The news that Sir Keir Starmer is 'pleased' to be the first in line for a trade deal with Donald Trump is the kind of grim comedy that makes one wish for a sudden, localized asteroid impact. Here we have the Great British Public, or at least the beige technocrats currently managing its terminal decline, preening themselves because they’ve been handed a VIP pass to their own funeral. Being the first to negotiate with a man who views 'negotiation' as a synonymous term for 'extortion' is not the diplomatic coup the London commentariat thinks it is. It is more akin to being the first patient in a clinical trial for a drug that turns your internal organs into lukewarm custard. You’ve won the race, certainly, but your prize is a front-row seat to the dismantling of whatever remains of your dignity.

Starmer, a man who radiates the charisma of a damp spreadsheet, has decided that the best way to secure Britain’s future is to perform a series of elaborate diplomatic kowtows toward Mar-a-Lago. The irony, of course, is that the British Left spent years clutching their collective pearls at the very mention of Trump, only to have their leader now standing at the door like a Dickensian orphan asking for a bowl of chlorinated chicken. It’s a masterclass in the kind of performative hypocrisy that defines modern politics. Principles are apparently things you keep in a box until they become an inconvenience to your 'pragmatic' pursuit of being a junior partner in a global protection racket. The Labour party, once the supposed champion of the worker, is now salivating at the prospect of an agreement with a man whose trade policy consists of burning down the neighbor’s house to see if the heat will help his tan.

And then there is Trump. To suggest he is interested in a 'trade deal' is to fundamentally misunderstand the man’s basic operating system. Trump doesn't trade; he absorbs. He views the global economy as a zero-sum game played by losers who haven't realized he's already stolen the board and replaced the pieces with gold-plated lead. Britain, in its post-Brexit delirium, believes it can leverage its 'Special Relationship'—a phrase that has always sounded more like a euphemism for a co-dependent disaster than a geopolitical reality—to gain an edge over the European Union. But the reality is that Trump’s trade policy is less about mutual prosperity and more about turning the UK into a forward operating base for American deregulated capitalism. If Starmer thinks he’s getting a seat at the high table, he’s mistaken; he’s the main course, served with a side of protectionist tariffs.

The 'allies and rivals' mentioned in the headlines are predictably 'worried.' The EU, that lumbering bureaucratic behemoth currently drowning in its own regulations and existential dread, is terrified that Britain might actually get a better deal, like a jealous sibling watching a brother get a slightly larger piece of a poisonous pie. It’s a pathetic rivalry between two declining powers, both of whom are desperately trying to ignore the fact that they are becoming mere background noise on the world stage. Meanwhile, the rivals—China and the rest of the BRICS nations currently laughing at the West’s self-immolation—are watching with amused detachment. They see a fractured West where the 'leader of the free world' treats treaties like napkins, and the 'mother of parliaments' is a desperate beggar hoping for a scrap of attention.

This entire spectacle underscores the terminal stupidity of our era. The Right in Britain will hail this as a triumph of sovereignty, blissfully ignoring the fact that becoming a satellite state for a populist demagogue in Washington is the exact opposite of independence. They traded the technocracy of Brussels for the whims of a man who would sell the Tower of London for a handful of magic beans and a positive headline on Truth Social. The Left, meanwhile, will twist themselves into knots trying to explain why this particular brand of submission is somehow 'progressive' because it’s being overseen by a man in a sensible suit who uses words like 'growth' and 'stability' while the house burns down around him.

In the end, this trade deal will likely consist of a few vacuous photo ops, some vague promises about car parts, and a massive influx of American corporate interests that will finish the job of hollowing out what’s left of the British state. Starmer will smile his practiced, empty smile, Trump will boast about his peerless deal-making skills, and the world will continue its slow, agonizing slide into the abyss. But at least Keir was first. That’s the important thing, isn't it? In the race to the bottom, the British have always prided themselves on their punctuality. They’ve managed to secure the front-row seat to the collapse of the Atlanticist dream, and they’re clapping as the curtain falls. It would be tragic if it weren't so profoundly, exhaustingly stupid.