Last week, Germany chose its entry for this year’s Eurovision: Heart of Stone, performed by Andreas Kümmert, former winner of the German version of The Voice (which is known as The Voice of Germany in its native country, rather than Die Stimme von Deutschland. Presumably the producers didn’t want to put viewers off by making it sound too German).

After wailing his guts out and winning the public vote, Kümmert abruptly announced, on live TV, that he didn’t actually want to “do” Eurovision after all, and awarded his “prize” to the runner-up instead. A chorus of boos broke out. German boos. Buhen.

Kümmert may have a valid reason for walking away at the last minute. But he shouldn’t have got involved in the first place. He should have ruled himself out before dipping his toe in. Which is what David Cameron must be feeling about the prime ministerial debate fiasco, a squabble that could only get more undignified if stripped naked and did a forward roll off a perspex platform.

Clearly Cameron has a strategic advantage in avoiding the debates. Back in 2010, he was a plucky young challenger, an enthusiastic up-and-comer with a face like a bell carved from gammon. Eager little peppercorn eyes. Freshly waxed chin. The public didn’t warm to him, but found him less off-putting than Gordon Brown, lurking at the back like a depressed bear in a condemned zoo.

In 2015, Cameron has got more to lose, and has issued demands and counter-demands, like a commitment-phobe insisting on a range of ever more absurd requisites in a bid to cancel their own wedding. There has to be an even number of guests, only 34% of whom will be permitted to wear hats. Vegan catering only. No plates or cutlery. Ceremony to be held inside gigantic wicker basketball filled with hornets, being shunted down a hillside by a bulldozer driven by a dog. Shunted into a ravine. On Christmas Day. In medieval Italy. I still love you, darling. Just want to get these details right.

Cameron balked at the prospect of a four-way tussle between himself, Nick Clegg, Ed Miliband and Nigel Farage, possibly because, as a collective, it’s hard for Cameron to define himself against them. Clegg and Miliband can squeak wetly in agreement with each other now and then. Farage can reprise his popular sketch show character. Poor old Dave would be left having to oppose all of them, all the time, standing there with his lips pursed, staring crossly down at his notes, glaring at the page as though it is the one denying him his natural birthright of a second prime ministerial term.

The bigger problem for Cameron is that appearing on camera in human form requires every ounce of his energy. If he relaxes for a moment, he reverts to his natural form as the cacodemon Kaameran, visitation from the beyond, listed in the Ars Goetia as a Great Duke of Hell with 76 demons under his command, an eight-legged wolf who walks like a spider and can turn a man into a tower of ash just by glancing at him. In 2010, none of this was an issue because the debates were broadcast while the sun was in Sagittarius, permitting Kaameran to easily uphold normal appearance even after the credits rolled. This year, he’ll need to bite the head off a lamb every 15 minutes if he wants to maintain human form. And that’s something the British electorate traditionally frowns upon.

Anyway, the broadcasters did agree to one of the key items on Cameron’s rider: the inclusion of more parties. So now the Greens, the SNP and Plaid Cymru are in on the act. Good news for Britain’s lectern industry, but bad news for Farage, who was hoping to debate Britain’s out-of-control multiculturalism with three other middle-aged white men, and is now forced to debate the issue with three middle-aged white men and three middle-aged white women instead. Still, at least the sight of Farage desperately jostling for space among six other contestants plays into his narrative that Britain is overcrowded.

It’s not great for Miliband either. He might get hopelessly lost among the crowd. Just like he does in an empty room. His only chance of making an impact is if he accidentally breaks wind during one of Green party leader Natalie Bennett’s signature 15-minute pauses (it’s not an awkward silence – she’s just reducing emissions).

The multi-party free-for-all promises to be a 90-minute cry for help on behalf of the democratic system. A squadron of narcissists desperately attempting to out-soundbite each other against the clock. It sounds like a live theatrical adaptation of Twitter.

But that’s all we’re getting. Because now Cameron says that is the only debate he’ll take part in – thus presenting Channel 4 with a dilemma if they want to press ahead with the Paxman-chaired Miliband v Cameron two-way.

But there is an obvious solution. Just show Miliband debating with himself in that aforementioned empty room (assuming the camera can find him), and intercut it, live, with footage of Cameron watching at home, a la Gogglebox. Preferably while getting red-wine pissed. And slowly relaxing into cacodemon form.