I NEVER thought “Suella Braverman is right” was a phrase that would ever fall from my lips.

However, in a speech given in tribute to the late, great MP Frank Field, she came out in favour of scrapping the iniquitous 'two child' benefits cap which, in essence, means that you are only entitled to child benefit for the first two children.

Far from helping to arrest child poverty, it was liable to increase it, she said.

Meanwhile Wes Streeting, who looks like being the new health secretary, suggested it should stay. Even though he admitted that his single mum often relied on these payments to put some food on the table.

“I also know," he said, "that that the answer to child poverty, ultimately, is not simply about handouts, it is about a social security safety net that acts as a springboard."

I suggest he pops round to the nearest Job Centre and finds out first hand how easy it is to get a “handout”, and how many holes there are in the “social security safety net".

Don’t know if Mr Streeting’s momma is still among us. But I’d really rather get her version of what it felt like to be a poverty-stricken family.

A fascinating interview the other night with a techie type on PM.

Why was it, Evan Davis asked, that when we gawped at the Northern Lights show, the images we saw with the naked eye seemed less spectacular, than what appeared the next day on social media courtesy of a thousand iPhone images.

The techie type confirmed that it was so. That our eyes don’t have as sophisticated a filter system as the average smart phone, as a result of which they can capture sights and colours so much better.

I repeat all this from the standpoint of utter ignorance of the phenomenon in question.

It’s an interesting development, just the same, that digital technology has so comprehensively outstripped the human variety.

This week, amidst all the hubble and bubble about artificial intelligence, a new robot was unveiled. One which could apparently discern your mood from your facial expression and even, good grief, come over all flirtatious with you.

Which is all very well, but I’m hanging on for the one which arrives with suitable provisions in the early evening and proceeds to cook my supper prior to clearing up the kitchen, filling the dishwasher, and then departing without so much as flirty au revoir.

Apparently AI can already beat us at chess, not a high bar in my case, and, heaven help my trade, knock up a passable newspaper column. A passable lasagne can’t be long distant.