HENRY DEEDES: Like Ken Dodd, Boris Johnson's features don't get serious easily

A frosty morning and an early call to Downing Street. The Prime Minister wished to outline his plans to fight the coronavirus epidemic.

It has recently been suggested that Boris Johnson was not paying due attention to the escalation of the crisis. Worse still, that he was lying in doggo, hoping that everything would explode.

So it was time for Bozza to show the country that he was taking charge.

When he arrived at briefing room number 10, his entrance seemed to show us that he was talking about business. His walk was rapid and determined, his grip on the desk firm and virile. Grabbing his papers, there was a welcoming nod that said: Let's go, amigos.

Heck, hed even put on his stern face for the occasion or at least shaped it that way as much as he could. The features of the Prime Minister, like the late oyster-eyed comedian Marty Feldman, or Ken Dodd, are not easily serious.

Flanked on either side of Boris were two humorless suits, which I first mistook for his brass instruments.

It turned out that they were the chief medical officer, Professor Chris Whitty and the chief scientific adviser, Sir Patrick Vallance. Or was it the other way around?

Boris, too, was at first confused as to which one was which. Whatever. Like Ant and Dec, they were more or less the same.

The Prime Minister's speech was of impressive direction. Calm and authoritarian. Pro bono publico, no bloody panic was the general message of the day. He admitted that it was very likely that the UK would see more cases of the virus in the coming weeks, but he was certain that we had the resources and the health services in place to deal with it.

Stupidity, of course, was absent, although remarks such as the continuation of our activities as usual were given the necessary kick.

Governments plan to fight coronavirus comes in four parts: contain, delay, research, mitigate.

As Boris said, the two suits, motionless in front of the neighboring desks, nodded in agreement.

Down in front, the snappers climbed on the ground for their shooting.

A twitch on the side of the Prime Minister's arousable arm and his words were suddenly drowned by the shutters of the camera. And what was the main advice of the MPs? Wash your hands.

Uh, you knew I was going to say that, he whispered. Hot water, soap, sing happy birthday

The PM winced before interrupting awkwardly, aware that he must have looked like a kindergarten teacher.

I had not seen her so embarrassed since the election campaign, when her advisers made her repeat her commitment to reduce the VAT on women's sanitary products.

After that, he left much of the conversation to the egg heads.

Sir Patrick, a tall figure with the appearance of a lawyer, urged caution in setting up emergency measures too soon, saying it was useless to create chaos excessive in people's lives.

Whitty was just as reassuring. No, said the professor, there was no need to cancel your vacation abroad. No, don't store food either.

He also didn't see the point in closing schools.

Professor Whitty is a creature of extraordinary appearance.

Pinned and in the eyes of insects, he reminded me of the condemned pathologist in science fiction movies who, you know, will find himself entwined in tentacles of aliens.

Someone asked if it was still possible to shake hands. I'll be happy to shake hands with everyone, you'll be glad to know, said Boris. A relief for many, I'm sure.

Perched in the front row throughout the press conference, the feline figure of Health Secretary Matt Hancock, smiling and nodding in all the right places.

You have a good war, Hancock, don't you think?

Busy researcher. He spent most of the morning yesterday skillfully visiting broadcast studios, never once, in my opinion, trying to score cheap political points.

Hancock also later had to make a statement to the House. Labors Health spokesperson Jon Ashworth managed to miss the start of it after arriving late in the room.

I was having problems with my printer, Ashworth sobbed in front of a President who did not seem impressed.

Oh dear. Well, thank God, it is Mr. Hancock and his department that run the Labor Party, not the Labor Party.