Hunt lands between a headmaster and someone declaring a foreclosure

The weird weedy kid is in charge just as the school might be about to shut down for good

WHAT a 14 years it’s been for Jeremy Hunt. He’s gone from being the comedy member of the coalition gang – who can forget when he accidentally threw a bell at a woman launching the London 2012 Olympics – to the grand old man of politics in 2024.

His son and infamously misaccredited wife watching, Mr Hunt launched into what may be the last Conservative Budget for some time. The weird and weedy kid had finally become head boy, but only just as the school was about to be shut for good.

Discipline was not front and centre of the House’s mind. Such was the scrum on the Tory front bench that James Cleverly was stuck spooning Bim Afolami. Meanwhile, Labour’s MPS yapped throughout; at times it sounded as if the Chancellor were addressing a cage of chihuahuas. The less constructive among them probably knew this might be the last Budget they’d get to spend meaninglessly heckling as an opposition.

Within moments the Deputy Speaker was forced to intervene.

“You can’t get excited yet!”, bellowed Dame Eleanor Laing. Chance would be a fine thing.

There was an air of the speech day about this Budget: Mr Hunt landing halfway between a jovial headmaster and someone announcing a foreclosure. When the heckling intensified he’d simply stop, in headmasterly fashion, and suggest that the Opposition “might like to listen to what I’m about to say”. This was his version of “it’s your own time you’re wasting”.

Dame Eleanor’s interventions grew increasingly wearied. Not for the first time, the worst offender was the thick-set Honourable Member for the Flintstones, Toby Perkins – part MP, part Neanderthal – who grunted his disapproval from the back. The Chancellor spoke of his pride at serving as health secretary. “How did that go?” boomed Wes Streeting, earning himself a ticking-off too.

For the most part, the policies were small-ish; renovating church halls, a few bob for the National Theatre. No mention of perhaps the most pressing policy issue du jour, defence. Instead, the Chancellor unveiled a “North East trailblazer deal” which sounds like a multi-buy offer at a Frankie and Benny’s. Occasionally, though, he’d slip in something truly deranged, like using drones as first responders to crimes. There was also the requisite blood sacrifice for R’NHS, which, said Mr Hunt, was “rightly the biggest reason most of us are proud to be British”. In a crowded field, that might be the maddest thing he said all day.

Although boring his enemies into submission appeared to be Mr Hunt’s main tactic, there were moments of frisson. He invoked the spirit of the Dark Lord Mandelson who appears to have opened a Westminster branch of Weight Watchers, having said that Sir Keir Starmer needed to drop a few pounds. Mr Hunt, who resembles a beanpole on hunger strike, leapt on this: “If he wants to join my marathon training, he’s most welcome”. The Leader of the Opposition, to his credit, turned even pinker than usual and laughed, wiggling his ample bottom in delight on the bench beneath him, wedged as it was between the bony cheeks of Rachel Reeves and Darren Jones.

Sir Ed Davey, too, took his Dad joke in the spirit to which it was intended when Mr Hunt alluded to the Lib Dem leader’s curious recent absence from the Chamber. One person, however, did not accept their drubbing in good humour. Referencing Angela Rayner’s council house woes, Mr Hunt joked she must be paying “close attention” to his plans to axe multiple dwellings’ relief. Ms Rayner didn’t like this one bit. She leered across the despatch box and gesticulated like an Italian waiter. Sir Keir looked between The Beanpole and Queen Gob. A pity, he doubtless thought, they both can’t lose.

Yet the biggest number of namechecks came for Tory marginal seats, and what a lot of them there were. Presumably, the idea was to associate these with some great big positive announcements to help their election prospects, but aside from 2p off National Insurance and a welcome reform of child benefit, the really big moment never came.

All in all, no rabbit in the hat, but one very happy little piggy on the opposition benches. Whether this will be enough to keep the wolf from the door remains to be seen.

‘Boring his enemies into submission appeared to be Mr Hunt’s main tactic’