They might as well have been speaking old Norse

At the better sort of tennis tournaments the umpire, every few games,

will shout, 'new balls, please'. After sitting through yesterday's Prime

Minister's Question Time I'd like a new brain, please. This one just blew.

PMQs was terrific fun. It was dramatic, funny, emotional (the Basra

deaths) and fast-moving.

But it was also, for great chunks, largely incomprehensible.

The main topic, you see, was the European Constitution. At the end of the

half-hour session Tony Blair said 'good! we're starting to debate the

detail!' Detail? On European legislation?

High above Britain a thousand sweet sylphs went 'pouff' like popped

playtime bubbles.

Across the nation the dandelion innocence of woodland nymphs was snatched

from the grasp of spring. Is there to be a whole, long summer of this

European 'detail'?

The two main party leaders stood on tiptoes, pushed their chins low to the

microphones and flung high their wrists, concert

pianists absorbed by their brilliance.

The tone of the debate was more elevated than it had been on Tuesday.

But for great stretches they might as well have been speaking Old Norse.

Mr Blair compared the legal meaning of 'constitution' versus 'constitutional

treaty', and indicated that the difference between the two was crucial – yes! - to an understanding of the whole rumpus.

It is Mr Blair's intention, plainly, to make this controversy as chewy as

possible so that in the end the British people say 'forget it' and give the

thing a miss.

Jack Straw, connoisseur of cant, nodded sagely and appreciatively to Mr

Blair's tangled remarks.

John Prescott, slumped on the other side of the PM, was less seized of the

moment. Two Jags had his JCB digger-deep jaw wide open, his eyes like Cortina

headlamps.

The Deputy Prime Minister was catching plankton.

Mr Blair warbled about vetos and amendments, status quos and EU

enlargement. The left hand struck dark chords about associate membership of

the Union and the Stygian spectre of withdrawal. While he talked his eyebrows

hitched their skirts and started to dance a gypsy mazurka.

Mr Howard intervened five times, sometimes throwing both palms apart in

explosions of derision.

One time he actually skipped off the ground.

He kept zapping Mr Blair with questions about the consequences of

declining the constitution.

How would Mr Blair react after a No vote? Each time Mr Blair essayed

another evasion Mr Howard grinned and licked his lips with 'ah-has!' and

sharp-dart fingernails.

The House did its best to keep pace. I had my mental windscreen wipers

switched to double-speed wipe, but it was hard maintaining a clear view of

the jabbing dialogue.

Mr Howard was so animated that he now had both knees bent and his bottom

at an angle. It was almost the stance of a cricketer in the slips.

He had started with a joke about a Beach Boys pop song and his general

drift was one of humorous scorn.

But there was also an urgency to his performance. Mr Howard

senses that this is his hour. Mr Blair is in trouble, he feels.

The Tory leader has been transformed these past three days. Yesterday he

radiated three times as much authority as has recently been the case.

Labour MPs, sensing that the game has changed, extended him a noticeably

respectful hearing when he echoed remarks Mr Blair had made on Basra.

Even from the Government front bench there came a recognition of Mr

Howard's debating skills as he leaned on the despatch box, fingers all angled

and twisted up in the detail of his spiel.

Mr Blair, eager to hear what he was saying, threw out an arm to hush the

House.

The Prime Minister relished the contest just as much as his opponent.

Then, just when it seemed things could become no more complicated, Bill

Cash (Con, Stone) started talking about the 'acquis communautaire'.

The gaskets could bear no more.

Grey matter ripped free of its guy ropes. My mental big end blew.

New marbles, please.