To paraphrase an old joke: An Etonian, a Harrovian and a Wykehamist and are sitting in a bar when a woman walks in. The Etonian says: ‘Fetch her a chair.’ The Harrovian fetches it. The Wykehamist sits in it.
Winchester alumnus Rishi Sunak didn’t pull off quite such a dastardly move yesterday. No. He was far more cunning.
The Chancellor’s Budget was a neat piece of work. Silky as a panther’s pelt.
He clobbered the middle classes with a series of sleight-of-hand taxes rises, but did it with such charm that he made it seem as if they should be grateful.
Odd couple: Boris Johnson gives Rishi Sunak a socially-distanced thumbs-up. The Chancellor’s Budget was a neat piece of work. Silky as a panther’s pelt, writes Henry Deedes
It was like watching a gentleman highwayman swipe a maiden’s jewels, flee the scene and yet leave his victim begging for more. At the same time, he garlanded Labour’s former ‘Red Wall’ with treats and kisses, delivered with a trademark flutter of those big puppy dog eyes. What a smooth operator he is.
Oh yes, he’s charmer, Rishi. One cool hombre. When he spits out toothpaste in the morning it wouldn’t surprise me if little flecks of ice follow down the plughole.
Even as he waited to be called yesterday by deputy speaker, Dame Eleanor Laing, I caught him smiling at a text message on his phone. Probably a good luck kissy face emoji from the Missus.
He kicked off in a reflective mood, recalling the mere pocket shrapnel he announced in last year’s Budget to help combat the virus.
‘What was originally thought to be a temporary disruption to our way of life has fundamentally altered it,’ he said.
The eventual payback for this change, he warned, would take ‘many decades.’ Gulp.
The gravity of these words was accentuated by the eerie silence around the empty House. What a weird Budget day it was. No supportive roars, no disruptive ya-boos.
Dame Eleanor didn’t have to intervene once. (Lindsay Hoyle, as is custom on these occasions, had vacated the chair, much to his relief. ‘I already know most of it,’ he grumbled to the Prime Minister at PMQs, a reference to the Chancellor’s leaky Treasury operation.)
A handout photograph released by the UK Parliament shows Mr Johnson gesturing as the Chancellor delivers his Budget statement to the House of Commons on Wednesday
Beside the Chancellor slumped the Prime Minister, legs crossed, nose squished flat behind his tight-fitting mask. His right leg up bobbing up and down impatiently. Bet he’s a nightmare in waiting rooms.
What a bizarre double act they make – Boris the dishevelled heffalump and Rishi the shiny sports catalogue model. An alien surveying the scene from their flying saucer up above might have assumed the PM was the Chancellor’s dogsbody.
Keir Starmer sat opposite, hurriedly amending his speech and swapping notes with Shadow Chancellor, Anneliese Dodds.
Two frantic pupils preparing crib sheets ahead of a test. Sir Keir was sporting a pair of wiry spectacles that aged him. His spin doctor may demand his oculist prescribes contacts pronto.
As Sir Lindsay pointed out, much of what the Chancellor announced we already knew. His wallet-spanking furlough scheme is to be extended until September. There will be no rises in income tax, national insurance or VAT. Phew.
But there would be a hike in corporation tax in 2023. Up from 19 per cent to 25 per cent.
The Chancellor on his way to deliver his budget speech. It was like watching a gentleman highwayman swipe a maiden’s jewels, flee the scene and yet leave his victim begging for more, writes Henry Deedes
Hang on, isn’t that what Jeremy Corbyn was demanding before the last election? Pure plagiarism. The bounder!
When Rishi announced plans to set up a government infrastructure bank, Dodds suddenly began gesticulating wildly.
A muffled noise emanated from her mask. ‘Oi, that was our idea!’ she seemed to be saying. The Chancellor insisted he wanted to be honest about tax rises. Honest about a lot of things. Honest about the public finances, honest about the challenges ahead.
The voice softened, the eyelashes fluttered again. ‘You can trust me,’ he seemed to be trying to assure us. Unlike Boris did he mean? Discuss.
One of the few cheers came when the Chancellor announced he was freezing duty on spirits. Trebles all round!
The Scots Nats glumbuckets, unsurprisingly, remained stony faced. Leader Ian Blackford, incidentally, was having an uncharacteristically quiet day.
Considering the fireworks going off back in Holyrood that was probably wise. To end what was probably the most important Budget speech since the Second World War, we got a quote: ‘That which we are, we are,’ opined Rishi solemnly.
‘Eh?’ yelled the opposition benches. Groan. It’s from Tennyson, dears.
Sir Keir rose, looking less sure of himself than usual. He started with a joke at the PM’s expense.
Sir Keir Starmer pictured responding after the Chancellor delivered his Budget to the House of Commons in London on Wednesday
‘After 11 months in this job, it is nice, finally, to be standing opposite the person actually making decisions in this Government,’ he honked. Weary eye rolls from around the benches opposite.
Sir Keir’s PPS, Carolyn Harris (Swansea E) dutifully cackled away like she was in the stalls at the Palladium.
Starmer revved up a bit with a few digs at the Chancellor’s own public relations drive. ‘I’m sure this Budget would look better on Instagram,’ he smirked.
There followed more light mockery of an expensive-looking publicity video Rishi had made of himself and a decent dig about how badly freelancers had fared under furlough ‘unless you happen to be one of the chancellor’s photographers’.
On paper, these were probably quite decent gags. The problem with Starmer and jokes, though, is that he wears them the way a middle-aged man might wear a pair of leather trousers.
They do not hang comfortably from his hips. He’s much more at home wrestling in the starchy minutiae of policy-making.
What he could do with just a scintilla of slick Rishi, the gentleman highwayman’s disarmingly lethal charms.