HENRY DEEDES watches Boris Johnson announcing the lifting of lockdown restrictions

The landing gear’s down, the flaps are fully extended and the runway safely in view. After our long flight through the lockdown wilderness, the message from Boris Johnson was clear: Britain, we are go for landing.

We were at the latest Downing Street press conference, first in a wee while, and for once a bit of positivity was pinging around the briefing room walls.

The Prime Minister and his boffins had crunched the numbers and studied the charts. It was time, said the PM, to take ‘a considerable step on the road back to normality’.

As of Monday, cinemas will reopen. So too will hotels, hostels and bed and breakfast establishments. Families can hug and kiss once more. Frankly, I’m not sure even the most busybody Covid marshals were ever going to stop them, but there you go. 

We will also be allowed to re-enter pubs and restaurants, though presumably ordering from the bar’s still not a goer. Something so unnatural about having a pint delivered to you at a table. Like eating a Mars bar with a knife and fork.

More important to Boris was that we were now easing closer to a time ‘when we cease, eventually, to rely on detailed Government edicts, and make our own decisions’. 

In other words, when he no longer has to dole out jackboot instructions. Being bossy feels about as natural to him as a diet of tofu and quinoa.

Speaking of eating habits, the PM’s appearance is much improved. For the first time I can remember, you could have squeezed a pinky finger down his shirt collar. Time was when his top button always looked fit to pop. Must be all those squat thrusts. His body language too was positive, unsurprising given those local election results. He didn’t swagger but those eyes of his gleamed with the shielded anticipation of a cocker spaniel eyeing a string of sausages.

Whitty and Vallance were back at their lecterns. Been a while, gents. They looked much the same as always – shifty, disconnected, mildly glum. Whitty, whose eyebrows are now so long they probably could pick up a decent FM signal, did most of the talking.

The more urbane Vallance played a more languid role, occasionally nodding his head and stroking his chin in the manner of a seasoned theatre Johnny enjoying a night in the stalls. At one point, though, he suggested facemasks might become compulsory after restrictions have ended. Haven’t we commuters suffered enough?

We moved on to questions. Oh goody. Always such a fine forum of debate. Frances from Lincoln was worried about teachers such as herself who were yet to be vaccinated, particularly now that hugs were back in. Boris replied it was up to individuals to ‘exercise common sense’. Our Frances didn’t look satisfied. Struck me as a staunch union lass. Hardened Lefties are always impervious to thinking for oneself.

This touching business was a bit of an obsession among the hacks. ITV’s reporter wanted to know who the first person Boris would be hugging was. At this point, I noticed a little smirk slowly begin to tiptoe up the side of Vallance’s face. ‘Whoever it is, it will be done with caution and restraint,’ burbled Boris, shuffling his feet awkwardly, adding he was ‘not going to act it out now’. We had entered banana skin territory.

The man from Times Radio pressed on and asked whose hand Boris would shake first.

‘Erm, you’ll get more guidance on this later,’ the PM stuttered. His cheeks by now had begun to rouge at the slight absurdity of the situation.

Salvation came in the form of a Harry Potter impersonator from the FT, who wondered if it was a responsible time for the Scots to be planning a second referendum. The PM claimed he’d spoken to the leaders of the devolved administrations and insisted their priority was ‘building back better’ from the pandemic.

Nonsense, of course. But there was no way he was going to let that tartan termagant Sturgeon spoil his mood.