A confession.

I have a little problem, one that is absorbing much thought and time as I grapple with it; one that risks alienating some of my friends, vindicating some of my enemies, and embarrassing myself. Therefore, in true Noughties style, I shall reveal it to the open forum of the Internet: I have a sneaking affection and sympathy for Gordon Brown. Neither his policies, nor political bedfellows serve to attract; nor too the dispiriting spectacle of a government mired in enervating scandal and purposeless drift, sitting atop a weakened political system that increasingly seems run by and for the crooks within it. It is not Labour that attracts me; indeed the party might almost be doing itself a favour were it to limp quietly off into the political sunset. It is a party that has presided over economic disaster and unnecessary war, whose time in office has seen a complete collapse of public faith in politics and politicians, whose main legacy in the popular imagination may well be the final elevation of spin over substance and rhetoric over reality.

Yet for all the sorry spectacles to be seen at times over the last few years, I somehow cannot shake my curious affinity for Gordon Brown. Gordon Brown - the very name seems to sum him up; ponderous and somewhat grim, dour and drab in an age of airbrushed posters, smiling wives and hugged hoodies. I cannot image Gordon ever hugging a hoodie. Awkwardly interrogating him on the state of the local community, or lecturing him on why he should not litter; hugging him, no. Gordon Brown stands out as a man almost entirely impervious to the wiles and skills of modern PR, a craggy edifice of stern rectitude who reacts to the prodding of his PR team with awkward reluctance.

In an age of superficiality from our elected representatives, Brown's inability to style himself smoothly is at least genuine, and points to his underlying seriousness. Like Shrek, grumpy and misanthropic in his foetid swamp, Brown in Westminster exerts a paradoxical charm.

His smile is frankly forbidding, and he trips over his words; he appears awkward in public; he writes in a sort of brutish block-capital scrawl , the result of his increasing blindness, itself the result of an old rugby injury. He bottled the election that never was , He looks like an old, battle-weary fighting bear, squinting with his one good eye to try and divine from whence the next blow will fall, padding endlessly round the ring as spectators jeer it and the attack-dogs tear at its haunches. Yet despite the effete horror often expressed at his ‘clunking fist’ and the Stalinist persona he appears to occupy in the minds of many, it seems true that his sheer lack of finesse garners him a perverse support; there is a nobility in endurance. Consider the public reaction to the ‘scandal’ of his bullying Downing Street staff; the electorate, it seems, secretly likes a man it commonly regards as something of a miserable and blundering tyrant. Following on from widespread accusations that Brown bullied his staff , his poll ratings underwent a dramatic surge. People like strength in leadership; if there is one place where one needs to have ferocious expectations on one’s staff and a towering temper, Number 10 must surely rank up there with the best.

In this, Brown’s proven qualities may yet carry the day; the contrast of public personas between the dour Mr Brown and the PR-preened, oleaginous Mr Cameron could potentially contribute to a Labour win, in defiance of general expectation. In an election that is more than ever dominated by style over substance, where both parties seem bereft of any memorable electoral program and as many columns have been filled discussing leader’s wives as plans for reducing the deficit, questions of style are hugely importance. To a population largely disengaged from the political process and distrustful of its own politicians basic motivations, competence, and integrity, those who can be bothered to vote may do so purely on a whim - perhaps pure sympathy may swing the day.

My preference is for a leader animated by grim resolve, one who does not bow down to the requirements of modern PR, whose dour faith in the urgency and righteousness makes him seemingly unable to relate to others. Brown has this. But it is a simple fact that Prime Ministers in possession of a majority have almost untrammeled political power, a mandate to do almost whatever they see as correct; such qualities are therefore as worrying as they are useful. Firm conviction can blend into dangerous inflexibility. In the wake of this long Labour Government, and the excesses of a previous Prime Minister whose faith in his own historic mission led to disaster in Iraq perhaps Cameron’s refreshing lack of any obvious program is what this country needs – a flexible, non-ideological government led by a man expert at fitting his own beliefs into the contours required by his environment. Perhaps the prancing pony is more desirable than the shirehorse or the gorilla – at the very least it moves with greater speed.

Tonight’s forthcoming debate between Brown, Cameron, and Clegg will be another opportunity for the public to judge its potential leaders differing styles. As James Gibson notes in an earlier article, these can be moments of huge importance. Will the clunking fist land its target, with all the formidable weight of Browns undeniable intellect behind it? Or will Brown’s self-righteousness and defensiveness merely expose him to the attacks of a fresh, nimble, and hungry Cameron? Join the Alligator’s open thread tonight and over the next few days, as we try and seize up this exciting new addition to the British electoral system.