Broadcasting’s top negotiators seem purringly pleased with their TV election debate work. Who’d have guessed that Sky, the BBC and ITV could have come up with a consensual three-session plan starring Dave, Ed, Nick, Nigel, Paxo, Dimbo and the wonderful Julie Etchingham? Surely, if they can make peace and not ratings war, then the politicians will have to toe the line, too? Just watch Cameron wriggle as the excuses start. Political party-poopers not welcome here.
And yet (forget programme controllers, forget spin doctors) a modest degree of viewer- and listener-pooping is clearly indicated. There are no fixed rules for election debates. Unlike party political broadcasts, with their hallowed Ofcom formulas designating “major parties” and candidate numbers, the debate menu is a moveable feast. Which means that “entertainment value” (and that 2010 peak audience of 22 million) are much in the negotiators’ minds.
But in 2015, as opposed to the 2010 Dave, Nick and Gordon show, is that a remotely sensible definition of public service? It’s not just the Greens, turning puce, who matter. It’s the SNP, who are just as likely to hold the balance of power as the Lib Dems or Faragistas on current poll forecasts. Why can’t Scotland debate with Sturgeon and the Westminster three? It has just voted to be a big part of Great Britain, not a big hole to the north. One nation can and ought to mean one great discussion.
Now you can hear the studio pips squeaking. They’ve only settled on three 90-minute outings scattered through April 2015. That’s 270 minutes of rigidly structured exchanges covering five years past and five years to come. Doing more than this might be boring. Who want to annoy the horses by shelving too many episodes of Flog It!, Pointless and Celebrity Squares? So, for all the fuss, Farage probably won’t get much more than 20 minutes overall. Barely enough to sink a couple of pints, let alone feel much pressure. So Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland will do their dislocated thing again, unwatched from Clacton to Thanet.
But in an era of unlimited cyberspace and a bewilderment of channels filled with recycled dross, can it really be that “I’m sorry, that’s all we’ve got time for” is the old tune of the day again? Not entertaining, perhaps: but how and why is governing Britain supposed to be entertainment?
