In an unfolding farce that would make even a Kafka protagonist blush, Waymo, the self-driving taxi service that promises to liberate us from the tyrannical yoke of human error, has issued a recall. Why? Because one of its autonomous chariots, in a moment of what can only be described as existential confusion, decided to navigate itself into a creek. Not a puddle. Not a pond. A creek. A babbling brook of disgrace.

Yes, dear reader, the future has arrived and it is waterlogged. The vehicle, a robotic Jack of no trades but master of aquatic self-destruction, reportedly sent distress signals before embarking on its impromptu amphibious excursion. No passengers were harmed, which is fortunate, as the only thing worse than drowning in a car that cannot swim is the conversation you would have with your insurance company afterwards: “No, you see, the algorithm fancied a paddle.”

British safety regulators, with the calm of a butler witnessing a tea stain on the vicar’s cravat, have demanded a global standards review. Because if there is one thing the United Kingdom excels at, it is forming committees to discuss how to prevent something that has already gone gloriously wrong. The Department for Transport, presumably in a room without windows to avoid distractions, will now convene to ponder the question: should robotaxis be equipped with water wings?

This recall is not just a recall. It is a parable. A tale of hubris, where the high priests of Silicon Valley believed they had conquered metal and asphalt, only to be humbled by the humble creek. The technology, they assure us, is robust. The software, they insist, is pristine. Yet somewhere in the neural network, a decision was made to treat the stream as a viable thoroughfare. Perhaps the taxi was trying to cut the queue. Perhaps it had a secret longing to be a boat.

One imagines the conversation at Waymo HQ: “It appears, Dave, that our vehicle has developed a rather unorthodox routing preference.” “Indeed. It seems to have taken a dislike to bridges.” “Should we consult the engineers?” “No, let us first issue a recall. It is the done thing.”

The recall itself is a masterpiece of regulatory theatre. It affects only the software, which will be updated to include a new instruction: “Avoid bodies of water, especially creeks, unless your name is Bikini Bottom and you are a pineapple.” This patch, I am assured, will be deployed over the air, which is ironic, because perhaps they should also consider deploying it over land.

British regulators, with their characteristic stoicism, have demanded a global standards review. This means that soon we shall have a set of rules so comprehensive that no self-respecting robotaxi will ever dare to splash about again. They will be required to prove that they can identify a creek, distinguish it from a road, and resist the siren call of the current. The tests will be exhaustive. The paperwork, mountainous. And somewhere in the background, the sound of a single robotaxi, bobbing gently in the stream, will serve as a cautionary tale for all time.

Let us not forget the human element. The wayward Waymo was towing a passenger who, upon realising that their car was swimming without permission, presumably emitted a sound somewhere between a scream and a laugh. They are lucky to have escaped with nothing more than a story to tell at parties. “I was in a robotaxi that went for a joyride in a creek.” The punchline will always be: “And then it was recalled.”

In conclusion, the Waymo recall is a magnificent testament to our age. We have built machines that can drive themselves into creeks, and we have regulators who will write reports about it. It is progress, of a sort. The question remains: will the global standards review include a mandate for onboard snorkels? I, for one, hope so. It would be a shame to let a good crisis go to waste without some truly absurd safety equipment.