An icy morning and an early summons to Downing Street. The Prime Minister wished to lay out his plans to take on the coronavirus outbreak.
There had been suggestions lately that Boris Johnson was not giving the escalating crisis due attention. Worse, that he was lying ‘doggo’, hoping it would all blow over.
Time, then, for Bozza to show the country that he was taking charge.
The PM’s speech was impressively headmasterly. Calm and authoritative. ‘Pro bono publico, no bloody panico’ was the general message of the day, writes HENRY DEEDES
When he arrived at the Number 10 briefing room, his entrance appeared to show us he meant business. His march was brisk and purposeful, his grip around the lectern firm and manly. Gripping his papers, there was a welcoming nod which said: ‘Let’s get to it, amigos.’
Heck, he’d even donned his stern-looking face for the occasion – or at least moulded it that way as much as he could. The prime ministerial features, like the late oyster-eyed comedian Marty Feldman, say, or Ken Dodd, does not easily ‘do’ serious.
Flanked either side of Boris were two humourless suits, whom I first took to be his coppers.
Turned out they were the Chief Medical Officer, Professor Chris Whitty, and Chief Scientific Adviser, Sir Patrick Vallance. Or was it the other way round?
Boris, too, was initially confused as to which one was which. No matter. Like Ant and Dec, they were more or less one and the same.
The PM’s speech was impressively headmasterly. Calm and authoritative. ‘Pro bono publico, no bloody panico’ was the general message of the day. He admitted it was ‘highly likely’ the UK would see more cases of the virus in coming weeks, but was certain we had the resources and health service in place to deal with it.
Daftness, naturally, was absent, though necessary wallop was given to remarks such as ‘going about our business as usual’.
The PM even donned his stern-looking face for the occasion – or at least moulded it that way as much as he could, writes HENRY DEEDES
The Government’s plan to combat coronavirus would come in four strands: ‘Contain, Delay, Research, Mitigate.’
As Boris said this, the two suits, standing motionless at neighbouring lecterns, nodded along in agreement.
Down in front, the snappers clambered around on the floor for their shot.
One jerky sideways swoop of the Prime Minister’s excitable arm and his words were suddenly drowned out by the camera shutters. And what was the PM’s main advice? Wash your hands.
Sir Patrick (right), a tall, lawyerly-looking figure, urged caution about bringing in emergency measures too early, reasoning that there was no point bringing undue chaos to people’s lives, writes HENRY DEEDES
‘Eugh, you knew I was going to say this,’ he muttered. ‘Hot water, soap, sing Happy Birthday…’
The PM grimaced before trailing off awkwardly, aware he must have sounded like a nursery teacher.
I hadn’t seen him look so embarrassed since the election trail, when his advisers kept making him repeat his pledge to cut VAT on women’s sanitary products.
After that, he left much of the talking to the eggheads.
Sir Patrick, a tall, lawyerly-looking figure, urged caution about bringing in emergency measures too early, reasoning that there was no point bringing undue chaos to people’s lives.
Whitty was similarly reassuring. No, said the Prof, there was no need to cancel your holidays abroad. No, don’t go stockpiling food either.
An extraordinary-looking creature, is Professor Whitty (left). Spindly and bug-eyed, he reminded me of the doomed pathologist in sci-fi films who you just know will end up entwined in an alien’s tentacles, writes HENRY DEEDES
Nor did he see any point in shutting down schools.
An extraordinary-looking creature, is Professor Whitty.
Spindly and bug-eyed, he reminded me of the doomed pathologist in sci-fi films who you just know will end up entwined in an alien’s tentacles.
Someone asked if it was still all right to shake hands. ‘I’ll be shaking hands with everyone, you’ll be pleased to know,’ said Boris. A relief to many, I’m sure.
Perched on the front row throughout the press conference was the feline silhouette of Health Secretary Matt Hancock, grinning and nodding in all the correct places.
Having a good ‘war’, Hancock, don’t you think?
Busy fellow. He spent most of yesterday morning competently touring the broadcast studios, never once, to my mind, trying to score cheap political points.
Later, Hancock was also required to make a statement to the House. Labour’s health spokesman, Jon Ashworth, managed to miss the start of it, after arriving in the chamber late.
‘I was having problems with me printer,’ Ashworth sobbed to an unimpressed-looking Speaker.
Oh dear. Well, thank goodness that Mr Hancock and his department are in charge – and not the Labour Party.