ACROSS the water, it’s a case of three down, one to go. Tomorrow, after three high-profile rounds of televised political shadow-boxing, the gloves will be passed to the electorate. All those ‘instant reaction’ opinion polls and fevered point scoring will count for nothing as speculation over voting intention is eclipsed by the one public expression of will that really matters – at the ballot box.

It has been all the more frustrating for us, since, while we’ve been forced to endure every performance of the national media circus, we remain unable to register our own preferences on how we should be governed at a national level – even though the outcome could seriously affect our well-being. Viewed from the sidelines, it’s a bit like watching the Oxford and Cambridge boat race, where fiercely partisan supporters cheer passionately for a team to which they have precious little allegiance and even less involvement.

From the outset, we were promised a campaign such as we’d never seen before, with the party leaders squaring up for the first time on live TV to engage in meaningful debate of the issues that faced the nation. What we got was a pantomime of choreographed set pieces with most of the action occurring off-stage and off-microphone. Like TV companies conspiring to screen adverts simultaneously to prevent viewers’ channel-hopping, the protagonists refused to shed any meaningful light on policy details or the painful measures everyone expects will befall the nation, whoever wins.

But should we be so surprised? Sometimes the reality is too unpalatable to be spelled out, and in any case, we’re talking about an exercise in popularity not reality. It all depends on what you want to achieve. No politician worth his – or her – allowances could, when seeking election, be expected to ‘tell it as it is’ if the result would simply be to scare all the horses in the stable.

So we’re treated to massaged deflection. Call it a ‘con trick’ if you wish, but confidence is certainly what candidates are seeking from an electorate to allow them to exercise judgment, prejudice or self aggrandisement – depending on your point of view. On the other hand, while in their heart of hearts voters may crave a diagnosis, they have no taste for the medicine they know they should be prescribed.

Hence, the TV spectacle of the three ‘ugly sisters’ vying in public for Cinderella’s shoes, and the obsession with appearance over substance. But it was ever thus. Back in 1960 when Presidential hopefuls John Kennedy and Richard Nixon appeared under the media spotlight, the- well rehearsed ‘tricky Dickie’ won the radio debate hands down but, refusing to wear studio make-up, he was trounced by the fixedly smiling, clean cut JFK under the TV camera lights.

It is undoubtedly a high-risk stage to perform upon, potentially attracting more scrutiny over whether the players unguardedly scratch their noses or exude sweat beads under or over the collar-line. Huge effort is put into the ‘outward show’: posture advisers, voice trainers, (remember Mrs Thatcher’s contrived drop in voice pitch to achieve ‘gravitas’), up-market tailors, coiffeurs – the list goes on, all to secure the image knock-out blow.

The salutary fact is that when it comes to crosses in boxes, all the airbrushed smiles will mean little. Political leopards – unlike media celebs – rarely change their voting spots. Despite the perpetual repetition of the ‘c-word’, they won’t actually be able to ‘change’ much. History and the Civil Service will take care of that. So, as one American satirist put it, ‘being judged ‘cute’ mightn’t be at all bad for them. It may be all they have.

The razzamatazz is, of course, a convenient device to draw a veil over those aspects parties and candidates wish to conceal or avoid – the perception that an economic mess was allowed to develop because noone in government dared to identify publicly or take measures to address it in time; the revulsion over outrageous expenses which exposed shabby thieving and undermined public life; and anger over unregulated immigration which has become a cancer on the nation’s ability to live with itself.

So we’ve already had the TV weeping, those ‘famous’ non-debates and the parade of the fancy-dressed spouses. The last act has been down to a rush of nervous handshakes, fixed smiles gleaming like so many false teeth, all to mask the real pain that will inevitably be inflicted. Truth is, Mr Nice guy doesn’t win at the polls. Perhaps like the executioner at the block, politicians on the stump should be forced to wear a hood to prevent anyone looking them straight in the eye.

Perish the thought that we’ll have any such similar ‘beauty contest’ – I use the word with some trepidation – for the vacant Syvret seat. The issues are, of course different from those in the UK, but the general political background is similar. Voters here will be going to the polls against a backdrop of an administration forced to consider harsh – in local terms – decisions about cuts in public expenditure, criticism over poor accountability and sloppy professional behaviour, though, I hasten to add, no hint of the sleaze that mired the UK parliament.

But could political considerations be overshadowed by personalities and trivia? It may only be for a tenure of 18 months and there’s plenty of time for more emperors to measure themselves up for the Senator’s clothes. Now, if Channel TV felt inspired to follow the trend and stage a Great Debate between the local contenders, they might also consider providing each with a reality screen to preserve their modesty – a life-sized Al Thomas caricature would do. I’d certainly vote for that.