It won’t be much longer before the minister snaps
I’ve never actually met Matt Hancock. Yet over the course of the pandemic I feel as if the Health Secretary and I have spent an unhealthy amount of time together. Because for the past eight months, he seems to have spent his every waking moment answering questions. And I seem to have spent my every waking moment watching him answer them.
It just never seems to end. Since March, Mr Hancock has been sent out to answer more questions than any other minister by miles. The man’s never off the airwaves. His life has become one long, non-stop inquisition. If he isn’t being sent to answer questions at the despatch box, he’s being sent to answer them at news conferences, or on the Today programme, or Sky or LBC or GMB. On Monday in the Commons he was even made to answer the questions the Prime Minister was meant to be answering, because the Prime Minister’s video link had gone down.
Sitting through all these questions must take remarkable stamina. And I should know, because I’ve had to sit through them all too.
In a way, the experience has made me strangely sympathetic to him. It’s as if the two of us are trapped in a lift together. Whatever differences we may have, I know we have to set them aside, if we’re to stand any chance of retaining our sanity.
Then again, I hope help will be on its way soon. Because otherwise I suspect I’m going to have no choice but to eat him.
Our torment continued yesterday, with an interminable session of questions from a parliamentary select committee.
The questions were about the “lessons learned” from the pandemic: on testing, tiers, lockdowns and so on. Mr Hancock looked deeply weary. During an answer to a question from Jeremy Hunt, he seemed to be running out of battery altogether. “The Test and Trace programme ahead of the second lockdown,” he murmured, “was functioning … erm … erm … er … to … erm…”
For a moment, I wondered if he’d dozed off. Thankfully, however, he managed to rouse himself, and crawled manfully towards the end of his sentence.
The one time he sounded animated was when he railed against a British office culture that expects employees to come into work when they’re feeling unwell.
“We’re unusual in soldiering on and still going to work,” protested Mr Hancock. “That should change.”
He said this with not only passion, but a certain wistfulness – as if he would have liked nothing better than to stay in bed himself. Have a duvet day. A duvet week. A duvet month.
Still, Mr Hancock never complains about these torturously boring interrogations. He just seems to have accepted them as his lot. One of these days, though, I can’t help suspecting that he’s going to snap, and bark: “Sorry, I’m afraid I haven’t had time to find out the answers to your questions – because I’ve been too busy answering questions.”