IT’S that time of year again, when the latest batch of shiny young hopefuls take to the stage and sell themselves to the masses.

Yes, just as the X Factor conveyor belt trundles away in the background, political leaders have held their annual love-ins, belting out all the familiar tunes.

But to me, Nick Clegg on stage in front of thousands of supporters is like watching Darius Danesh bleating his way through NWA’s Straight Outta Compton – people haven’t forgotten how much they dislike him, and if they had, he’d remind them within seconds of opening his mouth.

More to the point, nobody listening would believe the lyrics meant anything more to him than a chance at getting through to the next round of some meaningless competition, to be quickly forgotten when it’s time to learn a new song.

Similarly, David Cameron gets up on stage or appears on television, and assures everyone in the country everything’s going to be all right if we just stick with him because, at the end of the day, he’s just like us.

Imagine, if you will, Sir Cliff Richard, performing a medley of Anarchy In The UK, I’m Every Woman and I’ll Stand By You, because he’s been told by a think tank that these are songs that people relate to.

This is what it’s come down to – a posh boy, acting like a man of the people, trying so desperately to appeal to everyone that he actually succeeds in uniting a nation, insofar as everyone is embarrassed to see him or acknowledge his existence. He’s become a calendar bought by loveable scamps as a cheeky comedy Christmas present.

But ‘Call Me Dave’ isn’t worried as much about that, as he is about competition from Boris Johnson – an inexplicably popular hybrid of an unmade bed and an albino teddy bear.

He’s The Mike Flowers Pops to Cameron’s Oasis – a novelty act, taking the bedrock song of the Tories and mashing it up with a kitsch new look and a knowing wink. Don’t let the crazy hairstyle on top of the sharp suit fool you, he’s just a re-branded product; the same but different.

He’s popular too, so Cameron is right to be worried. But we must remember that the novelty will wear off – everyone in their right mind hated the Crazy Frog – but we mustn’t underestimate the gullibility of the masses. Thousands will buy the single, and if the launch is timed just right, there’s a real danger it could reach Number 10.

Of course, last but by no means least, there’s Ed Miliband, banging on about “one nation”, hammering home his latest catchphrase. It’s like someone’s given party leadership to half of Jedward, in a political interpretation of the monkeys/typewriters/Shakespeare experiment.

But perhaps the biggest problem with these politicians is the same problem affecting today’s mainstream music scene – homogenisation.

The majority of the Top 40 all look and sound exactly the same, thanks to the methodical destruction of the music industry by autotune and Simon Cowell.

When the nation sits down to its regular fix of weekend popularity contests, nobody believes the shiny popdroids mean a thing they say or sing, and the biggest applause (and contract), will always go to those who are bland enough to appeal to the masses, regardless of content.

In politics, as in X Factor, if you look harmless but sincere or quirky and memorable, and you can be confident without being smug, then yours is the country and everything in it.

In fairness, we can choose not to listen to mainstream music. The difference is, in politics there’s no alternative – we must vote, if only to exercise our right to complain about the mess we’re in.

So we keep voting them in, and so they’ll just keep coming – wave after wave of political zombies, moaning phrases like “difficult times”, “sink or swim”, and “in this together”, while the nation holes up in a shopping mall, taking refuge in commerce and bickering among itself while listening to Muzak and trying to make the best of it.

And on that cheery note, I’ll leave you. I’m sure X Factor or the news will be on in a minute. You wouldn’t want to miss it now, would you?