Lee Boh Ang, who looks like an ageing hippie with his long grey hair and stubble, hovers impatiently on the edge of the audience. He wants to talk about the need for a "cultural democracy" in Singapore and thinks the well-dressed, articulate Tan is hogging the soapbox, ruining his chance of speaking before the 7 o'clock deadline.

Welcome to Singapore's fledgling Speaker's Corner, where the talk is cheap if not free and where the crowds aren't huge and the speakers aren't exactly gripping.

"He's spoken here a few times and always on the same topic," moans Lee, passing out leaflets while watching Tan in full flow. He seems resigned to the fact that he might have to come back another day, but as demand for speakers usually outstrips supply he will certainly get his chance.

The corner generated much local and overseas interest when it was launched on September 1, but this soon sagged as its limitations became clear and the novelty wore off. The pro-government Straits Times initially gave sympathetic coverage to the innovation, then debunked it and now simply ignores it.

Speaker's Corner may be a great idea in a city starved of venues and opportunities for unfettered public debate, but this forum has been sanitized by regulations that put the lid on sensitive subjects--race and religion are taboo and laws on libel and sedition apply. Moreover, anyone wanting to speak must register intent with the police, while megaphones are forbidden.

Home Minister Wong Kan Seng implicitly denies the Big Brother image of government, saying the authorities will not respond to allegations made in the corner. "Let them, literally, have a field day," he says. But the controls undoubtedly deter many potential speakers in a republic not known for encouraging free speech, while others likely fear offending the government.

Accordingly, the corner is no clone of its lively namesake in London's Hyde Park. You won't see politicos spouting bile or religious fundamentalists trying to convert the masses, though it attracts a few crackpots and plans are under way for stand-up comedy. For now, the topics and delivery are generally dull.

But every evening small knots of people, most of them elderly, gather expectantly at the park entrance for their daily fix of free entertainment. They sit on benches, puffing on cigarettes or arguing over the previous day's speeches, and when a speaker finally steps forward a cheer of relief goes up.

The diehards, such as amateur orator Prem Singh, are determined to keep things going. "We should never let this corner die," he told the small appreciative audience that had gathered one muggy evening to listen to his rapid-fire delivery on the riveting topic of life in a Singapore apartment block.

"We haven't reached critical mass yet," says Singh, acknowledging the corner's main problem: "It's the same old speakers." They include brokerage director Tan, who shows up regularly on Friday and the weekends with his rant against laws that sanction jail for Singaporeans who, wittingly or unwittingly, rent space to illegal immigrants.

"I'll keep speaking here until there is some change," Tan says, perhaps naively given the government's stated policy of not responding to issues raised at the corner, "I know people say I'm boring, that I'm repeating myself. But I don't care."

Most of the listeners don't seem to care either. For them, any speaker is better than no speaker.