WHY do so many observers believe the British election has been rather dull?
Superficially, this appears anything but true. There has been much fun and drama for the disinterested onlooker to enjoy. After all, the campaign began with two kinds of sleaze, mucky financial allegations and juicy sexual revelations.
It progressed (or was that digressed?) into an entertaining battle over the European single currency, with Labour sticking the knife in when obvious Tory splits, exacerbated by "loyal" newspapers like the Daily Mail and Daily Telegraph, surfaced.
At the same time, there was a supposed Labour wobble, though it was never clear why. Then a poll result, which showed Labour's lead had "collapsed" to five points after a previous average of 20 points, gave the party genuine reason to panic.
Out came the shock horror bombshell headlines for a day or so before more polls were published showing there had been no dramatic shift at all and everyone realised it was probably that statistical mystery known as a rogue poll.
Along the way, there were a couple of leaks. Labour's so called war book, outlining the party's campaign plans, was said to have arrived at Conservative Central Office months ago in a brown paper envelope. Labour admitted on Friday that it had also received brown paper envelopes for the past year which contained advance copies of Tory election posters.
The Mirror exposed the Deputy Prime Minister, Mr Michael Heseltine, for unlawfully claiming tax relief after making illegal political donations from his private charity. It was, said Mr Heseltine, "an administrative oversight".
The same paper also revealed that the flamboyant Tory MP, Mr Rupert Allason, had written to Britain's most senior policeman asking him to reconsider charges against two men accused of illegally possessing firearms.
A radical group distributed copies of a spoof issue of London's Evening Standard, called Evading Standards, with a headline claiming the election had been called off. A journalist was accused of taking heroin on the Prime Minister's campaign jet. And one of the Liberal Democrats' most famous candidates former champion boxer Terry Marsh, was forced to stand down after being charged with fraud.
Sir James Goldsmith, the leader of the Referendum Party, shook radio listeners by ranting so wildly in an interview that pundits said he could not have done worse for his party. Then he starred in a televised election broadcast which the experts said was indeed worse, so it was all over for him. Pollsters have since found that ratings for the Referendum Party have doubled.
The ProLife Alliance was censored from showing parts of its undeniably truthful broadcast while the British National Party was not censored from showing all of its undeniably poisonous broadcast.
So what's dull about a series of events like that? The dullest spectacle of all has been those embarrassingly self serving moments when speakers - politicians, journalists, interviewers, commentators, the lot have assumed a grave voice and, with a sad shake of the head, talked about how awful it is that the election has been sullied by negative campaigning.
Let us, they all cry, deal with issues and policies and all the things the voters are desperate to hear. This hypocrisy is difficult to bear. Party leaders know very well that the public has been making its mind up about issues these years past. People know what they think of their children's schooling, the service at their local hospitals and the pound in (or out of) their pocket.
They do not require four word slogans on giant hoardings, weasel worded manifesto promises and disingenuous speeches to help them decide where to put their crosses.
After five years of his government, they know where Mr Major stands. They have a fair idea about the other parties alternative views. And I guarantee that those who have no clue thus far - the famous don't knows - have their fingers poised on the TV remote control to swap channels the instant any programme pops up promising to deal with political issues.
What the public wants, especially in a long campaign, is a knockdown, drag out, hand to hand scrap without any talk of Queensberry Rules. They want Messrs Blair and Major playing John Wayne and Victor McLaglen - in The Quiet Man. They love the negative.
But the fiction lives on that people would love politicians more if they indulged in mature political debate. The leaders and their aides know better, of course. While saying one thing, they do the other. So the instant that poor poll result for Labour was published Mr Blair went on the offensive (that's code for negative) by raising the spectre of the Tories having a fifth term. He also said, on scant evidence, that the Tories would put VAT on food and abolish the state pension.
These assertions seemed to rest on the notion that since the Tories lied in 1992 when they said they wouldn't increase VAT, and then did so, they might well do the same again. The Tories hit back by branding Mr Blair "a barefaced liar" and warning of a "nightmare" if Labour gets in.
"It has not been an edifying week of the election campaign," said the Independent at its most pompous. Edifying? When did any election anywhere, anytime merit that description?
Elections are wars fought with words. They are not meant to illuminate. Only one side can win and the manner of its victory is unlikely to make much difference. At the back - no, at the front - of Mr Blair's mind is one of the mantras from the failure of his predecessor, Mr Neil Kinnock. He won the campaign, everyone said, but Mr Major won the election.
New Labour is determined to win both this time. If that means negative campaigning, then so be it. Mr Major does have one consolation though no one knows better than him the fate that awaits the man who enters Number 10 next time. The election will seem like a lovely dream once the war with Fleet Street begins.