Poor old Ed Miliband. Those aren't my words. Those are the words your mind thinks whenever you see him on television. And then you feel bad for thinking that, which makes you feel vaguely sorry for him again, and that in turns feeds back into the initial pity you experienced, and the whole thing becomes a sort of infinite commiseration loop that drowns out whatever he's actually saying and doing.

I keep reading that if he really wants to build support for Labour, Miliband doesn't actually have to do anything: just sit back, let the coalition slowly appal and repel the population, and voilà: future votes will be his, by osmosis. This low-risk strategy seemed to be working. And then, bafflingly, over the past few weeks he's decided to break the spell by granting interviews and popping up for photo opportunities.

First he was interviewed by Piers Morgan for GQ magazine. Incredibly, he managed to withstand the urge to vomit long enough to describe himself as "a bit square", and mutter something about wanting to share a desert island with Teri Hatcher, Rachel Weisz and Scarlett Johansson. I can't work out whether that's a reality show I'd like to see or not.

Then he went to Afghanistan, shadowed by ITN's Tom Bradby, who was compiling a profile piece. Unfortunately, Ed looks incredibly silly in a helmet and flak jacket. Like a toucan in a fez, it just doesn't go. Rather than making Ed look like a thrusting leader, the end result was several minutes of footage which, with the sound off, looked like a report about a small boy who'd won a competition to go and see a war.

You can understand why his press advisers keep shoving him in front of the microphones and cameras. They want the voting public to get to know him. The trouble is they're getting to know him as "that drippy guy". It's not his fault. He's burdened with an inherently drippy demeanour. Image shouldn't matter, but it's impossible to blot out.

Rather than making Ed more accessible, his PR team should be doing the opposite. He's never going to come across as "one of us", so why not actively go in the other direction? Make him unknowably distant.

Here's an idea: get Ed to seal himself inside a featureless metal cube and insist on conducting all political business from within it. And vow never to be seen in public outside the box. No nerdy face for us to judge, no wet mannerisms to chortle at. Nothing to get a glib critical foothold on. Just cold, blank steel. Ditch the name Ed Miliband and insist on being referred to as "CUBE DX-9" instead.

CUBE DX-9 wouldn't speak, either. It would communicate exclusively via typewritten messages, each about the length of a fortune cookie prediction, which would come whirring out of a tiny slot on its front. Crucially, these would be brief, gnomic proclamations about sensitive issues that would a) be open to interpretation and b) provoke intense debate. And once any debate had started, CUBE DX-9 would refuse to be drawn into it. CUBE DX-9 never clarifies its position. It simply issues a contentious statement, maintains an enigmatic silence, and trundles away, leaving argument in its wake. Did I mention CUBE DX-9 has wheels? Well it does. It also has an ear-splitting siren that goes off whenever someone tries to touch it.

Admit it. You think it's a stupid idea. But think again. Picture the first Prime Minister's Questions in which David Cameron finds himself going up against CUBE DX-9. For one thing, he'd look pretty desperate arguing with a box. Also, the agonising delay between responses from CUBE DX-9 would remove the element of pantomime jousting and turn the whole thing into a tense psychological thriller. Sometimes CUBE DX-9 would fall silent for a full 45 minutes, emitting a low hum or possibly the odd bit of smoke. Will it issue another statement? Is it broken? What's it going to say next? Every time you saw it, the surrounding aura of mystery would be irresistible.

Furthermore, since the public would never get to see what's inside CUBE DX-9, there would also be intense debate over whether Ed Miliband was actually in there or not. Naturally, CUBE DX-9 would simply ignore any inquiries on this subject, or shrug them off by issuing a statement such as "CUBE DX-9 CONTENTS NOT YOUR CONCERN", then firing a laser bolt over the interviewer's head as a warning not to proceed with that line of questioning.

I'd vote for the sod. And in the aftermath of CUBE DX-9's inevitable election to the highest office in the land, political leaders worldwide would be clamouring for an inscrutable impersonal shell of their own. Before long there'd be a Chilean mayor who rolls around inside a gigantic onyx egg, and a German chancellor who consists of nothing but a runic symbol flickering on a monitor accompanied by a vaguely menacing drone.

And we'll all feel much better about our elected masters. Yes we will. Stop lying. We will.