There was an alarming example of global freezing yesterday in the Chamber. Yes, I know, it’s strange. The rest of the planet is getting warmer, shrinking the ice cap and stranding the polar bear without a berg to stand on. But yesterday the exact opposite happened in the Chamber to the Environment Secretary, David Miliband. Temperatures plunged and insults froze in the air. A polar bear would have felt right at home.

I blame Mr Miliband. Why not? Everyone else did yesterday. The animosity began over what seemed a relatively small thing: that Downing Street does not know how much of the beef (or anything else the Prime Minister serves) comes from Britain.

Mr Miliband jumped up. Maybe it is his black hair and lolloping ways, but at times he resembles nothing so much as a labrador puppy. “Let me bring some happy news!” he cried. “Fresh from my department’s canteen, I can report that over 80 per cent of our fish is domestically sourced, over 90 per cent of our pork, nearly 100 per cent of our dairy produce and fully 100 per cent of our eggs are British eggs!”

The Tory front bench frowned. They have become hypercritical of Mr Miliband, for they know that he could take on Gordon Brown as Labour leader. They would hate that, for it would wreck their plans. Now I could almost see the thought bubbles begrudging Mr Miliband even that little bit of Camembert that sabotaged his 100 per cent dairy total. Mr Miliband’s face went from grin to grim. He told the Tories to stop “bleating”.

Next up was the Liberal Democrat Chris Huhne, whose suburban manner cloaks a bit of a nasty streak. He said that carbon emissions for Mr Miliband’s department had increased more than 10 per cent over five years. “Don’t you believe it’s time for your own department to start practising what it preaches?” he demanded.

Mr Miliband growled and tried to bite Mr Huhne. It was a failure, his fury sounded about as real as a pair of dentures. Mr Miliband should give up on the Mr Angry thing. It’s almost embarrassing to watch.

The temperature was falling fast. The more he was attacked, the more Mr Miliband pretended to relax. Now he was flopped on the front bench, arms out, one ankle crossed over the other knee. He was leaning to one side, giggling with Dennis Skinner.

Peter Ainsworth, the Tory Shadow with poodle hair, embarked on a sneer about Mr Miliband’s prospects for PM. “You are right to be cagey about taking on that job, not least on the basis of the hash you are making of your current responsibilities!”

Even the Speaker noticed that things were freezing now. He ticked off Mr Ainsworth, who embarked on a new personal attack over the environment. “The Secretary of State is keen to go on about one-planet living but people are going to start asking what planet he is living on,” he cried. “What right has he got to lecture anyone about climate change?”

Mr Miliband was frosty. “I’m sorry that you have been taking lessons in opposition from the Liberal front bench.” He then began to defend Labour’s record. “As we are the only country in the world to be on track to be more than double its Kyoto . . .”

Suddenly I heard the words “take off your nappy!” and they seemed to come from Mr Huhne.

Brrrr! Talking of nappies, how childish is that? It makes me think there might be a green-eyed monster on the loose and it’s nothing to do with the environment.

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