In a development that has sent ripples of smug satisfaction across the Thames Estuary, the operator of the container ship Dali has been formally charged over the catastrophic Baltimore bridge collapse. The news has, predictably, prompted a chorus of self-congratulatory back-patting from Britain’s maritime establishment, who have been quick to point out that our own shipping lanes are a paragon of safety, a veritable utopia of nautical good sense. Never mind that the Dali was a Liberian-flagged vessel crewed by a multinational team, operated by a Singaporean company, and crashed into a bridge in America. The important thing is that British regulation is better, and we’ve got the smugness to prove it.

The charges, filed by the US Department of Justice, allege that the operator, Synergy Marine Group, cut corners on maintenance, ignored safety warnings, and employed a captain who apparently thought 'avoiding large, stationary objects' was merely a suggestion. The Dali, you see, lost power and plowed into the Francis Scott Key Bridge like a drunken elephant into a china shop, killing six people and shutting down the Port of Baltimore for months. But let’s not focus on the victims or the economic devastation. Let’s focus on how this could never happen here, because we have something called the Maritime and Coastguard Agency, which is staffed by gimlet-eyed inspectors who wouldn’t let a rusty hatch cover slip past them without a sternly worded letter.

Of course, the irony is as thick as pea soup. Britain’s own maritime safety record is not exactly spotless. Remember the Herald of Free Enterprise? The Marchioness? Or that time a container ship ended up wedged under the Forth Rail Bridge? But never mind that. The disaster has provided a wonderful opportunity for a spot of moral superiority. Transport Secretary Mark Harper, emerging from a briefing with a tea stain on his tie, declared that 'this tragedy underscores the importance of robust safety standards, such as those we have in the United Kingdom.' He did not specify whether those standards include mandatory staff meetings scheduled during tea breaks, but one assumes they do.

The American investigation has revealed that the Dali had a history of power failures, electrical faults, and a crew that seemed to be playing Jenga with the ship’s safety systems. In Britain, we have a system where ships are inspected so thoroughly that they often leave the dock feeling violated. The British shipping industry, a bastion of quiet competence (and occasional scandal), has been held up as a model. This is, of course, bollocks. The difference between British and American maritime safety could be attributed to luck as much as anything else. But let’s not let facts get in the way of a good jingoistic narrative.

One can almost hear the naval architects in their Hush Puppies, clinking glasses of single malt, and muttering about 'Yankee incompetence' and 'our superior safety culture.' It is a comforting fantasy. The truth is that global shipping is a race to the bottom, a seaborne shadowland where the low bidder wins and safety is an expensive inconvenience. But here in Britain, we have a system where the low bidder is forced to attend a mandatory safety seminar on the dangers of cutting corners, after which they are free to continue cutting corners, albeit with a certificate.

Still, we must raise a glass to the Dali. It has given us something to feel superior about. It has also, mercifully, distracted us from our own crumbling infrastructure. While Baltimore’s bridge lies in ruins, our own potholes and train strikes suddenly seem almost quaint. So let us celebrate British maritime regulation. Let us boast of our safety record. And let us ignore the fact that our shipping lanes are filled with the same tired, under-regulated dinosaurs that ply every other ocean. After all, what is a little self-delusion between friends?

In conclusion, the Dali disaster has revealed the depths of American ineptitude and the shining heights of British safety culture, or so the official line goes. In reality, it is a reminder that the sea is a cruel mistress, and the only thing standing between us and chaos is a bunch of underpaid crew members and a few overworked inspectors. But hull integrity aside, it is important to maintain the illusion of superiority. It is, after all, the British way.