"(On Crimea) ...thanks to (David Cameron's) government's ill-considered defence cuts, he will find that the military options available to him are very limited indeed". - The Coughlin again, at the Telegraph.
Now, as fun as it is to point and laugh at the likes of Con Coughlin's ongoing attack of the vapours over our unwillingness to forcibly evict Big Bad Vlad from Sevastopol, the game inevitably gets old after a week or two.
Admittedly, I usually enjoy these bouts of handbag-clutching horror at the weakness of the UK; at how spineless and supine we are, how craven and cowardly and every other simile that that your average war-enthusiast spends his Thursdays disinterestedly hacking out of the thesaurus, to cram into blobs of rowdy argle-bargle.
Theatrical journalistic sabre-rattling like this is, after all, supposed to be fun. We should always remember that these wails and shrieks basically amount to little more than a regular and wholly humdrum piece of performance art, put on for the entertainment of the nation's small but noisy belligerent idiot demographic, signifying nothing.
When the tank-tracks meet the turf though, the question will have to be asked - if, say, the UK possessed a terrifyingly huge military machine, would it currently be massing for the big assault on Russian forces?
Well, no, of course it wouldn't. It wouldn't, even if the British Army was ten times the size. Barring some incredible act of lunacy, nobody is making war on Moscow for Ukraine's territorial integrity.
I know it, you know it and, embarrassingly for everyone who reads him, Coughlin knows it too - that's why he's just savvy enough to not say, Let's have a really big war. So you know, why even bother with the pretence?
Anyway, I blame Hitchens for rehabilitating this kind of bombastic, fantastical, not-quite-advocacy-for-war, the old formula being - Oh, I am not saying we should kick off World War 3, I am merely saying that it is morally unacceptable to do nothing.
And that's fine as far as it goes, but sooner or later you have to man up and admit to your own logical conclusions, or just bugger off and stop annoying everyone.
It's all a bit reminiscent of a disappointing hissy-fit at the arse-end of a dull, drunken party, when the briefly-shocked guests realise that actually no, there isn't going to be a fistfight to liven up proceedings after all, because the huffing, sweaty, angry guy in the living room is just some aggro wee tit who likes attention, and not a badass at all.