Some say that Gordon Brown was useless at PMQs, but that would be unfair. Indeed, it could be said that he achieved the near-impossible.

First, he managed to make David Cameron look like a heavyweight. That really is a feat, for Dave usually seems about as deep as a puddle. And then, incredibly, he made Ming look marvellous. And there I was thinking that Ming, at the age of 104, had lost his zing for good.

The event was a slow crash involving one vehicle only. This was no Tony Blair-style Formula One racing duel of burning tyres and screeching corners. Instead we watched as G. Brown, learner driver, crept down the road in an old Mini, constantly checking his mirror and grinding his gears with alarming frequency. His three-point turn had to be abandoned after 30 attempts.

I’ve never seen him so tentative. Or so nervous. He arrived, his bull shoulders hunched more than usual, carrying only a binder. His parliamentary private secretaries had no papers at all. I found this strange for usually they look like human shredders. For Gordon, who loves his stacks of notes, this was a risky strategy. Jack Straw sat next to him, deputy prime minister in all but name, and told him what to say. At some point, Jack kidnapped the binder, which, of course, gave him total power.

Mr Cameron arrived early, dressed for a funeral but nervous as a bride. He is, now, the longest-serving current party leader. Yesterday he adopted a new persona of prime minister-in-waiting. (Why not? After all, that post is now vacant.) Overnight he had launched a smash-and-grab raid on the national stores of gravitas. And, by the time he had stood up, he had lost his nervousness too: suddenly the slick PR man was telling the real Prime Minister how to fight terrorism.

Why, he asked, hadn’t the Government banned the group Hizb ut-Tahrir. “This organisation says, ‘Jews should be killed wherever they are found’. What more evidence do we need? It is poisoning the minds of young people. Two years ago the Government said it should be banned. I ask again, when will this be done?”

Mr Brown gabbled in response (this is verbatim): “Yeah. We can ban it under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. And of course. Of course. Of course. I think. I think, uh, the, uh, Leader of the Opposition forgets I’ve been in this job for five days.”

This was met with groans and shouts. Was this Mr Brown’s lowest moment? I think so but there was stiff competition. The questions on the Labour side were so obviously planted that their benches began to resemble a herbaceous border. But this answer was just plain wrong. For he has, of course, been PM for seven days. He hasn’t even run out of fingers to count on yet. Which two days didn’t exist? I think we should be told.

Mr Brown kept trying to get Mr Cameron to think again about ID cards and noted, slyly, that one of Dave’s new advisers is in favour of them. Mr Cameron hit back hard. He said that the new Chancellor, Alistair Darling, was against ID cards and quoted him as saying: “I do not want my whole life to be reduced to a magnetic strip on a plastic card.” I watched Mr Darling’s face as Dave read this: it was blank. I can’t help but think that, in his case, a magnetic strip would have a lot more personality.

Mr Brown visibly relaxed when Ming creaked up to his standing position. Ming carefully removed his old-man spectacles and then, out of nowhere, asked a zinger of a question. Mr Brown had said that he wanted change so when was he going to change on Iraq?

Mr Brown lent on the volumes of Hansard that he stacks on the dispatch box. (He puts his papers on them because his eyesight is so appalling.) “As I said yesterday,” he noted flirtatiously, “my door is always open to you.”

But Ming wasn’t having it. “When I look at your door, it’s more perhaps a trapdoor!”

This brought screams of excitement. It was a joke! Ming had made a joke! My goodness, but the House was excited. Mr Brown wasn’t though. Instead, he noted the obstacle in his path (the joke) and steered carefully round it. Putt, putt, putt. It’s time to change gears. Let’s hope he ditches the L-plates soon.

Swinging a clunking fist at PMQs

PMQs were introduced in 1961 when Harold Macmillan was Prime Minister

Until 1997 they were held twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tony Blair controversially changed that to 30 minutes on a Wednesday at noon

The first question is always to ask the PM to list his engagements for the day. At his final PMQs Mr Blair altered his standard response by replying: “This morning I had meetings with ministerial colleagues and others . . . I will have no such further meetings today, or any other day”

The Leader of the Opposition is permitted up to six supplementaries after the first question. The leader of the next largest party is allowed two. Other MPs must put their names down and then enter a ballot for the right to ask a question

The Speaker can call MPs who did not enter the ballot, usually to keep a balance between government and opposition questioners

In theory the Prime Minister does not know what questions he will be asked, but he will be briefed extensively by his advisers on the topics that are likely to come up. Mr Blair would spend about four hours preparing and rehearsing for PMQs

Daniel Kawczynski, the Conservative MP for Shrewsbury and Atcham, asked Mr Brown his first question at PMQs yesterday. Alan Williams, the Labour MP for Swansea West and Father of the House, had the last word at Tony Blair’s final appearance last week.

Sources: 10 Downing Street website; Hansard; Times database

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