You can’t fault Matt Hancock’s Stakhanovite work ethic. Barely a day has gone by without him being sent out on to the government frontline. But the effort is clearly beginning to take its toll. In the past few weeks his normal Tiggerish enthusiasm and goodwill to all has given way to something rather more vulnerable. A man who feels himself not just under attack from a country that wonders why the health secretary hasn’t done rather more to protect the nation’s health, but also from the prime minister and cabinet colleagues who have been lining him up as the scapegoat in the inevitable public inquiry. The initial sign that Matt was not coping so well was in his snappiness. His tetchiness with MPs and members of the media whenever his version of events was challenged. Now though it’s looking as if Hancock is moving through the denial and anger stages of grief toward the bargaining and depression stages. There’s still a way to go before he comes to any form of acceptance but now there is a discernible sadness to his public performances. An emotional fragility that can barely be kept at bay. Other people’s anger he can just about deal with. It’s their compassion that will get him in the end. The Dear Matt text in which he is dumped with the words, “It’s not you, it’s me.” For his Commons coronavirus statement, it was all Matt could do to hold it together for an hour. Hardly surprising as he knows better than anyone that much of what he’s saying is pure fantasy. Though the truth might set him free, he’s just not quite ready for the admission of failure. So he began as if the coronavirus was a mild inconvenience, rather than the worst public health crisis for 100 years. We’d passed the peak – please, no one tell him about the probability of a second wave – and by and large everything was totally in control. The government had done brilliantly, hospitals had coped and NHS mental health services were there for anyone who needed them. Provided they were able to wait six months without falling apart completely for a referral to a professional. Care homes had had a protective ring thrown round them from the very start of the pandemic. As a description of the government’s handling of the crisis it could hardly have been more inaccurate. But this wasn’t about the public. It was about throwing a protective ring around Matt’s psyche. This was as close to reality as he could bring himself to get. There were a few new announcements. From now on anosmia – a lack of smell or taste – would be added to a persistent dry cough and high temperature as coronavirus symptoms. And anyone with any of these symptoms could now get a test if they could log on to the NHS website and find a testing station with capacity to see them. Best of all, Matt was able to report that he had beaten his target of recruiting 18,000 tracers – he didn’t know if they were yet trained – and now had 21,000 people on the books. Though given Hancock’s dodgy record on false accounting, it was quite possible that some of the new recruits may have been counted twice. Some politicians believe you need to be cruel to be kind. Labour’s shadow health secretary, John Ashworth, takes the opposite view and is kind to be cruel. He’s long since stopped being angry with Hancock over the government’s mishandling of the crisis and now just talks to him like an awkward teenager in whom he’s disappointed. It had been a bit late to include anosmia, hadn’t it? There hadn’t always been a protective ring around care homes, had there? And what was the point in easing lockdown restrictions before there was a comprehensive test and trace system up and running to replace them? Matt was now on the verge of breaking down. His eyes bloodshot as he tried to hold it together. Pleading for one last chance to make the relationship work. There was definitely a protective ring around care homes. Things would change. Get better, he promised. Having already forgotten that his new test and trace operation was supposed to have kicked in two days ago. Just one last chance, he pleaded. “We are ready and preparing,” he said, apparently unaware that the two were mutually exclusive. You’re either ready or you’re preparing. A few Tory backbenchers tried to put a socially-distanced arm around him and reassure him he was doing OK, but most just melted away. Matt left the chamber alone. Hopefully to have a long sob in private. He might just find it cathartic. Fifteen minutes later, Priti Patel made a rare public appearance as she reintroduced her immigration bill. Most of us have long since concluded that the home secretary has been kept hidden because she is fundamentally useless. But now some MPs were wondering if she might not also have had the coronavirus. Because there was a total lack of taste in announcing plans to keep low-paid overseas workers out of the country, when they are doing more than most to keep the NHS, care homes and food deliveries running. Still, Patel did want to pay a small tribute to those doing jobs she considers unskilled. Not least because she has also proved that being home secretary is low-skilled work. So, as a compromise, she proposed that everyone should continue clapping key workers at 8pm on a Thursday. Just to help them on their way to the deportation centre. She’s all heart, Priti.