If, as Steven Norris would have us believe, a colourful past is what Londoner's really want in their mayor, then Malcolm McLaren should romp home.

The former Sex Pistols manager has thrown his hat in the ring for candidates for the capital's top job with characteristic gall, declaring Londoners are tired of being "unpaid extras in the most expensive theme park on the planet".

His solution? A raft of policies that, he says, dispense with political rhetoric in favour of Continental-style city management. With 53-year-old McLaren at the helm, brothels would be legalised, bars introduced to libraries and trams would once again grace London's streets.

The homeless would be employed as ticket vendors in a new lottery, with all profits going to housing, and adult education courses would be heavily subsidised.

His anti-political pronouncements on Thursday morning - "I do not believe in politicians" - will have had a sympathetic hearing from those put off by the back-biting that has so far characterised both the Labour and Tory campaigns.

Sincere?

But given McLaren's reputation as a self-publicist par excellence, does his bid carry an ounce of sincerity?

Long-time friend and pop commentator Rick Sky thinks not. He views it as another cynical attempt for McLaren to elbow his way into the media spotlight and "create a bit of trouble".

"He likes to cause trouble and controversy. I think he sees himself as a fly in the ointment and he's always got flights of fancy."

This was precisely the spirit in which he unleashed the Sex Pistols on an unsuspecting public in the mid-1970s. The story of how he "manufactured" the band while working at a King's Road boutique with his then girlfriend Vivienne Westwood, is well documented in pop history.

The group of four snarling, obnoxious young London lads left a trail of outraged tabloids headlines in their wake as they set about infuriating the establishment.

Today McLaren proudly describes the Pistols hit Anarchy in the UK as having an effect "probably more profound than any other cultural phenomenon in post-war Britain".

A grandiose statement maybe, but there are plenty who would go along with it.

The fact that McLaren ended his involvement with the Pistols as they were on the verge of "breaking" America is testament to how easily bored he gets.

Even when promoting a new project, such as last year's Chinese all-girl rap band Jungk, his unique "posh cockney" drawl gives the impression that he's already fed up and wants to move on.

Destroyer

It's this capriciousness that leads Sky to believe his old associate will soon drop his political aspirations.

"When something is successful he often destroys it. I don't think his character will be suited to politics. Politics is grindingly slow process, he gets bored very quickly."

A glance at McLaren's post punk CV is testament to this. He has dabbled in music from new wave to hip-hop to opera. He is credited with bringing rap to Britain with his early 1980s single Buffalo Gals.

Film, television, fashion, docu-drama, commercials, and "lecturing at Oxford and Cambridge" all get a mention.

His trademark head of flame-orange corkscrew curls and tired eyes conceal a fountain of ideas says Sky.

"He's full of ideas; always got something to say about everything. The only problem is that most of the time he's ahead of the general public."

But even if McLaren proves the sceptics wrong and sees his campaign through to the ballot box he should beware that for all his anti-political pragmatism, the people want an honest candidate.

After all McLaren was the man behind the Sex Pistols film the Great Rock and Roll Swindle, in which, with startling frankness, he revealed how he ripped off the record industry.