Like an AI-generated training video, Rishi Sunak droned in perfect order at the Covid inquiry

It must have felt like a holiday to Rishi Sunak. Phone turned off. No “star chamber” on his back; no Tory backbenchers with their halitosis, hysterical WhatsApp groups or deranged ultimata. Instead of Bill Cash, just a chat with that awfully polite KC, Hugo Keith.

The prime minister started with an apology so long and humble and sweeping and contrite that it was either terribly, terribly sincere or utterly meaningless. He was “deeply sorry” to those who lost loved ones and everyone who “suffered in various different ways throughout the pandemic”. He did not, it was noted, express sorrow for any of his own policies, not even the one Sir Chris Whitty dubbed Eat Out to Help Out The Virus. So, on balance, maybe not so sorry.

Sunak told us he had reflected a lot and wanted to give evidence “in the spirit of constructive candour”. With other politicians, a promise to be candid would quicken the pulse a bit. In Sunak’s case, it presaged a lot of tedious monologues devoid of colour. Like an AI-generated training video, his words droned in perfect order and were hypnotically forgettable.

The first interesting exchange was over another bunch of missing WhatsApp messages. Sunak said he had “multiple phone changes” (so many new iPhones to choose from!) and never used WhatsApp for chatter. Had nobody asked him to save his data?” asked Keith. “I do not recall anyone in my office making that recommendation,” replied Sunak, ever so candidly.

Funnily enough, there were an awful lot of things the PM couldn’t recall, despite all that candour. Treasury memos, conversations, letters, even entire meetings slipped from his memory muscle’s grasp.

Asked about the session that Boris Johnson organised with lockdown-sceptic scientists, Sunak replied: “I don’t have strong recollections of that meeting.”

Convenient or what? You could hear sighs of frustration from the public seating, where bereaved family members sat impassively, many with photographs of lost loved ones balanced on their knees. They listened sullenly, though; without the raging anger displayed towards Johnson last week.

Sunak could not recall anything to suggest the PM’s office or the Cabinet Office being dysfunctional. But that was, he explained candidly, because he simply didn’t work there. Which seemed a surprising excuse since the UK’s chancellor lives in a flat above No 10 and his office has a connecting door to the PM’s hallway. He let slip he used to chat with Johnson over lockdown barbecues with their two families in the Downing Street garden.

Maybe Sunak just doesn’t notice stuff happening around him. It explains how he wandered into a room without noticing an unlawful birthday gathering, ending up with a police fine. And how he confided to colleagues that “it’s all about handling the scientists”, oblivious to Sir Chris in the same meeting. Frank Spencer isn’t in the same league. No wonder he managed to launch his Rwanda policy without twigging that Robert Jenrick was about to resign. Memo to PM’s team: check the pavement for banana skins and missing manhole covers.

Mr Keith started his questions gently. The legal rottweiler that growled, “Let me put it to you!” at Boris Johnson had gone. In its place, an eager-to-please labrador who started questions with, “May I just ask?”. Such deference is one of the perks of being a sitting PM, and Sunak took full advantage of it to wear down the clock. He wittered on about “iterations” and “modelling capability” and after two hours even he looked startled by how much of the day he was being allowed to waste.

Things warmed up after lunch when Keith took off his muzzle and asked about Eat Out to Help Out. This was the food freebie that cost taxpayers £385m in a single month and probably spread infections, compared with the mere £21m a month spent on self-isolation payments that actually saved lives. Last week, Johnson dobbed Sunak in it by saying the plan must have been “smuggled” past the scientific advisers. Keith barked: “Why did the Treasury not consult Sage, the chief medical officer, the health secretary, anyone outside the Treasury?”

Suddenly, Sunak’s comatose memory muscle twitched back to life and began performing youthful acrobatics. The PM could remember every nuance, and indeed had a detailed legal defence seemingly learnt off by heart. It was just a “micropolicy”, a mere subtlety in an overall plan to safely reopen the economy that the scientists were fully aware of, had endorsed, and that contained emergency brakes. There was a month between the announcement and launch and nobody opposed it. Moreover, as with everything else, “decisions ultimately lay with the prime minister”. Back to you, Boris.

Sunak pushed his luck a bit by suggesting, as Matt Hancock said, that there was “undue focus on this one item”. Mr Keith bared his teeth on behalf of inquiry chair Lady Hallett, interrupting: “Excuse me? It’s a matter for m’lady with matters as to whether or not they are of importance to this inquiry.” That said, there were no gotcha moments for the KC.

Another zinger from Sir Patrick Vallance’s diaries revealed that someone told a meeting on footballer Marcus Rashford’s campaign to feed poorer children that “good working people … don’t want freeloaders”. Sunak shook his head. “I did not say those words; I do not recollect anyone saying those words.” Blissful amnesia again.

All too soon, the prime minister’s blissful minibreak was over. It was back to the phone and the spads and the car to Westminster to find out how many doors had been opened in what Tory MPs reportedly call their Advent Calendar of S***. You could say he escaped the inquiry unscathed – but that hardly seems apt for a leader whose multiple injuries look terminal.