You’d never know that round two of the debates was tonight. It’s quiet as volcanic ash out there – no hype, no spin, no hilariously hysterical newspaper attempts to batter a popular opponent. So in the midst of this smothering silence, and following on from last week’s advice, some further tips for the leaders tonight.
1. Cambo, don’t panic. The more you say you’re “really, really” enjoying every second of the election campaign, especially the debates, the clearer it is that you are actually thinking, “How the bloody Cotswolds HELL did I mess this one up so comprehensively?” The panic, though, is a bad look: you go all tight-eyed and clenched and false-friendly and rolled-up sleeves and everything’s FINE and I feel you might be a danger to yourself and those around you. Take a leaf out of Gordo’s book: be unnaturally, strangely calm.
2. Cambo and Gordo, for God’s sake, don’t think you can pull off the Clegg tricks without anyone noticing. The first time one of you a) looks straight into the camera, b) repeatedly uses an audience member’s name or c) insouciantly plunges your hands into your pockets, the entire country will simultaneously erupt in a giant groan of contempt before turning off the television and deciding that doing the Heat crossword would be an activity packed with greater integrity and insight.
3. Try and sort out what on earth happens at the end. Last week there was the weird Cameron-tugging-Cleggoland’s-sleeve debacle. This week I can imagine Cambo rugby-tackling Gordo round the knees if he tries to gladhand the crowd again. Just mutually agree to spend the last five minutes wrestling on stage or something. Or a song? A song would be lovely.
4. Clegg, hold it together. Yours is the hardest task – after all that “look! he’s Obama!” and “look! it’s Jesus!” stuff, unless you juggle while balancing on a unicycle with a ball on your nose the whole way through you’re inevitably going to disappoint everyone. My tip? Every now and then, break into that fluent Spanish of yours. Impressive, and it’s foreign affairs isn’t it? Must be allowed.
5. Adam Boulton, heir to the mighty Alastair Stewart. Just be better than Stewart – less barking, less debilitating nerves – that’s all I ask.
(Predictions: Clegg, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his own insubstantiated popularity compulsively lies the whole way through – no once can take that much spontaneous love. Cambo, knowing this is his moment of truth, lists so many people he’s met that he loses control and starts fabricating them (“And then I met Miss Piggy and Lady Gaga, who hadn’t managed to have their hips done on the NHS, and it’s a scandal I tell you!). Brown, coached on joke-cracking for the whole week, will randomly insert gags at entirely inappropriate moments. Eg, in the middle of Boulton’s intro, “How many Lib Dems does it take to change a light bulb?!”, before cackling away to himself in the corner.)
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