I was having a scroll on X when I came across an interesting scene. The Prime Minister, cramped in the back of the van, had been cajoled into playing The Smiths on an electric guitar by a Ukrainian soldier in camouflage. For those with a high tolerance for twee, it was touching: war heroes joined for an impromptu jam session by an international brother in their struggle, a British PM no less.
Clearly the entire scene had been contrived. What had been presented on social media as a spontaneous moment of affection from a Ukrainian trooper was fully orchestrated
Andy Burnham played a bit of ‘Rusholme Ruffians’ from Meat is Murder, the choice of a Smiths connoisseur. Most politicians would kill for such a great video op, baby kissing of course being very passé. On any other day, I’d have scrolled past very quickly. Why waste thirty seconds cringe-watching? Yet the video brought back a conversation I’d had earlier that day, standing next to that very van in Kyiv.
It was Ukrainian Independence Day. Apart from those wearing traditional Vyshyvanka shirts, a smattering more of blue-and-yellow flags (a difficult feat given there’s probably already one per square metre), and a couple of road closures, it felt much like any other day in the city. My friend and I were on our way to visit St Michael’s monastery for the purpose of seeing a very fluffy cat I had met on my last visit (the gilt and baby blue monastery isn’t bad either). On our way, we came across a babushka playing a melancholy song on a piano in a bandstand. A few soldiers watched on, some unpacking equipment from a van for a later event.
