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Boring? Alistair Darling? Yesterday Britain's dreariest functionary had a swagger to him, a jaunty, hat-doffing, stick-twirling, marching down the prom quality. He looked like the man who broke the bank - if not at Monte Carlo, at least the one in Threadneedle Street.
As the Tories bayed and jeered at his message ("a tax cut is for Christmas, not for life") he seemed to draw strength, like Frankenstein's monster hooked up to the lightning conductor. This is how interesting he was: only four peers appeared to be asleep in their gallery, and two of those might have closed their eyes to concentrate.
The heckling started early. He wanted, he said, to make sure "that as a country we live within our means". Tories looked at each other. Had he said that? Mr Micawber had a stronger grasp of economic reality. They produced a great, fruity roar of derision.
He blamed the US for starting the crisis. They roared again. "The root cause is ..." he said, and several voices shouted "You!" In the gallery, Lord Lawson, the only ex-chancellor I could see there, had a light smile about his lips. Cynicism, or just anticipation of Christmas lunch at his daughter's house?
"The prime minister and I attended the G20 summit in Washington," Mr Darling continued. "Thank God for that," said one Tory, with deep sarcasm. "We need to make supervision and regulation more effective," the chancellor said. A familiar voice piped up. "Say sorry, you did it!"
The Speaker interrupted. "I'm going to say to Mr Fabricant, if I can't keep you quiet, I can't keep the government benches quiet when the shadow chancellor stands up. So be quiet."
Mickey Fab was, of course, once one of the most popular disc jockeys in the Brighton and Hove area. This presumably was an example of his "edgy" humour, which these days would get him banned from Radio 2.
It must be said that Labour MPs were fairly quiet. When he announced a reduction in VAT to 15% (equivalent to £2 on a hundred quid) the Tories mockingly waved up their enthusiasm. It didn't matter. Mr Darling was enjoying the Tory bellowing far too much. "We face the challenges from a position of relative strength ..." he said. This was winding them up for the hell of it. "Mr Speaker, we did fix the roof while the sun was shining!" It turned out he meant that literally, by repairing the roofs of schools and hospitals.
He then produced a list of - at first sight - wildly improbable statistics. Paradise lost? Forget it. This was merely paradise postponed, and not for long. By this time next year the economy will be booming again, and by 2015 we will be rolling in it, using £50 notes to light our Montecristo cigars. Those Tories who understand these things laughed in his face. Those who didn't decided to laugh in his face anyway, to be on the safe side.
He sat down to cheers from his own side and a pasting from George Osborne. The government had doubled the entire national debt. The government's growth forecasts were not accepted by any independent forecasters. "He is borrowing more on the nation's credit card than all previous chancellors put together."
Mr Osborne needed to put in a good performance, and he did. The chancellor had brought the nation to the brink of bankruptcy. We weren't waiting for a tax bombshell but a precision-guided missile.
Mr Darling drew fresh strength from all this. "The problem with the Conservative party is that they are no longer listening to the people outside this house!" This got the reception he wanted: a great tidal wave of fury and contempt, some of it possibly genuine.
Vince Cable was gloomy, and of course that makes us all gloomy, because Vince generally gets it right, and he rarely makes party political points. So when he thinks things are going badly, we might as well all pack it in and find a cardboard box with all mod cons.
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