And so it comes to this. A debate between two aspirational leaders making a bid to run the country we live in - to run the country, mind - clashes with the finale of a hugely popular reality television show.

One has to politely step aside to make way for the other. It's the debate, and the awe-inspiring juggernaut of MasterChef strides on unencumbered while those we entrust with making the big decisions meekly chat amongst themselves at an earlier, more modest timeslot.

It comes to this.

How appalling.

Even the country's newspapers are having trouble focusing on the current Ginge vs Jesus campaign trail, preferring instead to plaster their covers with photographs of amateur chefs posing in wacky positions ('And for my next trick, I shall turn thee into foie gras!'). They know - as we all do - that the first thing the people of Australia will be discussing at work this morning is guava snow eggs and cowskin cowboy boots, not workplace relations or what exactly the idiotically butch promise of 'turning boats around' actually entails.

There's a gradual melding taking place, a revolting kowtowing to the base entertainment tastes of the general public, with Tony Abbott's recent squirm-inducing appearance on Hey Hey It's Saturday - a show whose cultural relevance became obsolete about the same time Tony's social policies did - and politicians pressing the flesh with Australian Idol contestants, or whoever else mildly popular they can get their hands on in the hope that some of the magic Please Like Me juice will rub off.

Eventually the ABC 24-hour news channel will resemble Big Brother Up Late, with extensive footage of Chris Uhlmann sprawled out on a couch snoring loudly and an excitable Mike Goldman trying to ignite bucket bong afficionados to engage in a game of Fast Money by guessing the missing letters in the phrase TO B* OR NOT TO B*.

Face it: nobody gives a shit about Australian politics anymore. Why should we? What reason would we have to stop in supermarket queues and clutch at each other's sleeves with excited grins, or put up bunting on election day? We're less engaged with the life-or-death matter of environmental policy than we are with what Kyle Sandilands is doing in his sad excuse for a private life.

And why? Because the two major parties are giving us nothing but muted tones; a sort of 'how to run an election campaign without ever hurting anybody's feelings or giving a robust opinion that may cause ongoing debate/conflict in the wider community'-type thing.

Those hoping for some sort of leftist girl-power revolution at the hands of the history-making J Gillard have been left bitterly disappointed, watching as she glides between personal appearances like an inscrutable jewel. She's handballed the climate change issue like some sort of ditzy dame having a menu crisis at a restaurant ('Oh, I don't know. You decide') and seems terrified of doing or saying anything that may identify her as a) a woman, or b) compassionate. Where did it all go wrong?

Tony Abbott has been relegated to the role of inoffensive uncle too, spending his downtime frolicking with shrieking school children and touching up zucchinis. Perhaps his campaign managers are hoping he becomes so distracted by the giddy combination of youth and fruit he forgets to dangerously open his mouth and spout forth more of the unhinged diatribes he does so well. Tony Abbott has a personality in there somewhere, I know he does. Personally I'm of the firm belief that said personality is borne of the loins of Satan, but it's still a personality regardless. Yet even he is gagged on this campaign; the permanent stiff smile, the false bonhomie, the everyman bravado.

I forget the exact moment I lost my passion for Australian politics. It was probably around the time somebody put a muzzle on Barnaby Joyce and those in charge started thinking banging on about God was the way to win hearts and minds.

This past week has been nothing to write home about either; Gillard limply repeating her favourite catchphrase and trading polite bon mots with Tony during a hugely lacklustre debate. They've even ditched the zingy flirtatious banter that used to fascinate and repel the nation ('Oh look, Tony Abbott and Julia Gillard are trading sexually laden quips on The Today Show. I just threw up in my own mouth and yet I simply cannot look away').

They're so terrified of displaying an iota of personality that may horrify the nation they just sit and simper at each other like shy debutantes. You know it's a bad sign when even the worm can't be bothered showing up for work.

The rest of them are stepping into line too, with the openly gay Minister for Climate Change Penny Wong primly demurring on the issue of gay marriage ('I think the reality is there is a cultural, religious, historical view around that which we have to respect'). Wilson Tuckey's nowhere to be seen. Malcolm Turnbull's stopped writing sneering, smarmy opinion pieces about the decline of Kevin Rudd. There's no passion. There's no tears. It's as though nobody wants to put a foot wrong, so nobody's putting a foot anywhere. Wake me when it's over.

Marieke Hardy is a writer and regular panelist on the ABC's First Tuesday Book Club.