Save Me…… from elections where politics gets in the way of personality

Let’s be honest. Politics is generally very dull and depressing. Everyone promises a lot. But no-one actually seems to deliver much.

Last November Spain voted for a change in their national government, with a move from left to right politically. In March this year, voters in Andalucía swung right too, but not far enough to stop the left and the centre parties forming a coalition to retain power in the region. Nothing much has changed. There are still no jobs.

The same is more or less true in the UK. In 2010 voters turned against the ruling socialists, but not quite enough to give the right wing Conservatives enough power to govern on their own. So they teamed up with the centre party to form another coalition. And, as if by magic, nothing much has changed there either.

But then, just when you thought it was hopeless, just when you thought nothing could drag the political process out of the dumpster, an election has come along to cheer us all up, to revive our passion and our interest, to give us something to really give a damn about.

And you know why? Because it’s got nothing to do with politics. This one is all about the personality. And in this case, two huge egos whose head-on collision has produced fantastic fireworks. It is a true heavyweight boxing contest and the winner takes all.

I talk, of course, of the London Mayoral election.

The reality is that the London Mayor doesn’t have a huge amount of power. But it doesn’t matter, because the prestige of the post brings out the best in the candidates. It goes beyond politics. This is about who’s the biggest and brightest, the most daring and challenging and, frankly, the funniest and most colourful.

Yesterday voters across the capital went to the polls to decide who they want to be Mayor for the next four years. The last two times they did it in 2004 and 2008 I was living in London and I had a ringside seat on the bitter battles between left and right. But the grappling, the punches, the holding, the jabs, the biting, the kicking, the spitting and the body slams all seemed to disappear into a confused mishmash of blanket media coverage – sort of like watching a gang of drunks who had just been kicked out of a pub, fall over each other as they lashed out in all directions.

But this time I’ve been watching the same contest avidly from a distance – 1,600km to be precise – and in many ways I’ve gained a fresh perspective on just how colourful this epic contest is. Precisely because it’s not been splashed over the newspapers, the TV and the internet here all the time, I’ve only seen the best bits; the crunching uppercuts, the left hooks to the jaw and the smashing haymakers – less drunken brawlers, more edge-of-your seat highlights of a top heavyweight boxing match.

In the blue corner is Boris Johnson, the bumbling public schoolboy with the mop of uncontrollable blonde hair and a somewhat blustery, if generally articulate, delivery. As current champion he is looking to retain his crown for a second successive time. Among his campaign highlights are calling his main rival a “fucking liar” for questioning his personal tax affairs, and referring to questions from a BBC journalist about potentially dodgy private sector sponsorship deals as “fucking bollocks”. Maybe I should rethink the “articulate” description.

In the red corner is Ken Livingstone, the George Forman of the race. Twice champion, he’s been licking his wounds from his defeat in 2008 and is hoping to wrench back the crown he won in 2000 and 2004. Among his highlights are bursting into tears at a party election broadcast and getting into a physical confrontation with his rival in a lift after a particularly hostile debate on live radio.

Both are polarizing candidates. Both inspire loyalty and loathing in equal amounts. Both are enormous personalities and both have the egos to match. Politics doesn’t even get a look-in on this title fight.

By the time you read this, it’s possible the winner will already be known. There are five other candidates in the Mayoral race, but none of them has a hope of beating Boris or Ken so who cares about them.

Someone once said that anyone who wants to be a politician should automatically be banned from being one because the attributes needed to be one – single-mindedness, ruthlessness, a craving for power and a willingness to stab anybody in the back just to get what you want – were clearly not qualities voters would want in a person expected to be a leader.

But with a show like this, who cares about that?

I was in London last week for a few days visiting friends. And when I returned to Spain on Tuesday, at first I figured I had come back too early, fearing I was missing out on all the fun. But, you know what? In hindsight, I’m glad I’m back here, because I’m getting a grandstand seat to witness the best of the carnage, without all the bluster and sideshow irrelevancies to muddy the waters. It’s brilliant.

Maybe this is what Spain needs to reinvigorate its political process and, in turn, its fortunes. Instead of the grey suits who populate the left and right here, maybe they need a prize fight on a par with the London Mayoral elections. Something to inject a bit of spontaneity, drive, motivation, colour and hope back into the political process. Seville’s got a Mayor, Andalucía has a president. Even Spain has one too. But, for the life of me, I can’t remember any of their names at the moment. And if I had to pick them out in a lineup I’m not sure I could do it.

Personality is everything when it comes to rousing the disillusioned voter. Unfettered swearing, tears and the ever-present potential for punch-ups have made for a fantastic spectacle in London. It’s just a shame it all has to end today when the new Mayor is likely to be announced. So what about taking the gloves off here too? You never know, something might actually change for once.