Behold the 'Special Relationship,' a term so encrusted with the barnacles of post-imperial delusion that it deserves its own wing in a museum of failed metaphors. We find ourselves once again forced to witness the biennial ritual of a British Prime Minister attempting to find the dignity in a colonoscopy. The catalyst for this week’s collective sigh of exhaustion is a Ben Jennings cartoon in the Guardian, which, with the cruel efficiency of a guillotine, captures the nauseating reality of Sir Keir Starmer’s orbit around the gravitational pull of Donald J. Trump. It is a spectacle of such profound sycophancy that it makes one yearn for the relative honesty of a simple mugging.

On one side of this geopolitical car crash, we have Keir Starmer, the human equivalent of a 'Terms and Conditions' document. A man who has built his entire brand on the concept of 'forensics,' as if the collapse of Western civilization could be solved by a well-organized spreadsheet and a crisp white shirt. Starmer’s strategy for dealing with the impending return of the MAGA king is a masterpiece of cowardice masquerading as pragmatism. He speaks of 'shared values' and 'enduring bonds,' phrases that have been hollowed out by decades of overuse until they are nothing but linguistic husks. The reality is far more pathetic: Starmer is a man terrified of his own shadow, desperately trying to pre-emptively appease a man who likely thinks 'Keir Starmer' is the name of a new brand of light beer. The 'forensic' approach here consists of calculating exactly how many inches of ground one can cede before the spine officially snaps.

Then there is the Orange Sun itself, Donald Trump. To Trump, the 'Special Relationship' is a one-way mirror where he can check his hair while the United Kingdom provides the glass. He does not care about the UK’s economic stability, its strategic importance, or its historical ties. To him, Britain is a collection of golf courses and a convenient set for a historical drama that he hasn't watched. He views international diplomacy as a series of protection rackets and beauty pageants. The idea that Starmer, with his careful legalistic phrasing and his desperate need to be the 'adult in the room,' will have any impact on Trump’s lizard-brain decision-making is a fantasy so pure it should be sold in crystal form on a street corner. Trump doesn’t want a partner; he wants a footstool that doesn't talk back.

The Jennings cartoon highlights the grotesque nature of this courtship. It visualizes the physical and moral contortions required to maintain the fiction of an equal partnership. The UK’s political class, regardless of their supposed 'Left' or 'Right' leanings, are united in this pathetic endeavor. The Right-wingers in the UK view Trump as a savior-emperor who will validate their xenophobia and greed, oblivious to the fact that he would sell the entire British Isles to a private equity firm for a lukewarm Diet Coke. The Left, represented by the technocratic husk of the Labour Party, performs a dance of 'engagement,' pretending they can influence the monster by whispering sweet nothings of international law into its ear. It is a masterclass in hypocrisy. They spend their weekends posturing about human rights and their weekdays polishing the boots of the man who views the Bill of Rights as a list of suggestions for things to burn.

What is truly exhausting is the predictability of it all. We are trapped in a loop of recycled narratives. The media treats this like a serious diplomatic maneuver rather than what it is: a slow-motion surrender. The 'Special Relationship' is essentially a hostage situation where the hostage has developed such a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome that they’ve started helping the kidnapper pick out their ties. We are told this is 'statecraft.' We are told this is 'necessary.' In reality, it is the final, twitching movements of a mid-sized island nation that has forgotten how to exist without being tethered to a larger, more aggressive empire.

Starmer’s Labour will continue to issue press releases about 'stability' and 'growth' while quietly praying that Trump doesn't notice they exist, or worse, that he does. There is no intellectual depth here, no grand strategy, and certainly no honor. There is only the survival instinct of a careerist politician who has traded his soul for a seat at a table where he isn't even allowed to order his own meal. We are watching the sunset of reason, illuminated by the neon glow of a reality television star and the dull, matte finish of a lawyer who forgot why he went to law school. It would be a tragedy if it weren't so transparently stupid. But this is the world we have built—a world where the 'special' in the relationship refers to the specific kind of mental gymnastics required to believe any of this matters. As the Jennings cartoon reminds us, the only thing truly 'special' about this bond is the creative ways in which the UK finds new ways to humiliate itself on the global stage. I would say I expected better, but that would be a lie, and lying is a task I leave to the professionals in Westminster and Washington.