Wake me when it's over, Darling

I DON'T think it's ever happened to me before, and I'm a little ashamed to admit it. Hopefully friends will still speak to me and I won't be a social outcast. Maybe it's a sign of turning 50, but it's not as if I had been drinking!

But there it was. I fell asleep during Alistair Darling's dour, dull and desperately depressing budget speech.

In years gone by I've listened to and then watched the speeches of Dennis Healey, Geoffrey Howe, Nigel Lawson, John Major, Ken Clarke and Gordon Brown. Some made me incredulous, angry, impatient or frustrated, while others made me ecstatic, joyful and optimistic, but this, this budget by proxy, left me somnambulant with disinterest.

It was a budget by proxy because it was shaped by Gordon Brown's actions of the last ten years, and such is the Prime Minister's centralised command and control, that it might as well have been delivered by him. Only it wasn't, and how I snored.

When Brown first arrived on the scene he delivered some overdue and clever measures, not least granting a large slice of independence to the Bank of England in setting interest rates.

To use a term of the fashion industry, Brown was the new black – and how he wowed the critics. Now, boring is the new black and the critics, used to exuberance, panache and a large helping of arrogance, are leaving the latest policies on their hangers. Darling's latest designs are just not appealing.

Now this is not a personal criticism of the Edinburgh MP's dry monotone style. There is a place in political theatre for straight statistical delivery and the job of Chancellor is well suited to this, as it suggests the Second Lord of the Treasury actually knows what he's doing. No, my objection, my boredom, was due to the complete emptiness of anything interesting he had to say.

It was 51 minutes of sheer drudgery with – in the true fashion of the House of Brown – the pain delivered in the immediate future and the benefits, such as they are, delivered in a year or two to come.

The reason this budget failed on the catwalk is simple – the self-indulgence of Brown's haute couture has left his disciple with little room to wriggle now that more austere conditions are about to prevail.

It's not as if Brown wasn't warned for long enough that his tax and spend excesses would eventually unravel like a badly stitched hemline.

This is the seventh consecutive Budget in which the outlook for public finances is worse than the Government had previously forecast.

With little room to tax more (even so, Darling hopes to take £2 billion more out of our pockets) and an ideological unwillingness to cut his cloth to suit his means, we are about to borrow more (£43bn now and £140bn over the next four years to be precise), putting even greater strain on the public finances. And that's before any recession.

I've now woken up from my brief slumber and having watched Darling's speech on the internet, I'm now compos mentis like the rest of you – awake in the living nightmare of Brown's new world.

Taxing our sanity
Whatever one thinks of the council tax – and I've never been a fan – the SNP's proposal for a new national income tax of 3p in the pound is just plain mad.

John Swinney is calling it a local income tax but, as it will be set nationally and will not vary between localities, it will be nothing other than an extra 3p on our income tax.

John Swinney also thinks he should get the UK Treasury's £400 million that funds Council Tax Benefit (provided because council tax does not reflect ability to pay). But his new tax is earnings related and so reflects ability to pay – so there's no need for a benefit – making his calculations hopelessly wrong.

With such myopic economic vision John Swinney could give Alistair Darling a run for his money.

Ben the Kitchin
Terrific! Another Michelin-starred chef is heading to Edinburgh to set up a new restaurant and boutique hotel. I can't wait and will take out a new ISA to prepare for my first expedition there.

The be-starred chef, Paul Kitching – not to be confused with our own Tom Kitchin – will close his award-winning Juniper restaurant in Manchester and locate in Edinburgh's city centre.

I wish him well and look forward to his Weetabix and Horlicks like I've never experienced (although something I had in Kazakhstan once tasted like the two mixed together).

Meanwhile, Tom and Michaela Kitchin have become the proud parents of young Kasper Kitchin. With a terrific name like that he's bound to go far – although I like one of his middle names, Benjamin. How long before he's known as 'Ben the Kitchin'?