Like Sisyphus, who is condemned to roll a giant boulder up a hill forevermore only for it to roll back down again, Matt Hancock is the national joke that keeps on giving. It is ordained that our former health secretary must endure one humiliating trial after another. He deserves to be ridiculed because, by and large, it’s all basically self afflicted. Nobody told him to snog a colleague awkwardly on CCTV. Nobody forced him to partake in I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here!, where he gamely ate a camel’s penis, a sheep’s vagina and a cow’s anus. Those animals died in vain.
However, to have 100,000 WhatsApp messages leaked by a supposed confidante, who he had enlisted to ghost write his memoir (itself a laughable concept), almost elicits some sympathy. But only because when I look at my WhatsApp and think about the leakable potential, my body shudders even more excessively than when Matt Hancock’s name comes up.
