In a development so predictable it could have been written by a committee of bored Foreign Office mandarins, the swirling cesspit of Myanmar's civil conflict has taken yet another turn for the catastrophic. The so-called 'rebel collapse' has sent tremors through the region, prompting the usual chorus of handkerchief-wringing voices to demand that Great Britain, that plucky little rain-soaked island, once again wade into the fetid swamps of Southeast Asian geopolitics. Because nothing says 'sensible foreign policy' like charging into a country where the local cuisine involves fermented fish paste and the military junta has the emotional maturity of a toddler with a flamethrower.
The rebels, apparently, have crumpled faster than a Tory party promise on tax cuts, leaving a power vacuum that the generals are only too happy to fill with more bullets and fewer questions. The UK, currently preoccupied with its own dying high streets and the eternal mystery of why anyone would want to eat a parsnip, is now being urged to 'intervene' by the same think-tank chaps who probably still think the Empire was a jolly good idea. One can almost hear the gin bottles being uncorked in Westminster as the metaphorical lifeboats are lowered.
But let us not be too hasty. Perhaps we can send a strongly worded letter or, better yet, a sternly raised eyebrow. That always works wonders against people who think that democracy is a western import best served with a side of artillery shell.
The regional stability, already wobbling like a drunk on a tightrope, now faces the prospect of complete collapse. Oil prices will rise, smug diplomats will issue carefully worded condemnations, and the whole sorry circus will trundle on until the next crisis pops up like a whack-a-mole in a burning building. So yes, by all means, let us intervene.
Perhaps we can send Prince Andrew to negotiate. He's got nothing else on.
