“Finally…” Rachel Reeves was only 12 minutes into her Budget speech, and we wondered if we were about to catch a break. Might she have decided that brevity is the soul of fiscal wit? Was she going to refer us all to a website and sit down? Fat chance.

The shortest Budget speech on record was Benjamin Disraeli’s, in 1867, which lasted 45 minutes. Reeves’ effort on Wednesday was not, sadly, the second shortest. It weighed in at about an hour and a quarter by the tape, though it felt longer.

It had been preceded with a jolly session of prime minister’s questions. Rishi Sunak, demob happy at his final session, asked about his own private interests: the Coast-to-Coast path, cricket in schools, artificial intelligence. All we needed was a question about tax breaks for too-small suits. Keir Starmer responded in good heart. Ed Davey had the best farewell joke for the departing leader of the opposition, noting that in the election “he was the only other party leader to get as wet as I did”.

Sunak’s final question was to ask Starmer to “join me in applauding the kindness, decency and tolerance that have always been the British way?” The prime minister said that he would indeed, which is a shame, as it would have been much funnier to reply: “No. Get stuffed, shortarse.” 

The chamber was absolutely rammed, everywhere except for the one set of benches now occupied by the Conservatives. Labour MPs had all turned out for the first Labour Budget in 14 years. They were sat two-to-a-step in the aisles, and had overflowed round to the opposition side. They were up in the galleries, where they were joined by peers including Theresa May. She’d found the position analogous to the one where she used to sit directly behind the prime ministers who had succeeded her, her eyes boring holes in the back of their heads.

The one area of tension had been the announcement that the man charged with the summer murders in Southport has now also been charged with terrorism offences. Lindsay Hoyle had opened by warning MPs not to refer to the case. Nigel Farage at this point snorted with contempt and shook his head: what even is the point of being in parliament if you can’t collapse a murder trial?

Both Conservative leadership candidates had already commented on this news, with Robert Jenrick suggesting that The Truth Is Being Kept From Us. Sadly he wasn’t in the chamber to hear the warning. Perhaps he was too busy looking for more speech ideas on the Dark Web.

In his place we got Richard Tice, the rioting man’s Jenrick. He asked a loaded question about releasing information on terrorism. Starmer used it to take a swipe at the opposition opportunists. “They can either support the police in their difficult task or they can undermine the police in their difficult task. I know which side I am on.” So, of course, does Tice.

Then it was Reeves’ turn. The noise as she rose was astonishing: the best part of Labour’s 402 MPs yelling their heads off in support. Throughout, she enjoyed the advantage of numbers, although the Tories jeered the suggestion that they had left things in a bit of a mess, there’s a limit to what a hundred people can do, when faced with four times that number. 

Reeves made much of being the first female chancellor: “To girls and young women everywhere, I say: let there be no ceiling on your ambition, your hopes and your dreams.” Behind her, May made a series of faces that communicated quite effectively a point about other jobs that women have already held. 

The opening of the speech was a long denunciation of the situation that Reeves had inherited. The Conservatives, she said, “hid the reality”. Their national insurance cut had been “the height of irresponsibility” — an odd way to describe a measure you’re keeping. 

Opposite her, Sunak and Laura Trott, the shadow chief secretary to the Treasury, were preparing his response. He’d had to write this without knowing what was going to be announced, so the pair of them were tapping their phones and making scribbled changes to his speech, looking like a couple of undergraduates in a tough exam. Beside them Jeremy Hunt, the shadow chancellor, sat serene, barely contributing to their discussions and not doing much to undermine the impression that his main contribution to running the Treasury had been simply radiating the air of a plausible posh chap. 

“Any chancellor standing here today would have to face this reality,” Reeves said, announcing £40 billion pounds of tax rises. Hunt shook his head: he’d spent almost two years not facing reality, and he could have managed another six months. 

There were 17 mentions of “working people”, each of them greeted with performative bafflement by the Tories, as if they simply couldn’t imagine what this phrase might mean. There’s been a lot of this lately, and we can only wish that those parsing the words so forensically on the airwaves had paid as much attention to, say, “oven-ready Brexit deal”. 

On the whole, the event dragged. There was a joke about workplace bullying that was aimed at Kemi Badenoch, who chuntered angrily, though some of her Shadow Cabinet colleagues visibly smirked, and a joke about private jets aimed at Sunak, which he didn’t even seem to notice, so focused was he on his notes. 

“Finally,” Reeves said eight more times, so that it started to seem like a taunt. Even after the last one she had a couple of minutes to go. 

Sunak’s response was angry and shouty and largely pre-written. He’ll have been pleased with it as a final appearance as leader of the opposition, but it contained its own contradictions, veering between complaining that pensioners weren’t getting even more money and complaining that the welfare bill was too high. 

Was there an argument to the Budget? Not really: tax more, borrow more, spend more and hope that fixes things. Labour MPs cheered and waved their order papers dementedly. Their jobs depend on it working. But then, so do all of ours.