The Trafalgar Square fourth plinth project didn’t start that well. It got hijacked before it began — by an anti-smoking campaigner of all things. That’s a bit retro, isn’t it? Who’s next? The suffragettes? I guess they’d instinctively head for the plinth next door, to throw themselves in front of King George IV’s horse.

I like the idea of Antony Gormley’s One and Other — 2,400 people representing a living portrait of modern Britain, each getting an hour on the plinth. Many, however, are hostile to the project. I heard it described as “PC claptrap”. I’m already starting to think you can judge someone’s entire inner being by the way they respond to One and Other. Some wear a sweeping dismissal of all forms of modern art as a badge of honour. It’s their way of defining themselves as no-nonsense people, not susceptible to hype. They seem to be emperor’s-clothes-phobic.

“Is it art?” they ask. For these people, the way to find out is to compare the new thing with something they are absolutely sure is art, say Frans Hals’ The Laughing Cavalier, and then see how similar it is. This seems a restrictive rule of thumb to me. One of the worst things that can strike down a human being is the slam-shut closing of the mind — the idea that one’s opinion of something has been finally formulated and is now set in stone. I think opinions should be like Plasticine — always open to reshaping, always having the potential to become something new.

Many will judge Gormley’s project without even going down to the square to take a look. Determined not to be one of them, I headed off to the plinth on Monday evening, eight hours into the first day. About 15 people were watching a man in a grey suit and a turban who stood on the plinth texting. I assumed this was some hiatus in his performance but it became apparent that this was his performance. Maybe he was making some comment about how we allow technology to put us somewhere else — with someone else — stunting our response to what is actually going on around us. Or maybe he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

As I gazed at this spectacle, about 20 feet away from the plinth, a young woman approached me and said: “Do you know where I can find the Antony Gormley installation?” I pointed at the texting man. It’s not the most disappointment I’ve ever seen in a woman’s eyes but I could tell this wasn’t quite what she expected. Then an elderly tourist came up to me, clearly wondering what was going on. He pointed at the plinth. Rather cryptically, he asked: “Is that man an engineer?” I tried to explain he was actually art. “Shouldn’t he be very still, like him?” he said, pointing at Nelson.

I understood his confusion. People pretending to be statues are a commonplace in nearby Covent Garden. They stand totally still and people give them money. It’s like working for the council. If one of them was booked for the plinth they could go on as a Saddam Hussein statue and then, over the course of the hour, be gradually pulled over by ropes until, as a grand finale, a little old man runs over and hits them with a flip-flop. I didn’t put this idea to the tourist.

I’ve visited the plinth a few times and keep a regular check on the Sky Arts webcam but, so far, everything I’ve seen has been absolute rubbish. When Andy Warhol said everyone would be famous for 15 minutes, he was predicting a reality TV world but also making a point about attention span. An hour, in this context, is a bloody long time. Probably, amid the mix of those 2,400 plinth people, there will be magical moments but, you know what, I don’t think that’s the point.

One and Other makes me proud to be British. It says more about Britishness than George IV and his horse — maybe even more than Nelson. Though the stuffy neighbours at the National Gallery may not agree, the fact that a corner of one of our most famous landmarks has been given over to a group of ordinary citizens, to do with it what they will, is a fabulous symbol of freedom and free speech. You can go up there and slag off the Government, sing some folk songs, or just do nothing. It’s the art of being free. Imagine trying to get this project off the ground in Iran. It doesn’t really matter if they’re dull. If you cleared the other three plinths and gave Simon Cowell, Amanda Holden and Piers Morgan one each — with buzzers — it would be a completely different event. This isn’t Britain’s Got Talent, it’s Britain’s Got Freedom.

However, as much as I admired the man who spent half an hour driving golf balls at David Blaine, when he hung from a crane near Tower Bridge, I hope the plinth people are protected from that part of being British that it’s harder to be proud of — aggressive, drunken young men. If there’s one thing these lot don’t like it’s that which is different. If there’s someone up there ballet dancing to whale calls they’ll see it as a provocation. Think of that scenario when you are casually condemning One and Other. You must decide whether you’re with the ballet dancer or the bullies, the closed minds or the open. Where’s my tutu?

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