“This is Kafkaesque! What on earth is going on?” shrieked Yvette Cooper. 

The eve of parliamentary recess beckoned, but the shadow home secretary had squeezed in a last-minute urgent question on the issuing of visas to Ukrainians. And she addressed the Commons in  scathing, headmistress-like tones which promised lines and detention at 5pm.

Ms Cooper rattled through a list of nightmarish anecdotes, growing visibly angrier – and gabbling ever-faster, like a speeded-up gramophone record – with each one. She told of grandmothers, children, pregnant women, desperate families – all engulfed by a tsunami of petty bureaucracy and Home Office red tape. At times, her upper body jerked and twitched with indignation, like a marionette flung about on an invisible string.

“Why is the Home Secretary so totally incapable of getting any grip on this?” she said, splattering the words across the despatch box. She spent so long tearing into the Home Office that she almost filibustered herself; prompting a finger-wagging from the Commons Speaker for breaching the time-limit.

But the Home Secretary was not the recipient of her wrath. Deputising was Kevin Foster of Torbay – a ruddy-faced ministerial underling armed with sideburns and a leaden, monotone delivery. Many politicians have a verbal tic or favourite buzzword – usually some intransitive use of the verb “deliver” or the phrase “we’ve been very clear”. Mr Foster’s particular genre of MP Tourette’s was “we’ve touched on this already”, which he deployed early and often, in the face of any tricky questions.

“As I touched on,” he told Sir Desmond Swayne, “we’re seeing the pace of decision-making increase.” In Whitehall-ese, this meant “someone else has asked me that question, you moron”.

What Mr Foster lacked in rhetorical fireworks, he compensated for in passive aggression. Allison Thewlis, of Glasgow Central, received a Janus-like congratulation for how her city had stepped up “in a way it hasn’t on every refugee resettlement scheme”. He contrasted the runaway success of recent Government efforts with Yvette Cooper’s abortive pledge “to home one Syrian refugee” back in 2015. “Oof,” came a lone voice from the Chamber.

But the backbenchers rapidly erupted with a string of lousy reviews. Most had been inundated with letters from hopeful refugee sponsors, trapped in the Home Office quagmire, though the Tories generally offered some token pleasantries before the vociferous complaints. Mr Foster mostly accepted their reports of blockages, often riposting with vague assurances that the processing would accelerate in coming weeks. He seemed to be aiming for a “computer says maybe” vibe, rather than a categorical “computer says no”.

True to form, veteran objector Sir Christopher Chope deviated from the rump. The system was working well, he maintained, heartily commending the minister and his team. He even encouraged listeners to try to emulate his office’s success at fast-tracking requests by contacting their MPs directly. “Steady on!” came a yell from the opposition benches.

Sir Desmond consoled the minister in the style of the Major from Fawlty Towers – with a reminder that things could always be worse. “No! I won’t have that! There’s a place in Eastbourne,” howls the Major, countering a fellow guest who has just damned Fawlty Towers as the worst hotel in western Europe.

Despite the Home Office’s manifest failings, insisted Sir Desmond, at least it was not quite as bad as the DVLA. “It is quicker than getting a driving licence, I’ll give you that.”