Usually, it’s frowned upon to make a drama out of a crisis, but NHS Lothian is doing exactly that as part of its Compassionate Care project. The scheme has provided about 100 Scottish doctors and nurses with acting lessons, to train them in the best and most sympathetic ways to console seriously ill patients and their families.

Research has shown that members of the public occasionally object to some of the old, traditional methods doctors use to break bad news, like shouting, “You’re going to die!”, laughing and pointing, and making them guess the diagnosis through a game of charades. Instead, professional actors are teaching medics to use lots of eye contact, be considerate and, I’m guessing, switch off their Playstation when delivering unpleasant information.

I’m not convinced this is an entirely good idea. Of course, we all want to be treated with care and dignity when we — or our loved ones — are sick, but I’m not sure I want the doctors to actually feel my pain. Taken to extremes, we could end up with a Princess Diana-inspired health service, where staff wander around oozing empathy, getting all weepy and quoting Deepak Chopra. Sometimes, in your moments of direst need, what you really need is someone detached and clinical, who keeps a stiff upper lip when all around are losing theirs, and calmly gives you the facts, however horrendous they may be.

Give me a dispassionate doctor any day. I’ve never yet heard a newly bereaved relative say: “The doctor said he was sorry, but, you know, I could have done with seeing a few more tears.”

Of all the things doctors do, sharing our angst is the least important. And what if some of the practitioners on the Compassionate Care course get carried away by their newfound dramatic talents and start improvising? Some might go all Shakespearian on us (“Alas, poor grandad, I knew him — but not for long”), or start thinking they’re Kiefer Sutherland (“You’ve got a day to live — so I’ve got 24 hours to find a cure!”). I just hope I never go into a doctor’s consulting room and meet a wannabe Clint Eastwood who asks me: “Do you feel lucky? Well, do you?”

Out of this world

How would you like to go on a trip where you spend all your time stuck in a vehicle; the scenery is samey; the food is dry and tasteless; the toilet facilities are so limited, you have to pee where you sit; and a first class ticket, courtesy of Virgin, costs £100,000?

No, it’s not a ride on the West Coast mainline. It’s the sort of experience you’d have if you signed up for a holiday with Sir Richard Branson’s space tours company Virgin Galactic.

If all goes to plan, RAF Lossiemouth will play host to space tourists as early as 2010, when Virgin Galactic intends to send six lucky — and rich — people 50,000 feet into the sky. And, I assume, bring them back again.

Extolling the virtues of Scotland as the site for Europe’s first space port, a spokesman for Virgin Galactic said: “The benefit of Scotland is that we don’t need new infrastructure. The luxury hotels, the distilleries and all the tourism things are there already. It’s perfect.”

Uh oh. So the success of space tourism in Scotland will depend upon the proximity of distilleries, will it? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

If space flights start in five years’ time, how long do you think it’ll be before we hear about the first ever incidence of space rage, in which a whisky-fuelled space tourist lashes out, headbutting the other five millionaires and sending hapless staff and freeze-dried snacks twirling weightlessly around the cabin, while the pilots desperately divert to Cape Canaveral where the space police are waiting?

Eco-friendly ancestors? That's potty

By going back as far as the Stone Age and asking how green was my great great (times a hundred) grandma, this month’s Highland Archaeology Festival hopes to show how eco-friendly we used to be. But were our forebears really such great role models?

They might not have had plastic bags to scatter about the place, but they made up for it by killing off God knows how many species; chopping down the great Caledonian Forest and destroying countless habitats.

And while they might have recycled a bit, you only have to visit a handful of museums before you start to realise that they chucked away an awful lot of broken pots.

A modern tragedy

When I took my toddler to the playground last week, I was confronted with a scene that summed up all that is depressing and tragic about modern Scotland.

Three young girls, all about 15 years old, were sitting on a bench, bellies spilling out of their velour tracksuits. One was smoking a cigarette, another was slugging an alcopop, the third was holding a baby.

It was so quintessentially, heart-sinkingly stereotypical, I thought about going to get my camera. Then I thought, nah, they’ll probably just mug me for it.

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