This Budget had the cha-cha-cha of siesta hour in a Mexican town. Lower your sombreros - Hombre Healey's a snoozer: QUENTIN LETTS

Lassitude lapped at Westminster’s doors. Little else stirred. John Healey was on his hooves for the greatest moment of his life and it had all the dramatic bite of cotton wool.Labour MPs gazed at their mobile telephones, rubbed their ears or, in the case of Gerald Jones (Merthyr Tydfil), sat like rigid Buddhas. Richard Baker (Glenrothes & Mid Fife) leaned back, eyes closed, pointing his head to the ceiling. He yawned, terribly, chewing the air as if it were a slice of watermelon.Has there ever been a Chancellor so lacking in oompf?This Budget had all the cha-cha-cha of siesta hour in some bluebottle-blown Mexican border town. Lower your sombreros. Chew those bandito moustaches, amigos. Hombre Healey’s a snoozer.As Kemi Badenoch would later put it in a scouring, destructive response: ‘Is that it? The prime minister came in promising an end to neoliberalism and instead we got 4p off gherkins!’ Andy Burnham reacted to this by swivelling his left slip-on shoe. You could have made mayonnaise with that foot.Mr Healey, with a little swagger of satisfaction, rose to speak at 12.32pm. At that point the former US Speaker, Nancy Pelosi, was still in the VIP gallery. She didn’t last long, scarpering after ten minutes. Lucky blighter.Sir Desmond Swayne (Con, New Forest W) was the only man to have dressed properly in tails and spongebag trousers, although Chris Law (SNP, Dundee C) was in a snazzy blue-and-red checked suit. Speaker Hoyle took his leave, as is the custom, and his deputy, Nusrat Ghani, slipped into the chair. On a day when the chamber was catatonic with boredom, Ms Ghani should have had little to do; and yet she made numerous, trilling calls for order. She was either trying to keep herself awake or itching to be noticed. Quentin Letts says Mr Healey made numerous verbal slips. You wouldn’t ask him to read the shipping forecast This Budget had all the cha-cha-cha of siesta hour in some bluebottle-blown Mexican border town, writes Quentin LettsMr Healey made numerous verbal slips. You wouldn’t ask him to read the shipping forecast. When talking about the Jackdaw gas field he managed to say: ‘Last week my Rt Hon Friend the Energy Secretary opposed it...er, approved it.’ This error drew a hearty laugh from several sides because it is widely believed eco-loon Energy Secretary Miatta Fahnbulleh was furious about being made to approve the gas drilling. Ms Fahnbulleh, from her front bench perch, shot the Chancellor a dirty look.Near her was Ed Miliband. He was behaving with his habitual oddness, sucking his teeth, bulging his eyes, doing things with his anglepoise fingers and generally acting the goof. Then Mr Healey made a little joke about how some economic forecasts had been ‘about as accurate as predictions as to who was going to be Chancellor’. Mr Miliband and Wes Streeting, who are both said to have itched to be Chancellor, guffawed just a little too hard at this crack.Another wonderful joke was when he praised his predecessor, Rachel Reeves, and said she had restored fiscal probity to the kingdom. It was several seconds before the House stopped laughing.Such moments of interest, alas, were rare. Most of the time was filled by the soft thrum of Mr Healey’s tentative, inoffensive voice. He little varied his pace or tone. The occasional giveaway, such as the £100 for energy bills, was done without dramatic flourish. It just sidled out of the right of his mouth.On the benches behind him, Labour MPs found their attention wandering. In one brief passage I noticed nine on their mobiles: Dawn Butler, Helena Dollimore, Luke Charters, Mike Reader, Paulette Hamilton, Claire Hazelgrove, Mohammad Yasin, Torcuil Crichton and, behind the Speaker’s Chair, a crumpled Stephen Doughty.Junior Treasury ministers sat behind the Cabinet. Here, stiff-backed sat Torsten Bell, self-styled intellectual powerhouse, Left-wing London’s very own Nostradamus. While other Labour MPs sat in languour, Mr Bell was rapt, twitchy, prickling with pride. He twiddled his thumbs at high speed.But then Mr Healey, in another inspired goof, mangled the name of the Labour constituency of Aldershot. It came out as ‘Aldersh*t’. Mr Bell’s thumbs froze mid-twiddle.