WHAT are we to do about Legco? I ask this, not as a matter of constitutional futurology, but as a matter of present entertainment. It may be that Legco is the most boring legislature in the world. It is widely recognised that it is bad enough to put off everyone but addicts and the professionals. One or two of the members have written about it. The other week I attended a meeting at RTHK which allowed citizens to opine generally about Radio 3. Legco, it became clear, was becoming a serious embarrassment to the station. RTHK broadcasts the proceedings, live, as a public service. This is a considerable sacrifice, as listeners clearly turn off in droves. One of the Government radio-persons suggested the problem was partly the increasing use of Cantonese. This means that listeners to the English service get a lot of simultaneous interpretation, delivered in a rather colourless monotone. I thought this wasa poor explanation. Nearly all the speeches are delivered in a colourless monotone anyway. The interpreters are merely accurate. The saving grace in former days was that most members barely spoke at all. The ''debates'' were very short. There was time to be bored, but not - unless you had had a very substantial lunch - actually to fall asleep. I was employed then as what is known in the trade as a writer of ''colour pieces''. Those of us who wrote colour pieces often felt we were being asked to make bricks without straw - and indeed without clay either. This delicate art doesn't seem to be getting any easier. The lucky citizens of Taipei and Seoul get punch-ups. In Tokyo coalitions bicker. Here great clouds of verbal Valium waft over the chamber. Speakers read their scripts as if they had never seen them before. In some cases this is, I fear, true. Far too many members rely on speech writers. Speech writers, unless very confident and experienced, are unlikely to provide colour and will certainly not attempt a subtle joke. How many jokes can survive being explained to the person who is going to crack them? So what is to be done? A tempting suggestion is to limit the length of speeches. This could be an improvement, at least in the sense that 10 minutes of one speaker is probably slightly worse than two five-minute speeches from two equally boring performers. But time limits are unfair on that small minority of members who really have something to say. Another suggestion is that members of groups should put their heads together to avoid repetition. But this mistakes the objective of political oratory, which is not to see that something is said, but to be seen to be saying it. A better idea is to scrap the ''order of precedence'' which dictates that, on any topic, the longest-running members speak first. This not only makes the proceedings distressingly predictable, it encourages the council grey-beards to hog the limelight. But introducing an element of chance will not alone inject spontaneity. What we need is something which will be no obstacle to the sincere and determined, but will discourage long-windedness. THE answer is to ban the reading of speeches. This may sound drastic, but the British have operated the rule for many years. MPs are allowed to use notes, but reading is a breach of the rules. A more drastic version, found in some debating societies, barsall written material. This leads to heavy reliance on the alphabet as an aid to memory. Your speech about the role of Legco, for example, will go along the lines of: awful entertainment, boring meetings, catatonic audience, democratic role. This is an entertaining intellectual game but probably too demanding for some members. A ban on reading speeches represents a reasonable compromise. This would also provide incentive for people to listen to, and look at, the speaker. At the moment, if you actually attend Legco, one of the sound effects is a mysterious susurration which breaks out every two minutes. This is the sound of members turning the page in their copy of the speech. Under the circumstances the absence of spontaneous interjection is not surprising. Nobody is hearing the speech for the first time . . . except us. Deprived of a prepared script, members would be free to surprise each other . . . and themselves. This rule would have another advantage - something which we cannot have too much of. It would encourage honesty.