Gerry Sutcliffe, the junior Culture Minister in charge of pub licensing, has been getting a right kicking for telling a magazine that he didn't agree with government policy on taxing beer and spirits, then attempting to backtrack by declaring: “My comments do not reflect my views.” His attempt at a retraction has been generally panned as the most moronic public utterance since Jade Goody asked: “Rio de Janeiro, ain't that a person?” on Big Brother, and described, variously, as “ludicrous”, “twaddle” and “the most eyebrow-arching comment ever to pass from the lips of a minister”. But I disagree. I actually think Sutcliffe has inadvertently made a deeply honest remark that borders on the profound.

Browse through any political memoir and you'll see what I mean: countless political careers that have been built on people spewing views that they don't personally agree with. The constitutional convention of collective responsibility makes it necessary to do so. Meanwhile, a new book that I'm currently reading about life in the Square Mile has a broker remark that “the City requires people to say things extremely confidently that they don't actually believe because, unless you give the impression of being confident in your convictions, no one will take you seriously”. Moreover, having just had a book of my own published, I've been repeatedly mortified by the things that I've supposedly spouted in interviews, telling one publication, for instance, that my favourite novel is Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, only to find, on picking it up the for the first time in 15 years, that it's as engaging as the washing instructions inside a Bhs cardigan.

The fact is that human beings, and professional commentators are just about encompassed by the definition, are forever saying things that they don't necessarily mean - because they misspeak, because language is an imprecise tool or because life is complex and they change their minds about things. Sutcliffe's remark should, frankly, be tattooed on to our foreheads at birth. However, I would extend the phrase to read: “My comments do not reflect my views, not that I necessarily have any views, as such.”

We live in a time of opinion hyperinflation. The internet allows anyone to comment on anything from hotels to restaurants. On Facebook, users are forever being encouraged to join groups to broadcast their views on everything from the direction of house prices to Ginsters pasties. Newspapers, in an effort to combat the fact that the internet makes news feel old before it has even happened, are putting more emphasis on providing comment. The imperative to pontificate has spread offline, to the stage that anyone who admits to being undecided risks being labelled an idiot.

There's even some academic research, examining household opinion surveys, that makes the allegation explicitly. The paper, published in Volume 66 of Public Opinion Quarterly in 2002, and entitled “The Impact of 'no opinion' response options on data quality”, concludes that “no-opinion options may discourage some respondents from doing the cognitive work necessary to report the true opinions they do have”. In other words: people tick the “undecided” box in surveys because they are too lazy to formulate a viewpoint.

There is an element of truth in this. There are some issues on which I don't have a position because I couldn't care less. PCs v Apple computers, for instance. Cheryl Cole's weight. Avram Grant's competence as Chelsea manager. But there are many more subjects on which I don't have a clear opinion because the arguments seem finely balanced, and having no viewpoint seems the most intelligent response. The possible withdrawal of UK troops from Iraq, for example. The Rolling Stones. The reintroduction of the Wispa chocolate bar.

By definition, the unopinionated are invis-ible, but a glance through a recent and random set of opinion polls suggests that they are a sizeable bunch. Indeed, it is worth remembering that one in three voters didn't vote in the 2005 general election, and not all those people would have avoided doing so because they were too stupid or too engrossed in an episode of Emmerdale to bother. For many, the decision to abstain will have been deliberate.

And it was interesting to read Beppe Grillo, an Italian comedian and government critic, recently make the case for abstention in relation to the recent Italian elections. “A non-vote is the only useful vote,” he wrote on his blog. Many people must have agreed because turnout, at about 80 per cent, was almost 5per cent lower than in 2006.

However, perhaps the most interesting and forthright defender of the right to silence was Enoch Powell, a man who could never be accused of being dim or too frightened to express a view. I've not seen the footage, but Powell once appeared on Question Time, where it is, of course, as necessary to express opinion as it is to lose your luggage at Heathrow Terminal 5.

He was, apparently, asked for his view on a subject that he hadn't previously considered. Rather than adopt the modern politician's media-trained strategy of answering an entirely different question, or launching into an irrelevant personal anecdote, or buying time to think by stating “that's an interesting question, David”, he simply remarked: “I have no knowledge of this subject.” How much more tolerable the world, and, more specifically, Today and Newsnight, would be if more people had the intellectual confidence to admit occasionally that they didn't know enough or didn't care or couldn't decide.

I can't say that I agree with much of what Powell advocated during his career, and he is, of course, long deceased, which makes the rephrasing of the following popular expression somewhat redundant: not only would I die to defend his right to express his opinions, but I would die to defend his right to express no opinion whatsoever.

A plague on both their London houses

One of the things I can't make my mind up about is the London mayoral election. On the one hand, the prospect of having Ken Livingstone's smug face glare back at us for another four years is a truly unbearable prospect. But on the other, the possibility of a Boris Johnson victory, and the inflating effect that it would have on David Cameron's already intolerable pomposity, would be insufferable. On the one hand, it would be amusing to see the Evening Standard fail in its vitriolic campaign against Red Ken. But on the other, it would be highly entertaining to see how the paper reports on the reality of Boris's term in office.

Meanwhile, Brian Paddick isn't an option. I interviewed him when he was at the Met, and remember him remarking: “I'm a person who tends to provoke equal and opposite reactions. I think the majority of people are very supportive, but a few people hate me with passion.” This may have been true during his policing career, but this special Marmite, love-him-or-loathe-him quality has eluded him in politics. He's as bland as a 3ft extension cord.

My current plan is to continue using my postal vote as a mousemat.

No room for a view

Anyone exhausted by the pressure to have views should perhaps consider a job in the US, where employers are so keen to keep their workforce united that some have policies that explicitly ban employees from discussing the divisive subject of politics. And most American employees don't seem to object. A recent survey conducted by Beyond.com found that 49 per cent of professionals feel that political discussions have no place in the office. Just 18 per cent disagreed, while a quarter of respondents chose to express no opinion on the issue, which shows an admirable level of dedication to the principle of neutrality.

sathnam@thetimes.co.uk

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