There's a saying in my business : ''It's not a good idea, if it doesn't get made.''

Of course, there's a glaring problem with this logic in that it's significantly easier - and a lot more enjoyable - to talk than do.

Talking, or ''dreaming up'' an idea for an ad negates the inevitable pain that partners the reality of producing the finished article.

In advertising, we call these exciting but un-formed thoughts ''concepts''.

As the name suggests, they are transparently intangible. At best, they are the start of something or a catalyst to a bigger idea. But often they prove to be simply a means of proving a proposed strategy woefully wrong.

In Australian politics, they don't call loose ideas ''concepts''. In Canberra, they're called ''proposed policy''.

I suspect that over the next six months, the creative minds on the rudder of the federal government will be dreaming up ideas (sorry, ''proposed policies''), designed to seduce, engage and convert a nation into reaching for their brand on September 14.

But how many of these ideas will be short-term camera-fodder for the braying press gallery? How many of the ideas that fill prime-time air will be about talking? And how many will actually result in something getting done?

In advertising, the exciting and infuriating thing about ''concepts'' is that due to their infancy, flaws are expected. You get the wheat with the chaff; the inspiration, with the utter lack of practicality.

The bottom line? Concepts require a modicum of patience - a luxury not enjoyed by either side of politics. Less so, as the heat turns up closer to September.

This is the central issue with the way political ideas are formed, communicated, and ultimately sold to us in this country.

As the left and right wheel out a whacky range of futuristic, non-street-legal concept cars; jerry-rigged in a sudden fit of ''it'll never get made, but it'll make for a bloody great photo-opp'', we, the impatient public; the time-poor consumers, are ultimately presented with a ready-to-drive, Australian-made, family sedan, complete with seven adult seats, sat-nav and a factory-fitted sun-roof.

Every day, bold, shaky but potentially brilliant ''concepts'' get dreamed up in small, stuffy rooms across Canberra.

Is that a bad thing? God no. The only hope for any political progress is some creative thinking.

The problem is that those same ragged ideas invariably get punted out the next morning across a million screens under the guise of 22-carat, 100 per cent guaranteed, industry-backed and ready-to-roll ''proposed policy''.

It's hardly surprising. Our collective appetite for simple, TV-edible answers to increasingly complex questions is voracious.

This leaves pollies with three potential routes.

They're pressured into making a rash ''proposed policy'' that in hindsight they regret (the Prime Minister's early instincts on a carbon tax come to mind).

Alternatively, they ignore the baying mob, tread water, and refuse to commit to any clear policy until they have their ducks in a row (the Libs ambiguity around how they'd technically undo the carbon and mining tax, whilst simultaneously reducing our deficit comes to mind).

Or lastly, and perhaps most excruciating of all, they explain every nuance of their proposed policy, in its achingly long entirety, with all the charisma of a stick (certain panelists on Q&A come to mind).

In the relative simplicity of my world, the reassuring thing with presenting a ''concept'' is that there's an acknowledgement from the outset that my flimsy doodle requires a lot more voices in the room than just mine before even approaching the borders of tangibility.

The name of the game in my industry is ''collaboration''. It's just not credible that a single creative company, however clever, however large, can claim to have all the answers. Here, reaching out to outside brains for help isn't seen as a sign of weakness. It's a sign you know what you're talking about.

Here again, the paths of Canberra and ''adland'' diverge. In federal politics, leaders talk about ''proof of cross-bench alignment'' the way professional golfers talk about ''birdies''. Sure, they happen. But you'd hardly base your game plan on them. Pollies simply aren't good at sharing. Not the limelight. Not territory. And certainly not ideas.

Yet, if the likes of our Woolies, Telstra and Qantas clients believe you need to weave together diverse perspectives just to create a 30-second TV ad, how do the creative voices in Canberra hope to create policies on education, the environment and small business, while keeping so many of the picture cards pinned so close to their chest?

The answer is, they can't. But we all know, the reality is, they do.

From vapour to concrete; concept to policy, in a single mouse click.

That's the speed of the game that we'll be watching play out up to September. And you have to feel for the players. There's crazy pressure to keep up; insane expectations to respond.

The frightening thing is, we're not talking about a game. We're talking about solidifying genuine policies - big, sustainable and real ideas that amplify what makes this country so special, and will ensure our kids have a better run at taking our breath away than we did with our parents.

And that's going to take more than a concept.

David Nobay is co-founder and creative chairman of Droga5 Sydney.