PMQs had unfolded like a contest designed to reveal which competitor dared to trample on parliamentary protocol most insouciantly. Sir Keir Starmer had scolded Boris Johnson for his “half-a—d” efforts in helping P&O workers, prompting a finger-wagging from Sir Lindsay Hoyle. 

Never one to turn down a dare, the Prime Minister was soon desperately trying to outdo his opponent in the unparliamentary language stakes. 

“I remember him when he was doing planning at Islington Council,” he raved at one Labour MP. “And a complete c–k-up he made of that!” Thoughts and prayers with Erskine May.

It was all pretty rowdy. Inappropriately so at times. While the Chancellor was launching into his Spring Statement, the Prime Minister was still chuckling across the despatch box. And unfortunately for him, Rishi Sunak had chosen a rather jarring, serious opener about Ukraine and the desperate plight of the “men, women and children huddled in basements”. But still, he chortled on.

Comedy train pulls into Westminster

Ministers crammed into the front benches like commuters on a packed suburban train; elbows in backs, faces in armpits. Emily Thornberry and Ed Miliband squashed together in a forced, semi-embrace. 

A few rows back, Toby Perkins and Chris Bryant had assumed the role of comedy sidekicks. Little and Large. Laurel and Hardy. Or, perhaps, more realistically, Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek. They jeered in unison, or delivered complementary heckles throughout the Chancellor’s statement. 

“It won’t grow fast enough!” boomed Mr Perkins, of the economy. 

“Nowhere NEAR enough!” chirped Mr Bryant, of sanctions on Russia.

Eventually, we arrived at tax cuts, though nothing is ever simple in the Treasury brain. Instead, we had too-clever-by-half economic jiggery-pokery, taxing people, then giving some of it back. For those with a spare £10,000 knocking about, the Chancellor promised to scrap VAT on solar panels and heat pumps. 

When he announced this was “thanks to Brexit”, a great bark of delight from the Tory benches drowned out his speech at the very mention of the “B” word. It seemed an almost involuntary response; the result of some Pavlovian conditioning, or perhaps just a bad case of “Toryette’s” (Tory Tourette’s, if you will).

Rishi Sunak and his lifelines

There were shades of Chris Tarrant, snatching a giant £32,000 cheque out of some unsuspecting Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? contestant’s hands and quipping: “But we don’t want to give you that!”

“Our current plan is to increase the NICs [National Insurance contributions] threshold this year by £300… but I’m not going to do that,” snapped the Chancellor. “I’m going to increase it by the full £3,000.” 

In true management consultant style, Mr Sunak favoured snappy rules of three – three – measures to help struggling savers: three priorities for business tax cuts this autumn, and three ways to reform tax. 

“My tax plan!” he cried, brandishing a blue booklet and waving it around. One by one, the Tory backbenchers brandished identical copies and started waving them in the air and cheering. It was all a bit “I am Spartacus” – if Spartacus was a Treasury mandarin in a silky slim-fit suit.

Rachel Reeves, the shadow chancellor, had the unenviable task of replying. It’s no fun reading out a pre-heated statement, which will probably have congealed by the time your opponent winds up. She sported a postbox-red dress and matching purse – a Teletubby aesthetic: Po, clutching Tinky Winky’s handbag.

She appeared blindsided by some of the Tory proposals. “Cheer up Rachel!” cried a Tory MP, as Ms Reeves took a pen to her speech and began crossing things out.

Ms Reeves is always most effective when playing the straight bat, and her extended Alice in Wonderland analogy fell flat; the Prime Minister’s face twisted into gargoyle-like contortions as we embarked on a tortuous journey to “Sunakland”.

Blasts from the past

With a final flourish, she invoked the one-time Tory messiah. “He’s not Nigel Lawson!” she boomed, gesturing at the Chancellor. “He’s just Ted Heath with an Instagram account!” 

It was an odd analogy, that left some viewers wondering what Heath’s Instagram account might have looked like: videos of yachting trips, perhaps; organ recitals; the occasional snarky Insta story throwing shade at Margaret Thatcher; and assiduously posting only three days a week.

However, Mr Sunak’s biggest win wasn’t really at Ms Reeves’s expense at all. Whilst the frazzled Prime Minister had to announce the National Insurance rise in the Commons amid a hail of brickbats, the Chancellor had unveiled the longed-for tax cuts and waltzed off with all the plaudits.