LONDON: Mori's pollsters and the Electoral Commission produced a few grisly figures last week. Only 51 per cent of the great British public thought themselves certain to vote at the next general election. Only 18 per cent say the same about this summer's Strasbourg parliament ballot.

And the background statistics are worse than ever: 58 per cent didn't know who their MP was; 62 per cent couldn't remember discussing politics with anyone at any time in the past two years.

The simplest questions about personalities or procedures went blankly unanswered: 5 per cent knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about the democracy they inhabit. They might as well have lived on Planet Zog.

Unbelievable? Not at all. Precisely 59.38 per cent of those registered to vote did so in 2001. That was a stinker. Britain, since the war, has been used to turnouts of more than 70 per cent (and more than 80 per cent in the early 50s); 1997 was the worst of the bunch until 2001 came along.

Now read the Mori runes for 2005. And as for the European election, 18 per cent looks slap on target. We managed 24 per cent in 1999, remember. No nation since Strasbourg parliament elections began has done so consistently badly every time. Compare Spain in 1999 at 59 per cent, Italy at 70 per cent, France at 52 per cent, Belgium at 90 per cent, and an EU average of 49 per cent.

So it's awful, civic responsibility-wise. As bleak as it could be. Those who cheer hardest for the wonders of freedom are the ones who stay in bed - and we, putting Union and national turnouts together, are only out-yawned by a United States where under 50 per cent bother to register.

There's one bitter truth on the canyon brink, then. We can blame away to our heart's content. It's Tony's fault, or Michael's. But why should we, Joe Citizenry, give ourselves a free pass? Are Belgium's politicians more vibrant? Is Germany - turnout still running close to 80 per cent - the home of charismatic leaders and exciting parties? No: this, in its intensity, is a British disease; and the indolence and boredom and blank incomprehension come with a Made in Britain tag attached. Which is our own deadly problem about a European referendum.

We talk a good fight: 75 per cent solemnly tell Mori it's their "duty" to vote (and then one-in-three of them go missing). Thus the "demand" for a European referendum grows, thundering from every Murdochian orifice. We must speak for Britain (as long as we've got to Sainsbury's first).

The practical reality of the referendum matter is quite different. This European constitution is just one issue among many (including health and all the usual suspects). William Hague fought to "save the pound" in 2001 and lost in a yet another resounding triumph for inertia. Michael Howard wants to turn June's Euro-vote into a bugle call for a referendum. Will even 30 per cent of us - for or against - hear his toot?

Of course not. And that makes a crucial difference. Turnout doesn't necessarily have the last word in parliamentary elections. There you're electing a team or a party to fulfil their promises on your behalf. You say what you'd like them to do, and they may or may not do it. But a referendum is direct, without intermediaries. You say what will or won't happen, and you have your way.

A mayor for London or Hartlepool? You got him. An assembly for Wales? The Swiss, who run their world on referendums, ask about car-free Sundays, civil defence, nuclear power plants. Posit an "either" and an "or", a change or the status quo, and you're in business. But none of that works for this draft treaty of a constitution.

What do its 150 or so pages say? You may sup from the Daily Mail's resumis, in which case the end of the universe is nigh; or you may conclude, with the FT, that "it presents ... a hybrid structure with some federal traits, but anchored in the nation state - and not the superstate of national myth". Or you may forage for your own opinion through the thickets of legal prose.

But that most diligent route, naturally, has nothing to do with the Mori-bund electorate previously described. And what if, as the sceptics apparently want, we throw the treaty out? For then there is no status quo, no calm world waiting without Poland, Hungary and the rest, to fall back on; then there is only Europe-wide turmoil for somebody up there - some politicians - to try to sort out.

Shrug your shoulders, maybe. That's democracy. But of what quality? The Irish voted against Nice first time round, then tried again shame-faced because only 34 per cent turned out (the same percentage of Londoners for or against a mayor, as it happens). Is our land of hope and glory going to mire Europe in a chattering class festival which millions upon millions shun? Isn't there one safeguard we could use?

Indeed. Call for the ghost of George Cunningham. Before Scotland had its first vote on devolution 25 years ago, the canny Islington MP introduced an amendment requiring 40 per cent of registered voters to back the proposition. They came nowhere near. Scotland's chatterers, then, may have demanded this or that, but wouldn't come out on a cold night.

What's sauce for the haggis is sauce for the schnitzel. A referendum? Perhaps, if we must. But a serious exercise engaging serious numbers, a direct vote with direct consequences. If that fails, then leave it to parliament. It's what, after all, we elect MPs for: to clear up the droppings on the canyon floor. -Dawn/The Guardian News Service.