously promising to continue operations until unspecified objectives are met. It's a bit like a burglar apologising for scuffing the floor while continuing to empty your house of valuables.
And what of Lebanon? The Lebanese government, a fragile coalition of sectarian interests held together with duct tape and prayer, issued its own condemnations. But let's be honest: when your country has been a geopolitical football for decades, a few more kick marks hardly seem noteworthy.
But perhaps the most absurd player in this theatre of the macabre is the United Nations. That organisation, whose peacekeeping forces in southern Lebanon have the operational effectiveness of a chocolate teapot, will no doubt issue a resolution. A resolution that Israel will ignore. That Hezbollah will ignore. That everyone will ignore until the next round of violence inevitably erupts.
So here we are again. The dance of death performed on a stage of smoke and mirrors. The British government calls for a ceasefire while continuing to supply arms through the back door. The media tut-tuts while broadcasting footage of crying children. The politicians express 'grave concern' before heading off to their next cocktail party.
I've covered enough of these 'conflicts' to know that the cycle never ends. The dead are buried. The families grieve. The diplomats talk. And somewhere, in a gleaming office tower or a dusty command post, someone is already planning the next attack, the next retaliation, the next round of meaningless posturing.
But don't worry. The British government is calling for a ceasefire. That'll sort everything out, won't it?
Biff Thistlethwaite, filing from the bar of Beirut's last functioning hotel, where the gin is warm and the irony is cold.
