It’s 8:50 on a Wednesday morning and Matt Hancock is being interviewed by Piers Morgan and Susanna Reid on Good Morning Britain.
It is, to be generous to the health secretary, not going well… and I cannot stop laughing.
As the pandemic has gone on (and on, and on), I’ve found it increasingly difficult to feel entertained. Uplifting trips to the cinema are off the cards, I’ve exhausted Netflix and no longer have the attention span required for prestige programming.
The sitcoms that usually hit the spot aren’t working and I end up doomscrolling while they’re on in the background.
This, in a bizarre twist that only the past year could produce, is where members of the government come in.
To say cabinet ministers appearing on GMB look like rabbits caught in the headlights is an understatement of gigantic proportions. There’s usually endless squirming, standoffish moments and refusals to admit facts that everyone can clearly see.
The broadcasts are chaotic, with presenters and politicians talking over each other (which isn’t helped by the fact everything is conducted on Zoom) and yet, utterly transfixing.
While I’m painfully aware of the devastating impact of many of the decisions made by these politicians, moments like these have become the ones that brighten my day. Why watch The Thick of It when the real-life version is just as funny?
When I see that one of the ministers most lacking in media skills is set to appear on television, I look forward to it in the same way I do a new episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race; I know it will descend into a shambles and that there will be convoluted explanations for questionable choices, but most of all, I know it will be comedy gold.
On Wednesday evening, Priti Patel hosted one of the daily press conferences – a rare feat, with her last appearance prior to this taking place in May last year. Those of us who sporadically tune in to the briefings for entertainment purposes immediately knew this was a stellar booking.
While the home secretary failed to deliver anything useful for those seeking clarity on lockdown rules and vaccination plans, the conference was packed with unintentionally funny highlights (or perhaps lowlights, depending on how you see things).
At one particularly spirited point, a satisfied-looking Patel made the nonsensical declaration: ‘Exercise is important, it’s important for people’s health and wellbeing and that equally applies to exercise,’ before ticking something off the notes in front of her. What that might have been, we can only imagine.
As all of this unfolded, I gleefully watched as if it was Great British Bake Off, typing out the most ridiculous quotes to my friends on WhatsApp and furiously liking memes on Twitter.
I couldn’t believe that we were getting another gift, not even 24 hours after one arrived in the form of Hancock – perhaps perched on his toilet, nobody is quite sure – refusing to tell Piers Morgan if he regretted voting against extending free school meals to help families during the holidays.
The matter at hand was categorically not funny. Morgan’s question came amidst outcry over the shambolic contents of food parcels sent to low-income households at the start of the current lockdown. Thousands of families, who are already facing stressful circumstances, have had their lives made harder by the very people who were supposed to help.
The overall interview though, thanks to the level of ineptitude and bumbling that occurred, was Bafta-worthy.
In my non-scientific opinion, the amusement I get from these moments is heavily linked to the part of my brain that looks after ‘laugh or cry?’ situations. There is nothing amusing about how the government is handling the ongoing health and welfare crisis, but as we face rumours of stricter lockdown rules, record high covid death rates and parents being forced to make children’s lunches from moneybags filled with tuna, my survival instinct is to find something – anything – to laugh at instead of quietly sobbing.
For me, that means cackling with glee as Hancock furiously dodges simple questions with a determination that should really be applied elsewhere.
In those fateful moments, as he was maybe sitting on the loo (I like to think he was), he plumped for looking weak and indecisive over admitting a glaringly obvious failing.
Cut to me, at home; shocked but not surprised – and loving every second of it.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Jess.Austin@metro.co.uk.
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