The extraordinary scene which unfolded in the Oval Office at the end of last month prompted the veteran British movie star Michael Caine to sum up the feelings of many people across the planet in just three words: "Calm down Trump".

Meanwhile, by contrast, the US Secretary of State said it had been the Ukrainian leader who just hadn't been able to contain himself during his brief encounter with the so-called leader of the so-called free world – and had taken every opportunity to introduce the watching world to his own version of the patronising male practice of "mansplaining" what he called "Ukraine-splaining".

And, in a feat of understatement which out-did (or under-did) his famed capacity for reducing even the most fantastical events to the level of the mundane, the British Prime Minister supposed that the White House drama had been something that no one would want to see.

One doesn't have to take sides in the debate that raged between presidents Trump and Zelensky as to the causes of the conflict in order to see that (for anyone hopeful of a peaceful solution for Eastern Europe) something had gone horribly wrong.

What was very clear was that this car-crash of a meeting, taking place in the glare of the global media, had seen both sides ignore some of the most basic rules of diplomatic engagement.

Sure, Donald Trump and JD Vance behaved like bullies. Few UK commentators would dispute that or indeed be surprised by that. To say that they tend to act like small children would be an insult only to small children. 

Small children have the right to be childish. They have the right to be unpredictable. Small children may sometimes be capricious and churlish, but they rarely demonstrate such narcissistic or sociopathic tendencies.

But everyone knows what Trump and Vance are like. It wasn't like the Ukrainian president hadn't been prepared. It wasn't as if he hadn't been warned.

One of those who'd warned him had been one of his long-term supporters, Republic senator Lindsey Graham. 

Shortly after the diplomatic debacle had undone months of negotiation in minutes, Senator Graham described the meeting as having been a "complete utter disaster" and declared he had "never been more proud" of his boss, President Trump. 

He added, "I talked to Zelensky this morning. Don't take the bait… What I saw in the Oval Office was disrespectful. I don't know if we can ever do business with Zelensky again."

So, what had gone so horribly wrong? What had happened to leave Trump's Secretary of State pale-faced and Zelensky's ambassador with her head in her hands?

Some western commentators have supposed that Trump and Vance had orchestrated this "diplomatic mugging" – but when you watch the painfully embarrassing footage again and again (as much of the world has done) it seems to be much more chaotic than that. There's nothing particularly coordinated or strategic in their verbal assaults on Zelensky. They sound much more like thuggish hoodlums demanding gratitude and respect from a subject of a protection racket – in addition to mineral rights.

That week, Keir Starmer had prostrated himself in front of the great American gangster (and in front of the world's TV cameras) – and had even sacrificed the dignity of the King of England to flatter the US president with an "unprecedented" second invitation to a formal state visit to the UK. 

It's true no other American leader has ever been bestowed such an honour by the British monarchy. Trump's face lit up like a toddler who'd just been given a free pass to Disneyland and as much ice cream as he could eat. He said he particularly liked King Charles's "beautiful" signature.

Before Starmer, France's Emmanuel Macron had undergone a similar ordeal, publicly fawning to the bloated ego of the Donald in a bid – like Sir Keir – to secure a decent trade deal and a promise of peace.

Then enters Mr. Zelensky. The stage is set and the groundwork done. One might have thought that a man willing to conscript so many of his own citizens to fight and die for his cause would have been willing to spend twenty minutes kowtowing to a pair of overgrown schoolyard bullies – especially when so much was at stake.

But he wasn't. As some commentators pointed out, he's become so used to defiance it appeared he couldn't turn it off when he most needed to swallow his pride.

Liberals may have punched the air for a couple of minutes. Let’s face it, we all enjoy the spectacle of a David and Goliath moment, especially when there are two Goliaths and they’re both nasty fools. 

But, when David doesn’t win, that Pyrrhic victory can leave a bitter aftertaste. In refusing to turn the other cheek, Mr. Zelensky had surrendered the moral high ground to the White House hooligans.

He had walked out of the room red-faced – with anger and later with embarrassment at having squandered his best negotiating tactic.

Meanwhile, untarnished by any of the emotional concerns experienced by mere mortals, Mr. Trump's complexion had retained its trademark orange glow.

Apparently immune to its potentially apocalyptic impacts, Trump had just said it had made good TV. Let's never forget that the fate of the world lies for the next few years in this man's clammy hands.

This is the man who wants to turn Gaza into a golf course, who’s threatened to invade neighbouring nations, and who’s willing to burn the planet in his quest for oil.

That doesn’t mean that we should go along with everything he says, but it’s a very good reason to avoid handing him any more ammunition. When dealing with bullies, we might do better to follow a path of civil resistance.

Trump has used the Oval Office showdown to justify pausing American support for Ukraine, and Zelensky has since said he’s very grateful to the US president and is ready to sign on the dotted line.

The British Defense Secretary made headlines by comparing Zelensky to Winston Churchill. Maybe so – but what the world needs now may be more of a Mandela. (And anyway, our Defense Secretary was only pointing out that Churchill, like Zelensky, avoided holding elections during a time of war.)

We all know that someone has to stand up to Trump – but it needs to be done in a meaningful and impactful way –  and that this might best take place at the negotiating table behind closed doors.

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There’s no point in simply trying to make the boorish kleptocrat lose face. It might be emotionally satisfying but it won’t do any actual good.

Both Zelensky and Trump came to power on the back of their careers as TV stars. Perhaps Trump isn’t the only one who enjoys the limelight and the drama rather too much.

One British columnist wrote the day after the Oval Office debacle that "playing to Trump's vanity is the best way to make sure that some of the national rules-based order survives his time in office." She suggested that you might even tell him he deserves a Nobel Peace Prize – you might even give him one. 

Feed his monstrous appetite for praise. Soothe him. Appease him. Peace is worth it. Don't rouse the beast. Make him feel like he's winning. 

It is, after all, what Vance was doing when he was escalating the Oval Office confrontation, manipulating his boss with a show of obeisance in a bid to promote his own divisive agenda. 

Pay homage to my great and glorious lord. Then my master will do what I want. That's the art of the deal.

And thus the beast was roused, and the meeting quickly spiralled out of anyone's control, as the accepted terms of engagement were cast aside in a rush of mutual recrimination.

One Ukrainian parliamentarian – an opposition representative for Odessa – has broken ranks and suggested his president had of course had a duty to sit there and take the humiliation if it might have led to peace.

Obsequiousness is preferable to obsequies for your nation’s dead.

The wheels had begun to spin off the diplomatic wagon when Zelensky was asked by a right-wing reporter why he hadn't worn a suit for his visit to the White House – and whether he had intended this apparent faux-pas as a sign of disrespect. The question was a bare-faced attempt to provoke tension – a brazen act of sabotage – and it worked.

That note of "disrespect" clearly struck a chord with the vice-president who quickly picked it up, riffed on it, and passed it back to his boss.

Trump himself, though, had been surprisingly tactful at this point. The previous day, he had shrugged off a reminder that he'd recently called Volodymyr Zelensky a dictator – "Did I say that? I can't believe I said that" – and now he commented that he thought his Ukrainian guest had dressed beautifully.

At that point, that verbal hand grenade might have been successfully defused – if Mr. Zelensky had been speaking through an interpreter.

Maybe he thought it would make him look friendlier to a Western audience to be speaking in English. He responded to the journalist that he'd put on a suit again once the war was over. But he didn't use the word "suit". He used the word "costume".

"Kostyum" is the word for "suit" in his own language. But his hosts didn't know that. It sounded sarcastic – even sneering. It wasn't his choice of attire which appeared disrespectful. It was his choice of words. His choice of language.

Two days later, a BBC journalist noted that Zelensky chose to speak in Ukrainian when addressing the press at the end of his brief visit to London – "to make sure he was not misunderstood."

By that time, of course, the damage had been done.

The room was already tense after the "costume" gaffe, Zelensky had then turned to the American vice-president and addressed him, with clumsy over-familiarity, as "JD". Not "Mr. Vice-President" as protocol would expect. It was just "JD".

It's difficult to imagine even Donald Trump being so gauche. Indeed, even the famously maladroit Liz Truss would have blanched at the thought of such presumption if she'd ever had the opportunity to engage in formal negotiations with other world leaders during her 15 minutes in Downing Street.

At least Zelensky didn't refer to the president as "Don"… although that's the title preferred by many a mafia boss.

Words matter. Words are everything – at least until the bombs and the bullets start flying. And words are the only way to stop them.

That's why everyone paid attention when Keir Starmer chose to describe the group of Western allies who were proposing a plan for peace in Eastern Europe as a "coalition of the willing."

It was a profoundly strange phrase to deploy. It was after all what George W Bush had once chosen to describe the ramshackle group of nations which had chosen to accompany him on his catastrophic invasion of Iraq.

But it wasn't a phrase that Starmer intended to play well to European ears. It was a phrase designed to appeal to Trump and his radical Republican base – some of whom still believe that 2003's unlawful war had been a good idea.

We must always be mindful that our words can rebound on us. If Zelensky had agreed to have an interpreter present, his Washington meeting might have been afforded sufficient consideration, focus, calm, and precision to stop it crashing off the rails. It might have slowed down enough to have allowed time for its key players to think. 

An interpreter might have chosen to express the sentiments of both parties in less explosive terms.

Careless words all too often cost lives. Peace is too commonly lost in the mistranslation. Europe now holds its breath, as another stick of dynamite has been thrown carelessly into the mix.

It would be lovely to live in a world in which the quest for peace could always walk alongside our liberation from tyranny. But sometimes compromises have to be made. There are times, Mr. Zelensky, to speak truth to power and there are times to bend the knee.

As the frustratingly pragmatic Keir Starmer recognises – now more than ever as he strains to bring two immovable objects back together again – we sometimes must surrender our higher ideals to the logic of realpolitik.

And that may mean we have to leave the fight against Donald Trump’s particularly puerile brand of tyranny until another day.