The Budget – nostalgia, trivia, public toilets, and a trip to the dentist...

A look at the theatre, traditions and trivia surrounding the UK Budget, from childhood memories of Seventies budget days to Westminster leaks, pre-briefings and the increasingly complex business of managing expectations. 

                                           (originally published on Subtack, 26 November 2025)

Will she? Won’t she? Dare she? Must she? I can’t remember a budget shrouded in so much uncertainty, dread - or febrile anticipation. It’s taken me back to the Budget Days of my childhood, before Westminster started springing leaks and the public had no idea what was coming…

Growing up in the Seventies - when phones were still wired to the wall socket and a ‘smart’ gadget was a tape cassette recorder that enabled you to record the hit parade, complete with an abrupt clunk as you hit pause between the songs - big events like the budget and the boat race took centre stage, and created fevered excitement.

Cameras had yet to be allowed into the Houses of Parliament, and I recall returning home from school to find my mum keenly tuned into the wireless coverage of the budget as she made our tea, eagerly awaiting the all-important bits – namely the increases in the cost of food, petrol, alcohol and cigarettes (a lot of people smoked back then, although nobody in my house did). And tax rises, or - if the chancellor managed to pull the proverbial rabbit from the hat - cuts! 

There would be much celebration on the subsequent radio phone-ins if the price of beer had been frozen (Brits didn’t really drink much wine in those days, apart from the sickly sweet German whites of Black Tower or Blue Nun with your Sunday lunch – but as the old joke goes, you can’t have much fun with a nun… ). And I remember how those people lucky enough to own a car would rush to fill it up when the latest petrol price hike was announced (on looking it up, this memory is surprisingly accurate – it appears the menopause is kind enough to leave your long-term memory intact - as oil prices did indeed repeatedly soar in the Seventies due to the Iranian Revolution and Yom Kippur war).

There would always be an image of the chancellor posing with that famous red box on the front of the Evening Standard, which my Dad brought home from his commute. I particularly remember the cheery Sir Geoffrey Howe – he moved into No. 11 in 1979, by which time I was a veritable news junkie. Later of course, all the preamble – and the speech itself - was captured by TV cameras: the first ever televised budget was John Major’s 1990 budget. It was unfortunate that Major - whose lack of charisma (though Edwina Currie might argue otherwise) was so memorably depicted by Spitting Image – should find himself, with his monotone, flat delivery, in the lead role on such a momentous occasion. Major’s speech was noted by commentators for its cautious, matter-of-fact delivery, in line with his reputation as a trustworthy politician, which later earned him the nickname ‘Honest John’ (although his wife Norma later discovered that this was not the case).

Budgets have always felt tediously long to me, and never more so than in recent years, so I was surprised to discover that in fact budget speeches have got shorter over the years: in the 1970s they averaged about 900 words, but they are now around 460. Perhaps they just feel longer because the content is duller – or is it the delivery? I’m no economist but a quick foray on the internet confirms my gut feeling that budgets contain far more financial detail than they used to – something to do with an increasing demand for fiscal transparency, changes in accounting regulations and the rise of digital technology, which allows the chancellor to provide a budget that is far more detailed in its specifics, accountability and expected outcomes. That’s terrific, but most of us just want the nuts and bolts - will taxes increase, and will our pint or glass of prosecco cost more?

What of the delivery – were the chancellors of the Seventies more skilled orators than present-day guardians of the nation’s finances? I don’t recall – my memories of the budget are mainly of the buzz surrounding it – but I have vivid memories of Prime Minister’s Question Time from around the time Margaret Thatcher came to power, and if they are anything to go by, fiscal presentation skills have got a whole lot less entertaining.

What was I doing, still to enter my teens, listening to PMQs when I got home from school? (like the budget, it took place later in the day back then). Well, we lived in Mrs Thatcher’s North Finchley constituency, so there was even greater excitement about her election. And she was a WOMAN! I’m no militant feminist, but the significance of Britain electing its first female prime minister was not lost on me. But mainly, there was a sense of hope – a feeling that things, at least, could not get any worse, after the general strikes, and the Winter of Discontent – although as a child, I loved those strikes! Discontented I was not - that winter was one of excitement and romance! The magical glow of the candles when the lights went out (and imagining that I was Laura Wilder in The Little House on the Prairie as I blew my candle out before I went to sleep), the smell of my mum’s bread rising when the bakers went on strike. Wonderful. (NB one of my sons tells me this bit may make it look like I had a privileged, spoilt upbringing, but whilst we were not on the breadline, I didn’t - so I’m leaving it in!).

But I digress… love her or loathe her, at the despatch box Margaret Thatcher was box office gold compared to today’s bland politicians, with chancellors are the flag bearers of dull delivery. But perhaps they’ve always been uninspiring, for I struggle to think of charismatic chancellors during my lifetime - the jovial Kenneth Clarke (chancellor from 1993-1997) springs mildly to mind, although even he once quipped in parliament that he had ‘remained boringly consistent.’ More recently, there was Dishy Rishi, doing his bit to cheer up a Covid-shocked nation with his ‘eat out to help out’ policy, and adding a touch of glamour with his high-end designer suits and snazzy, glossy shoes (though he was later criticised for being out of touch with a public facing economic hardship).

No, chancellors are not generally known for their charisma – or wit. But it’s not their job to be funny, and neither, perhaps, should they try to be. After all, who wants a member of the Westminster elite, untouched by the cost of living crisis, cracking one-liners when they are struggling to make ends meet? Or maybe we do? Perhaps it would be a welcome spot of light relief amidst the budgetary bleakness?

Budget jokes are few and far between - but some chancellors have tried. In recent years, I remember Phil Hammond making light of his nickname ‘Spreadsheet Phil’, given to him because of his apparent fondness for meticulous financial detail. Despite his bookish reputation, however, Spreadsheet Phil appears to have cracked more jokes than any other modern-day chancellor. Delivering the news in his 2018 Budget that there would be business rate relief for public lavatories, he quipped, as Hansard (the official parliamentary record) notes: ‘Local authorities can, at last, relieve themselves of this burden. And, without getting bogged down, this relief is virtually the only announcement in this budget that hasn’t leaked.’

There have been ‘strategic leaks’ - or pre-briefings - aplenty, not to mention u-turns, with Rachel Reeves’ forthcoming budget. Will it be as bad as many people are fearing? Budgets are much like a visit to the dentist – the anticipation often proves worse than the event itself, and once the tooth is pulled, there’s the relief of knowing that at least the deed is done, and the healing can begin. If you’re lucky, you get a sweetener too - a nice sugary lolly as a kid (to kickstart another filling), or as an adult a free sample of floss, to use obediently for the first few days, then in panic for the day or so before your next visit.

Chancellors, too, like to offer something sweet to balance the bitter taste left in your mouth – and Reeves has announced the freezing of train fares, the lifting of the two-child universal credit cap at the princely cost of £3bn, and £1400 extra for every school to buy shiny new books (that the government is addressing the concerning decline in children’s love of reading is good news, although having recently worked in a few schools, I would argue that it’s not the library catalogue that needs a revamp, it’s the shamefully overloaded curriculum, but don’t get me started on that…).

What else can we expect from the forthcoming budget? Will the tooth be cleanly pulled, and we’ll be left numb, with a gaping hole to fill in our finances, but at least we’ll know where we stand? Or will the budget necessitate, like a tooth not cleanly pulled, more interventions – and pain – further down the line? Reeves is widely expected to freeze income tax thresholds (thereby effectively breaking the government’s manifesto pledge not to tax ‘working people’), but she has abandoned plans to increase income tax rates. The threshold ‘stealth tax’ (for it will insidiously sneak up on people) will not be immediately felt - so those who haven’t kept up with Reeves’ ever-changing Budget plans and were fearing an income tax rise, may well feel a temporary sense of relief. But like the tooth that has not been cleanly pulled, the pain will creep up on them, and as their wages rise with inflation, so their take-home pay will fall, as they’re brought into the higher tax band. And some will find themselves paying income tax for the first time ever.

Whatever the exact content of today’s long-awaited budget, one thing’s for certain – when it comes to delivery, Reeves is unlikely to compromise the chancellorship’s hard-earned reputation for tedium: ‘If you want cartwheels, I’m not your person’ she says of herself.

You’ve been warned. Don’t expect jokes. Don’t expect flair. And if you’re given a sweetener, don’t throw your floss away – the next trip to the dentist may come sooner than you think…

(NOTE: This feature was written before the OBR leak… clearly they thought the public had had enough of all the speculation and anticipation!)