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The more the merrier as twenty-five thousand heads COP it sweet

TWENTY-FIVE thousand? Really? Did I read that correctly?

Surely someone with stuttering fingers has been clicking the head-counter at Sharm-al-Sheikh.

Or perhaps Rishi has seconded a number-cruncher from the Treasury (you know how good they are with numbers) to lend a hand with collating the stats at Cop27.

Whatever the answer, it seems staggering beyond belief that there are 25,000 people gathered in “an Egyptian resort town known for its sheltered sandy beaches, clear waters and coral reefs.”

And which winds around Naama Bay with its “palm tree-lined promenade, filled with bars and restaurants.”

Not dozens of them, or even hundreds. But thousands, all in the name of finding a quick fix to the poisoned atmosphere that they and their predecessors have condoned in years gone by.

Reminds me of those old jokes about how many blondes does it take to . . .

How are 25,000 ill-matched brains and ideologies ever going to agree on the big issues when they clearly have done nothing about reducing the effect of so many air miles being flown to take their seats in the sun?

Such irony.

When half our own workforce now exists in a WFH nirvana of remote communication it is surely possible for these would-be decision makers to convene via Zoom with a handful of advisers close at hand rather than having squads of SPADS cavorting among the palms.

Twenty-five thousand!

At least there is one notable absentee – the fey Swedish frail with the ten-yard stare before whom so many once supposedly sane people  bow and scrape and go gaga at being in such august presence.

But, then, she has a book to promote. She has a round of media appointments to honour. On the celebrity merry-go-round like a failing Hollywood star with yet another B-grade movie to hustle.

There were  breakfast shows, the evening shows and the nadir of them all, The One Show. This latter appearance at least had the merit of reducing energy usage as  off buttons clicked all over the nation.

Such a dour, grim-faced, humourless teenager with a permanent whine on an endless loop. Surely we have reached Thunberg overload – just as we have with Extinction Rebellion and Stop The Oil protesters gluing themselves to motorways and chucking cans of soup over priceless artworks. Minuscule minorities who provide questions without answers.

Rather like that mob in Sharm-al-Sheikh. Twenty-five thousand of them?  Really. Egypt’s tourism board, hoteliers and hospitality industry must be rubbing their hands in unabated joy.

Aaah, the joys of global warming!  And the lessons not learned from such a wasteful exercise in resources that could so easily have been reduced as an example to all.

Twenty-five thousand? Surely not. I need a recount – as Rishi & Co will soon be shouting on election night.


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