They care passionately about issues, but British teenagers today are deeply indifferent to politicians and their labels, reports George Lucas

May 2 2027: the crowds around Buckingham Palace were rewarded. The venerable President Robson hugged the plucky figure of Becky Decker, fresh from her election triumph. Decker was the latest in a succession of human superstars who had transformed Westminster politics from its 1990s nadir and engineered the "British miracle" of recent decades. A former Olympic athlete and Nobel prize-winning physicist, Decker represented the new breed of political leaders who had overcome 20th-century cynicism and restored a nation's faith in electoral politics. Everyone cheered as their aged, adored president forgot ceremony and let his face break out in his well-known smile of unbridled, unreserved joy. Becky was the right choice. The country was in magnificent hands - yet again.

Oh, dream on! Politics, like so many other passions, is packed with legends of lost generations. If only Crosland had lasted longer, if only Macleod hadn't died so young. If only. If, oh, only. But political life went on. However, Britain does face a different, even larger threat: that of an entire lost generation of political idealists currently in their teens, whose absence in decades to come could cost their country dearly indeed.

The evidence is that the bland managerialism of 1990s British consensus politics has left the most attractive future ministers - to put it mildly- discouraged. This matters. Political life is dependent on such heroes for its sustenance. There does exist a well-galloped modern route by which the truly disciplined become political researchers on the way to a Commons career. The argument here does not concern this particular process, nor is it about voting turnout levels. It concerns those who love politics but are more outlandish, more vulnerable than their level-headed peers. They have, in many cases, so much to offer. It has invariably been life's more excessive, wilful, most genuine superstars - the Bevans, Disraelis Thatchers and Churchills - who have in the past changed the shape of their societies: creating the NHS, transforming urban living conditions, winning wars, taming trade unions.

Many moan that teenagers hate politics. Fortunately, that accusation, glibly made, is nonsense. The superb news is that, contrary to rumours of nationwide apathy, every sign indicates that the UK has no shortage whatsoever of potential red-blooded, whole-hearted Churchills, Thatchers, Kinnocks, the lot. But the far more frightening second headline is that almost none of them will touch a Commons career with a bargepole. The number of willing applicants is low. And if you don't care, who do you think is going to rule your land (and guarantee your pension) when you are old?

Politics, as we know, is deeply unfashionable. Joan Fisher, head teacher of King Edward VI Camp Hill School for Girls, tells me that teenagers "are very interested in issues - but don't necessarily associate them with politics". The evidence confirms the suspicion. One recent MORI study showed that no fewer than 82 per cent of 11-16 year olds felt they needed to understand global issues; on a similarly internationalist trend, those favouring a single European currency outnumbered those opposing it by almost two to one. Yet the Demos report, The Real Deal, noted that under-25s were four times less likely to be registered to vote than any other age group. The same report highlighted young people's disengagement from political parties.

But in conversation - and potential - many of the teenagers who are meant to be so uninterested are nothing short of brilliant. To find a little of what we're missing (and how to have even a chance of enjoying the privilege of future leaders of the calibre of the regrettably purely fictional Ms Decker), just let them talk. The ambition and idealism remains, as does the priceless eternal love of playing with ideas enjoyed by sixth-formers for generations. Grant Hoyle, who left school last year, loves politics because he wants "to know how things are run". He especially would like to see progress made on social issues; he doubts Labour ministers' commitment to addressing them. Lee Donaghy, 17, an A-level student, says he loves it simply because it "decides who gets what".

So as schools nationwide resumed full operations, we talked. It was clear from the outset how much each enthusiast who was interviewed loved his or her politics. They were quick, often hyper-informed and frequently very funny (one rogue on the threshold of voting age freely confessed he'd be good in politics "because I'm good at lying"). They held few illusions, but my, how they cared for their issues and are probably, given Internet access, better informed on them than ever before. They have a myriad of concerns and freely push ideas far from the conventional Labour/Tory/Lib Dem agendas on a whole raft of themes. Some target vampire-like private consultants exploiting the NHS - and want draconian regulations slapped on private medical practices as a whole. Others, such as A-level student Rob Archibald, 17, with a growing interest in economics, deliberate a raft of economic issues that Labour would doubtless leave untouched: the merits of higher taxation and a radical redistribution of wealth.

But a political career? For virtually all of them, not on your life. They dream not of Downing Street, but instead of becoming plutocratic bankers, consultants, lawyers, Internet millionaires - or organic farmers. And this is precisely what the vast majority does.

Their aversion is, by and large, logical and carefully argued. Very few, it seems, would ever consider joining a party. First, the absence of ideological battles infuriates a great many: the parties are "too samey", says Lee Donaghy. And too regimented. No influence to be had there, so why, therefore, join up and pay them money? Heaven forbid. Second, they dislike what they see as hypocrisy and all too blatant perfidious superficiality. Why, they ask, does John Prescott have to have those two Jags? The chameleon factor of parties also annoys those trying to take their issues seriously. Why, also, are all the parties seemingly "reinventing themselves every other day?"

Next there are the trials of political life itself - again unfailingly spotted by eagle-eyed, hard-nosed potential recruits. Many want to change the world; very few of those in whom the crusading passion burns so bright want to put their heads in the noose that has ensnared Piers Merchant, David Mellor, Stephen Milligan and a cast of seemingly other thousands over the past decade. The job insecurity and heavy workload have long dogged would-be parliamentarians. As Donaghy sees it: "One mistake and you'll ruin your career." Nor do most of those who have so far avoided the worst excesses of the nation's ducking-stool inspire young hearts; Tony Benn and Ann Widdecombe were among the few names to inspire genuine admiration. Against such forces, potential future Churchills and Attlees are little more enticed by parliamentary careers than future Michael Owens would be attracted by the local Old Bores village cricket X1.

Potential recruits note also that there are other ways to change the world. The independent Bank of England is a popular institution: its governor, Eddie George, is seen as wielding substantial power and besides, as Grant Hoyle notes, "he probably gets paid more" than MPs. A few may, indeed, pursue careers elsewhere and intend to "crash in" in their 40s. The only problem is that their Commons colleagues who reached the place a decade before will not, on past form, be inclined to do them any favours: Glenda Jackson is the most recent of a long succession of those for whom the Commons failed to repeat their earlier, far greater, successes. The implication of the evidence that exists - although some recent government appointments may in time highlight a departure - is simple: start mainstream politics early, or not at all.

These are awesome forces against which modern parties have to battle. Low election turnouts have raised the alarm to an extent, and innovations such as citizenship lessons may help, but they'd better be well designed and well executed: anything less and this lot will laser-beam their way through the nonsense in seconds. MPs visiting schools could do more to sell the profession: one onlooker was recently shocked to witness a local MP opining at a school talk that parliament's influence "was not very strong" and felt the visiting statesman "might have been more conscious" of the effects of such remarks.

For one final, highly compelling, reason, the wisest party leader should give a transformation of attitudes the greatest priority. More than a handful of Labour strategists have, we know, the aim of "a progressive century". The Tories, for their part, would be more than content simply to nab the lion's share on the hundred years coming - as they did the last. The usual path cited towards such a future is that this hegemony will, as some believe, be achieved simply by domination of the middle ground. Maybe.

But the testimony of so many who are new to politics is that the blandness and ideological conformity that this type of combat for "median" voters entails is precisely the reason for the apathy that alerts Labour strategists, almost as much as focus group findings. It could also be the Labour Party's agonising downfall. In pursuing politics that lacks passion Labour may be set to lose, not win, the hegemony for which it so obviously yearns.

Faced with a "managerial" politics, fixated on "what works", the young people that Labour and other parties should be courting will simply take their own managerial ambitions to the private sector, at McKinsey, Goldman Sachs, Andersen Consulting or a host of others, where their rewards will be greater and their personal lives less disturbed.

Every senior politician should be strongly advised to stretch every muscle to inspire and excite the attention of new enthusiasts, as happened in so many generations before. Party leaders should plunge into the schools. Those who yearn to talk more politics would love nothing more. Remember always: they want more Bevans. They really, really do. Some of them - whisper it very quietly indeed - want more Thatchers.

Well, party leaders. It's conference season. Play it a little riskily for once. The ultimate prize - a generation in power - could await.

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