Picture the scene:
You're lying in a hospital bed. White coats surround you, a phalanx of consultants who are all discussing amongst themselves how best to help you. A few nurses fuss over you as they hook up IV drips and check monitoring equipment.
Finally, the consultants stand back.
"What's the diagnosis, Doc?" you croak
"Well," says one of the consultants, "you're definitely sick."
You look quizzically at him. "Yes, I know that, but what are you going to do about it?"
The consultants look at each other, then look at the floor and refuse to make eye contact with you.
"We have done something about it. We've agreed you're sick."
"So that's all you're going to do for me?"
"Well, yes. And you should be bloody grateful for it, too."
Apparently a "deal" has been reached at Cancún. The world has agreed that the planet is sick, and that they should do something about it.
This, we're told, should be celebrated as progress.
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