Debate was Five Guys… but with burnt burgers on stale buns cooked by your boring uncles

REMEMBER the good old days, when TV election debates were something only the crazy Americans would do and we would look on aghast at how awfully vulgar they were?

But like school proms, “graduations” for nursery kids, and bad coffee chains, they have now become part of the UK’s cultural landscape.

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Since 2010 — when Gordon Brown, David Cameron, and Nick Clegg featured in the first TV debates — they have become a permanent fixture of election campaigns.

But given the debates so far, I’m somewhat sceptical about what they add to the sum of human knowledge.

Given nearly two thirds of voters who were polled said they were “frustrated” by the first Rishi Sunak-Keir Starmer clash, it looks like a lot of folk feel the same way.

The Sunak vs Starmer head-to-head last week was like a watered down version of the US presidential debates.

And the four-way STV debate with Holyrood leaders — none of them are even standing in the election — was like a watered down version of this watered down version.

It was like an extended version of First Minister’s Questions. There’s a reason not many people tune into FMQs — a point which underlined to a whole new audience last week.

And remember a few years ago when we were celebrating the fact the leaders of the three main Holyrood parties were women, and politics was no longer the stronghold simply of men in suits?

Well, that STV debate was a line-up of blokes, trotting out their lines, gently lulling the audience to sleep as the clock ticked past 10pm.

It was Five Guys, but with burnt burgers on stale buns barbecued by your boring uncles.

Then there was the seven-way “leaders” debate on Friday which didn’t even feature most party leaders.

Tracing this programme’s roots to the Richard Nixon vs JFK debate in 1960 is a bit like me claiming I’m related to Jesus.

It was a watered down version of a watered down version of a watered down version.

Homeopathic cult

But like homoeopathic cult leaders, some people in politics seem to have persuaded themselves that diluting a substance to the nth Degree doesn’t matter.

That we are hanging on their every word, and what they are saying is going to cure their ills. Like homoeopathy, no it won’t. It’s not curing my malaise, anyway.

And my biggest bugbear is that question everyone asks after a debate: So, who was the winner?

The answer is usually simple. It’s the person you liked most in the first place.

I get that there’s no point in a contest without a winner, but there is basically no practical way of establishing a “winner” of these debates in any fair, objective way. What are the measurements of success in a TV debate?

The number of points that make your opponent stutter? The number of plugs for your own policies?

Perhaps it should be how well you do on a studio audience clap-ometer?

If so, we need to know the audience is balanced equally between the two or completely neutral, that people are only clapping at the same decibel level (some people will be stronger or louder clappers, after all), and the clap-ometer is placed in exactly the right spot.

Or maybe we should judge on the number of pithy jokes, but then we need someone to rule on how good a joke really is.

Even if you had a laugh-ometer — invented by the same people as the clap-ometer — people could be forcing laughter, or scoring own goals for their preferred candidate by letting out sarcastic guffaws.

Perhaps Volodymyr Zelensky could judge the gags, the Ukrainian president being ideally qualified as a comedian and a politician — though I understand if he’s a bit busy at the moment.

Could there be bonus points for sly winks at the audience, or putting off your opponent while they’re in full flow? Anyway, before I drive myself round the bend, you probably get the point.

These election debates, as we have seen last week, can end up as little more than opportunities for politicians to trot out their rehearsed lines, and only get really interesting when something goes badly wrong for a participant.

To avoid accusations that they are predictable, broadcasters need to get more creative.

ITV’s Julie Etchingham had a question about Gareth Southgate and their own leadership styles, although it was fun to see Sunak and Starmer looking utterly terrified as she said she was going into the “quickfire” section.

But I want some real curveball questions. Like: Have you ever pulled the legs off a Daddy Long Legs and what does your answer say about you? Or how much would they have to be paid to lick milkshake off Nigel Farage’s face?

It’s easy to be cynical, of course. While these programmes may shed more heat than light, we might even learn a thing or two we haven’t as they go on. And on.

So why not settle down, pour a drink, perhaps invent your own scoring system . . . it could make things more fun.

But for God’s sake, don’t base your vote on someone telling you with any certainty who the “winner” is.