For anyone who has ever been ticked off by the bank for running up a large overdraft, there was a cruel pleasure in seeing Britain’s top bank manager being given a roasting yesterday.

Mervyn King appeared before the Treasury Select Committee and was given the third degree over the Northern Rock debacle. The MPs wanted to know when Mr King suspected a crisis was coming, why he did not stop it, and why, having long refused to provide extra funds to ease the cash crunch, he had suddenly decided to do just that.

Swervin’ Mervyn, King of the U-turn, looked slightly bemused. This is a man used to lecturing others on being careful with money, and he clearly did not like to be on the receiving end.

The Labour MP John McCall, committee chairman and the sort of Scot who looks after the pennies so the poonds look after themselves, tore strips off Britain’s senior pinstripe. The actions taken to rescue the bank, he said, “were the equivalent of screaming fire in a crowded cinema”.

“I do not pretend to be able to forecast the future,” said Mr King wistfully, rejecting suggestions that the Bank should have stepped in earlier. Northern Rock’s problems could not have been predicted: “The asset side of its balance sheet suddenly became highly illiquid.”

Mr McFall translated: “Northern Rock was a basket case.” This was a collision of two worlds, and the bankers and MPs simply did not speak the same language. The bankers spoke of “conduits and vehicles”, “moral hazard” and something called a “conservative haircut”, which I am told is a form of loan collateral. The MPs, representing all parties but with uniformly conservative haircuts, spoke the demotic language of people worried about their savings.

“Who’s is really in charge of all this?” he was asked.

“What do you mean by ‘in charge’?” responded the Governor of the Bank of England.

George Mudie, another Labour Scot, almost derailed Mr King with a runaway railway metaphor. “You were content to watch this impending disaster, this train running towards the buffers . . . and you’ve panicked because it hit the buffers.” Mr King’s face went from grey to pink. “I didn’t see much point blowing up the train before it hit the buffers. There was a long time in the intervening period in which we might be able to find a way for Northern Rock to survive.”

Mr King said that he would far rather have conducted a “covert operation”, but was prevented by legal issues. I suddenly had a vision of this figure, who bears more than a passing resemblance to Captain Mainwaring in Dad’s Army (but with more liberal hair), donning a balaclava and abseiling down the Bank of England on a mission to save Northern Rock.

Sir John Gieve, the Bank’s Deputy Governor and also on the board of the FSA, came in for a special lashing. “Frankly, I don’t think you are doing your job,” thundered Mr McFall. “You are the guy in charge of financial stability.” Then, in one of those non sequiturs favoured by politicians who feel the moral high ground beneath their feet, the MP demanded to know what Sir John had been doing in August when Northern Rock was crumbling. “Er, I was away for two weeks, one for a family funeral, and then a week in France,” the banker squirmed – “ . . . but I was in touch with the office.” His tone was exactly that of a man explaining to an angry bank manager why the asset side of his balance sheet has suddenly become highly illiquid.

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