In a move that will surely have Vladimir Putin pouring an extra dash of vodka into his breakfast borscht, France and the United Kingdom have decided to coordinate their nuclear deterrents. Yes, the two oldest frenemies in Europe are now politely agreeing not to obliterate anything without first giving the other a quick ring.
According to simultaneous midnight press murmurs from Paris and Whitehall — always a sign of clarity and calm — the two nations will sign a “historic” agreement allowing for joint responses to what is vaguely termed “extreme threats to Europe.” What qualifies as “extreme” is left to the imagination, though one assumes it includes both thermonuclear war and French waiters serving cold roast beef.
The document, to be signed during President Macron’s state visit to London (the first since Brexit, and hopefully not the last), will affirm that while both nations’ nuclear arsenals remain firmly under national control, they can now be “coordinated.” This presumably means they’ll agree on which bits of the map to light up first, should diplomacy go pear-shaped.
Prime Minister Keir Starmer, beaming with the quiet desperation of a man trying to look taller next to Macron, hailed the deal as a “new level” of Anglo-French cooperation — not to be confused with the many previous “new levels” announced over the past few decades, most of which ended in politely worded shrugs.
Macron, meanwhile, appeared delighted to be in the UK, either because of the agreement or because someone finally offered him tea without sneering at his accent.
Of course, this nuclear love-in isn’t occurring in a vacuum. With Donald Trump once again haunting the Oval Office like a spray-tanned poltergeist, the dependability of NATO’s American umbrella is — how shall we put it? — heavily weathered. The Europeans, realising that Washington’s idea of “mutual defence” might now involve invoiceable consultancy fees, have begun hedging their bets.
Enter Germany, stage left, quietly wondering whether it might also be invited to the mushroom-cloud party. Chancellor Friedrich Merz, who remains a man in search of both a foreign policy and a personality, is reportedly mulling over the possibility of asking Britain and France to share their nuclear umbrellas with Berlin — provided, of course, that no one insists on singing “God Save the King.”
It’s all very stirring — like a Cold War revival, but with worse tailoring and better PR. Whether this newfound entente cordiale can survive the next Franco-British fishing spat remains to be seen. But for now, rest easy, Europe: the grown-ups have agreed not to press the red button without texting first.
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