Images of the British naval personnel, waving to the crowds in Iran, laden with goody bags has stunned the media throughout the globe. Put simply, it looks bad. I mean, John Rambo in Vietnam this most certainly ain't.
I quote a few comments:
"The international image of Britain as Churchillian bulldog has for ever been replaced by this bunch of hapless stooges grinning and waving for the cameras like contestants cosying up to Leslie Crowther in the final frames of The Price Is Right.
The game's up. Look, I don't blame the unfortunate human ingredients in this pawn cocktail. They were only obeying orders - which, ludicrously, amount to 'surrender first and apologise later'.
The rules of engagement these days have been rinsed in so much fabric softener that I'm astonished our troops are even allowed to carry weapons any more.
The hostages aren't to blame for this craven and humiliating episode in our history. Despite Tony Blair's bellicose posturing on the international stage, the reality is that the Army, Navy and Air Force are crippled by underfunding.
Let me reiterate, I don't hold the hostages responsible for what happened to them, or how they responded while in captivity. They and thousands more like them do a brave, thankless job on our behalf.
But I despair at what their ordeal and the response to it tells us about the kind of country we have become.
After ten years of Tony Blair, Britain is now a neutered, international laughing stock. The United Nations and our EU 'partners' hold us in contempt.
The feminisation of our entire society has utterly destroyed whatever credibility and moral fibre we ever had. The emotional incontinence which flooded the country at the time Lady Di popped her Jimmy Choos is now our stock in trade.
I wanted to retch when I saw the father of one of the captured marines cuddling his wife and sobbing on live television in front of a tree festooned with yellow ribbons.
Of course he's got every right to be upset, but he shouldn't be sharing it with Sky News. His other son looked deeply embarrassed, as if a dog had just peed up against his leg. It was the most skin-crawling moment I have seen since The Mellorphant Man paraded his family in front of a five-bar gate.
And What about the outside broadcasts from assorted pubs around the country, as various friends and relatives showed their solidarity by drinking themselves senseless?
All that was missing was Nero and his Stradivarius.
The broadcast media covered the whole affair as if it were an episode of Big Brother. Gormless women cackled away about the hostages in the same silly psychobabble as they discuss 'relationship ishoos'.
One reporter actually moaned about having to give up his seat in business class to make room for the returning heroes. This was hardly the last plane out of Saigon. The hostages were even given 'sweets and souvenirs' by their captors before being sent on their way. Imagine leaving Stalag 13 with a Lucky Bag.
If you come across a miniature bronze statue of I'madinnerjacket and a hand-tooled copy of the Koran as a job lot on eBay in a couple of years, you'll know one of the hostages has fallen on hard times.
I'm delighted they are home safely, but as I wrote on Tuesday, God knows what the generation who went through World War II would make of it. "We now take you live to Colditz where Captain Pat Reid and a group of captured RAF pilots are giving a press conference, thanking Herr [censored] for his hospitality and apologising for trespassing in German airspace."
Makes you proud to be British, doesn't it?"