Mood may have mellowed but not the message

We should give thanks to John Brown. For there's no doubt, looking at the ebullient figure at the Dispatch Box this afternoon that fatherhood is mellowing Old Granite Features. He's still got the jowls, he can scowl better than anyone, and the bags under his eyes are deeper than ever, but in presenting his eighth Budget this was a more relaxed Chancellor than we've seen before. His hair is greyer and longer but that's deliberate. He could dye it if he wanted but there's no need. Perversely in Brown's case, greying locks make him appear younger and more carefree. The austere black has gone - the mop joined today's lilac tie as points of contrast to the trademark dark suit.

Assessing his State Of The Union address - because under this Chancellor that is what they are - is part of the seasonal cycle of British life. Previously, some of his speeches have represented the last blast of winter, a stern blast from the north, causing shivers. Not this one. Brown's 2004 offering is a precursor to this year's spring, a buoyant nod to the past, giving us the longest period of sustained economic growth for 200 years, and to the future, to the coming election, staying within the fiscal rules Mr Deputy Speaker, to bring prosperity and opportunity for all.

Stand in front of a mirror, tighten your tie and rattle out the last bit. Pause on the commas and put your tongue in the corner of your mouth. Swallow, then continue, rising to a crescendo. See, you too could be Gordon. And what a good life it is. Unlike the tired, nervy souls sitting behind him on the front bench, Brown is a true master of all he surveys. He's got full command of his brief, he doesn't need to get bogged down in moral dilemmas like asylum seekers and university fees. Iraq? Brown doesn't dwell on it. The war on terror? Not his patch. He does what he's asked, to provide the cash - the rest is up to them. He, listen, sticks to "sound fundamentals" and he takes "the right decisions at the right time".

Make no mistake, he'd do a better job if he was in charge. You only have to look at how well he's done in managing the economy, to hear the seemingly endless comparisons pour forth (Europe, the world, he'll have us believe we're better than everyone) and to see his thick shoulders and chest heave with pride, to realise that must be true.

He's the longest-serving Chancellor for almost 90 years, in every year since taking office he's ensured this government has met its fiscal requirements, stuck to his beloved rules and avoided the ravages of recession. It's a shame: he wants us to celebrate but nobody is celebrating. It ought to drive him mad, that the only people cheering are the hollow men and women of the government benches, yet it doesn't.

The reason is that if Brown has a role to play in spring it's not that of a blossoming flower or a gambolling lamb but of the cuckoo. He's a creature of stealth. He won't raise taxes, yet he raises taxes indirectly.

He tells us that every day hundreds of new businesses are starting up, yet he doesn't tell us how many close. He heaps praise on the armed forces and police, yet he won't give them all the money they seek. He will slow the growth of public spending and make the civil service more efficient, yet that's not the same as a cut. Tories make cuts; the Treasury under Brown won't make as much money available in the forthcoming Spending Review as public-sector managers and some ministers say they need, and thousands of civil service jobs are to go. However, that's not cutting, that's being sensible, that's bringing economic stability and strength not just this year and next but 10 and 20 years hence.

Woe betide young John when he asks his father for extra pocket money for the new must-have computer game. His Dad will tell him to save and to wait and, who knows, he may get one in the sales or second-hand - by which time his friends in all probability will have moved on to another game. John will realise soon enough that asking his mother is a surer bet.

In the choreography that is new Labour, Brown is a consummate performer. He should be, after all he's been playing the same role now for eight years with no let-up - and no sign of promotion. He rushes to his car even though there's no danger of him being late. He races through his speech at bewildering speed, slowing on the points he wants his audience to absorb, then off again at a sprint, even though there's no deadline to meet. He wants us to applaud, yet there isn't much for us to applaud - not if we're middle-class anyway.

Complacency isn't a word in Brown's lexicon. If it was ever there it was banished years ago when he began his personal Long March. Confident and more sure he may be; casual he is not. You wonder, watching him, what life is really like chez Brown. Everything you imagine is conducted at a breakneck pace. Food is chewed over and occasionally spat out. There's no time for putting feet up and watching rubbish TV. He's got a job to do, an economy to expand, a country to change, Africa and the world to save.

This, don't forget, is a man who, in his bachelor days, used the bath at his constituency home as storage for political texts. Presumably, the bath is being used by John. The rubber ducks are softening him. But not entirely. No fear.