QUENTIN LETTS from Westminster: Starmer seems to be much less the startled bog-brush than he did earlier than these Trump eruptions…

After a couple of weeks when he luxuriated at PMQs in his global peace-maker pose it was back to domestic drabness for Sir Keir Starmer.

One week he was taking transatlantic hotline calls and whizzing through Washington DC with police outriders.

Now he had to listen to earnest old Geoffrey Clifton-Brown (Con, N Cotswolds) chewing on about the Planning and Infrastructure Bill. He had to mould his chops into an expression of concern as cross-eyed Corbynite Richard Burgon (Lab, Leeds E) moaned about welfare cuts.

And he had to pretend to understand what Sojan Joseph (Lab, Ashford) was saying. Mr Joseph’s English is not terrific. One’s thoughts and prayers are with Parliament TV’s British sign language interpreters.

You wouldn’t blame them for shrugging at the cameras and doing the sign language for ‘God knows what that bloke just said’.

A PM active in international diplomacy may feel, on re-entering the Commons, that the national legislature is no longer sufficient for his grandeur. 

When you have been spending your time with Trump and Macron, questions from Sir Ed Davey lose what little fizz they once possessed.

After a couple of weeks when he luxuriated at PMQs in his global peace-maker pose it was back to domestic drabness for Sir Keir Starmer

Kemi Badenoch bored Sir Keir by asking about job losses, nursery fees, supermarket prices, even potholes

Kemi Badenoch bored Sir Keir by asking about job losses, nursery fees, supermarket prices, even potholes. 

Sir Keir reached for his folder and read various sentences of dismissive derision prepared for him by aides. Mrs Badenoch remains a calm presence at the despatch box. Maybe too calm.

Her one sparky moment came when she was talking about rubbish piling up in streets – ‘people vote Labour and all they get is trash, just like what he is saying at the despatch box’. That created a tiny stir but she needs to sting more.

The Deputy Prime Minister had come dressed as a meringue. Rupert Lowe (Great Yarmouth), freshly ejected from Reform, was absent. 

Perhaps someone could check Blackfriars Bridge. An Ulster MP jabbered away in Irish and wished everyone happy St Patrick’s Day, even though that is next week. 

Zara Sultana (Ind, Coventry S) went off on one about Israel. Not a soothing soul, Sultana.

Sir Keir went through the motions. He looked interested only when asked about Ukraine. 

On other matters he resorted to his prompts and said things such as ‘so far as I understand it’. This is what people say when they are underwhelmed by other souls’ problems.

Starmer had to listen to earnest old Geoffrey Clifton-Brown (Con, N Cotswolds) chewing on about the Planning and Infrastructure Bill

Does he look more statesmanlike – less the startled bog-brush, at least – than he did before the Trump eruptions? A little. 

But with that comes a sense that he has floated slightly from the Westminster jetty.

It was hard to put one’s finger on it, but something in the chamber and the exchanges felt different. 

Ministers sitting beside him did not glisten with their old devotion. Backbenchers behind him were gluier than of late. 

A sliver of something seems to have inserted itself between them and the man who leads them. Is it envy? Resentment at looming welfare cuts? Unease that he is becoming too close to the White House?

Something similar happened to Tony Blair but it took longer in his case. Fettes-educated Tony was better at charm and the old class structures gave him an advantage. 

Few of the new Labour intake regard Sir Keir as their social superior. Today’s Labour benches are stuffed with college kids. They do not seem to love the nasal knight.

Talking of which, the adenoidal problem has worsened. Sir Keir spoke of the North Sea shipping ‘collushun’. 

That was how he pronounced ‘collision’. Canada became ‘Cunuduh’. Welcomes was ‘wulcums’. Where other mouths stretch to form certain vowels, Sir Keir’s clenches inwards. It lends him a pinched air.

In other news, the Home Office has a new permanent secretary. Stuttery Sir Matthew Rycroft, 56, who often looked about to burst into tears, has been replaced by Dame Antonia Romeo. 

Clacking heels, suntanned forearms, a piranha’s smile. I am told she itches to join the Garrick club. Dame Antonia v Yvette Cooper: now there’s a match to fill Centre Court.