QUENTIN LETTS: Labour’s storm troopers howled at Kemi – however she regarded as if she was having enjoyable

Seconds out, round two. Kemi Badenoch boinged back to the despatch box to have another PMQs tilt at Sir Keir Starmer. A fortnight into the job she is still sweetly ardent for the fray.

The young new Conservative leader asks serious questions – she could do with some jokes – but she smiles more than previous opposition leaders. Actually it looks as if she is having fun. Facing a torrent of insults from Labour MPs, Mrs Badenoch beamed. I suppose it’s like going for a walk in a Pembrokeshire gale: bracingly buffeting.

Again the Labour benches had been primed to give her gyp. The question beforehand from Lloyd Hatton (Lab, S Dorset) was a blatant plant, beseeching Sir Keir to vouchsafe his thoughts on the many shortcomings of Mrs Badenoch’s policies. The Speaker’s clerks looked dubious, such things not being a matter for the Government. Sir Lindsay Hoyle let the question stand.

Sir Keir had an answer all ready for the little pillock. Fancy that! Mr Hatton was congratulated by fellow newbies. Camborne car salesman Perran Moon, whom is really called Peregrine, yowled with over-excitement.

Three seats from Sir Keir on the front bench, Labour’s chief whip, Sir Alan Campbell, permitted himself a small burp of satisfaction. Could have been a gourmet who had just consumed a garlicky escargot. Sir Alan’s larder is full of eager molluscs. Hundreds of Labour MPs are eager to be his next mouthful. Please the Chief Whip and you might one day become an unpaid aide to the junior minster for urinals.

Mrs Badenoch was quickly interrupted by storm-trooper shouts of ‘reading!’ and Chief Whip Sir Alan allowed himself another smirk.

The snails were doing his bidding, bellowing at Mrs Badenoch. They were making the old, largely obsolete charge that she was reading from a script. You are only meant to speak with basic notes (as, in fact, Mrs Badenoch was). It is bad form to read entire paragraphs off a prompt. Mr Hatton had done just that with his question – he delivered it from an A4 sheet of paper – but no colleagues had shouted ‘reading’ at him.

Speaker Hoyle told Mrs Badenoch’s Labour hecklers to shaddup, not least because the PM himself often reads his replies. Sir Lindsay was right yet Sir Alan’s mood changed to a deep scowl. His epicurean feast had been marred. It was worse than finding a toenail in your stewed apple.

For the rest of PMQs I found it hard to move my gaze off Sir Alan. He kept muttering at his neighbour, Lucy Powell. He scowled at opposition contributions. Even when further Labour MPs asked planted questions, Sir Alan’s mood did not improve. A thickset, jowly, grey-faced man, he belonged to an earlier, burlier decade. Perhaps the 1970s.

On Sir Keir’s other side sat two figures in aubergine: Rachel Reeves and Bridget Phillipson. They were in near-identical outfits. Scary Bridget crossed her arms, daggers for eyes.

Mrs Badenoch weathered the Labour heckles and a fluffed line to get Sir Keir to concede that council taxes will rise. Sir Keir tried to patronise her. The condescension bounced off her.

The Lib Dems’ Sir Ed Davey was rude about Donald Trump and his team. Reform’s Nigel Farage, just back from Trumpland, suggested a rethink on the Chagos Islands giveaway might help Sir Keir to worm his way into the next US president’s affections.

Sir Keir ventured that Mr Farage was so seldom in England these days, he expected him to pop up in emigration statistics. Mr Farage laughed. Sir Keir then produced an even better joke when he said ‘We haven’t touched National Insurance’. Corker.

But Sir Alan could not be rescued from his melancholy. He shouted at the Tory front bench, even though Chief Whips normally stay above the fray. He glowered at the shadow home secretary, Chris Philp – who is, admittedly, jolly annoying. He rubbed at a wart on his forehead. His right eyeball throbbed. What a baleful Bertie.