Don’t hug me! (Even though sometimes it’s rather nice)

When, in 1957, Harold Macmillan accepted the Queen’s invitation to become prime minister, following the resignation of Sir Anthony Eden, he returned from the Palace, marched up Downing Street to where Eden was waiting for him, and gave his old rival a man-hug, right there in front of the Pathé news cameras. No, of course he didn’t. But we have come a long way since then. Indeed, at the party conferences they were all at it: MPs, ministers, party activists, hug, hug, hug — and not a hoodie in sight. After the Mayor of London delivered his speech he was rewarded with a bear-hug from the Prime Minister, no less. At least it was away from the cameras this time, unlike last year at the Olympics, when Boris and Dave had a manly embrace in full view.

We are fast turning into a hugging culture, with goals, wickets and tries acknowledged by spectators and players alike with a man-hug, and with the journey from seat to stage at an awards ceremony becoming a veritable gauntlet of pats and squeezes.