Peter Rhodes on jabs, scams and the rising anger of the puritans

The autumn Covid-19 booster campaign begins in England this week, an event which television finds impossible to cover without endless close-ups of sharp, cold needles being stuck into trembling, soft skin. How many Brits were determined to have the jab - until they watched News at Ten?

More on the subject of mis-hearing. My grandson, aged two, introduced me to the latest additions to his collection of toys, lorries and cars; a cement mister and a stretch minnow.

After a series of reports about bogus parcel deliveries, I am hair-trigger alert for scammers. Sure enough, an email arrived claiming: “We've got your parcel and it will be with you within an hour.” There was no name, no address - clearly a scam. Triumphantly, I put the email into the computer's trash bin. Behold, victory for the little man against the cyber-crooks. An hour later the parcel was delivered.

According to the Sun, “a group of giggling Whitehall pen-pushers used the Prime Minister’s official jet for a shameless £50,000 boozy jolly over Britain”. According to Whitehall's version of the same event, the officials were on an essential maintenance flight after a re-fit, and refreshments were part of the normal procedure.

The great thing about stories like this is that they feed and cherish our most bitterly-held prejudices. For millions, this is a tale of scandalous merry-making while others are enduring cost-of-living misery. For millions more, it's a lot of fuss about nothing and a reminder of the soul-chilling and repugnant new puritanism stalking Westminster which denounces anything jolly and would, if it could, outlaw all forms of giggling.

But the critics should be wary of setting the ethics bar too high, for one day they may be in power and struggling to climb over it. Consider, for example, the reaction of Labour's shadow trade secretary Emily Thornberry to the £50,000 flight: "This would be utterly disgraceful behaviour at the best of times, but in the middle of our country's current crisis, it is shameful beyond words."

If at some time in the future, Thornberry is seen enjoying herself ever so slightly while the rest of Britain shivers, roasts or runs out of petrol or water, that phrase, “shameful beyond words”, will be hurled at her with added venom. They call it a hostage to fortune.