Houston, we had a temper tantrum. As Sir Keir Starmer was leaving the Commons chamber at the end of an aimless PMQs, he stopped briefly at the Speaker’s Chair and aimed a few words at Sir Lindsay Hoyle. During the session, you see, Speaker Hoyle had been obliged to admonish Sir Keir for once again asking questions about past Tory governments.

Mr Speaker had suggested that Sir Keir try to answer for his own responsibilities rather than deflect blame to others. ‘Prime minister, it’s prime minister’s questions,’ said the Speaker.

That moment, at roughly 12.08pm, did not go down well with Sir Keir. He shot a filthy stare at Speaker Hoyle. You could have singed a pink frankfurter with that look of loathing.

Now, some 26 minutes later, we had reached the end of the session and Sir Keir and his aides were heading for the chamber’s rear swing-doors. Their route took them straight past Sir Lindsay. Sir Keir snapped.

From my gallery eyrie I had a good view of the moment but was not able to hear exactly what was said. Mind you, one did not need to be a lip reader to discern that the exchange was on the ripe side – the sort of thing a Mediterranean waiter might shout at a mongrel that got under his feet on a busy day at the tapas bar.

‘£*$”&+!!!’ said Sir Keir, or syllables to that effect. In his first conversational burst there were perhaps six words. They were heavy on the consonants. I could not quite see his tonsil waggling but the prime ministerial face was purple. He was gripping his official folder tightly to his chest. The eyes were blazing.

And normally such a dull little chap!

Speaker Hoyle is a proud Lancastrian. You do not grow up in Chorley without learning to contest an ambush and, if necessary, to bop your assailant right back on the nose. Sir Lindsay duly returned some verbals to Sir Keir. They were of the ‘don’t blame me, chum – you were bang out of order’ variety. The PM leaned back a bit and blinked a couple of times before pushing his snout forwards once more. He spat out another sentence, lower lip curling. Boy, oh boy. He was furious. This second outburst ended with him whacking his fist on the side of Sir Lindsay’s throne.

All this, please note, was happening amid the great whirlpool of Whips and ministers and clerks and backbenchers that eddies round the Speaker’s Chair at the end of any PMQs. The Prime Minister was losing his rag with Parliament’s impartial referee and he was doing so in full view not only of his troops but also of gawping Tories.

Why in such a steaming bate? Can it be that he knows his premiership is a disaster? Kemi Badenoch had once again got under his pelt by asking a series of serious questions about defence spending, doing so with smoky-voiced composure. Some of Sir Keir’s responses were garbled, others were sarcastic. ‘I remember it!’ he shrieked at one point, referring to Opposition mockery of his non-war policy at an earlier PMQs.

War threatens the globe. Our economy is staggering. Oil supplies are in doubt. Yet we have a prime minister indignant and brittle at some past parliamentary slight.

After Sir Keir hit the arm of Sir Lindsay’s chair, the Speaker turned his head away, no longer inclined to spare a petulant prime minister the time of day. With which, ladies and gentlemen, Sir Keir – who only earlier had been presenting himself to the nation as an agent of diplomatic peace and reconciliation – left the chamber at remarkable pace. I have never seen him move faster. To picture the force with which he departed the scene you should picture a water skier being taken by surprise at the start of a ride, when the motorboat has throttled much too suddenly.

Don’t let Sir Angry anywhere near a nuclear button, please.