As Hancock takes to his pulpit, his small mercies come to mean a lot
Matt Hancock mounted the Commons pulpit like an earnest Methodist preacher to deliver his latest statement on regional restrictions. He encouraged struggling sinners and glorified the saints as he guided his little flock towards their heavenly reward – going down a tier.
This being the Commons, however, there was more than a hint of Groundhog Day. First, the calls for continued vigilance and intercisions on behalf of an NHS in perpetual crisis, needing not just prayers but around-the-clock protection from the Great British Public. Then came the usual mixture of carrot and stick as the Health Secretary tried earnestly to rally his Christian soldiers for one final push: “I’d like to pay tribute to everyone doing the right thing and getting rates down… We’ve come too far to blow it now.”
Yet he warned of the unseen tempter in our midst: “This can be a silent disease – one in three people with the disease show no symptoms but can pass it on”. He boasted of powers omniscient, omnipotent and – allegedly – omnibenevolent. “[Our] sophisticated Covid surveillance system means we can act swiftly and decisively when needed,” he said, right before plunging much of the Home Counties into Tier 3 with no warning.
But this was not good enough for Jonathan Ashworth, the shadow health secretary, who soon piped up with something only someone happily married and ensconced with his family would say. “This isn’t about cancelling Christmas,” he insisted. “Santa will still deliver his presents.” Warning of a plague of Biblical proportions, Ashworth seemed genuinely appalled by the prospect of a Christmas truce.
“We’ve got to find a balance,” insisted Mr Hancock. Eventually he even managed to utter something which, coming from the Health Secretary, marked a supernal – even wondrous – event. “Personal responsibility,” he stammered. At this, pigs soared aloft and needles in haystacks presented themselves after long and agonising searches.
The poverty of low expectations is a powerful thing. After months of incarceration, we’ve become pathetically grateful for the slightest loosening of restrictions. So perhaps it was the Stockholm Syndrome at work, but when Mr Hancock uttered these two anodyne words I almost wanted to kiss him – or at least momentarily to forget that we are languishing in national lockdown in all but name.