IT WAS, said leader of the Scottish Liberal Democrats Willie Rennie, "Day Two of the happy-clappy sect led by Alex Salmond, patron saint of blind optimism".

That seemed a tad harsh coming from the patron saint of sandwich shops.

But then along came high priestess of happy-clappiness, Christina McKelvie to exult: "This is the day, our day, Scotland's day. The day that we can cradle in our arms Scotland's future and hear the infant cries of a new country," which seemed a bit strong, given that all they'd done so far was publish the dullest coffee table book of all time.

But, warming to the child sacrifice, sorry childcare metaphor, she proclaimed: "On September 18, 2014 we will dispatch our child off to a new kind of school, one that recognises the worth of every single infant and gives her wings to fly."

A new kind of school which brings back the tawse, some suggested. Winged children said others, sound a bit like fairies at the bottom of the garden.

Ms McKelvie kept going but the pages of my spiral notebook had become so wet with tears of emotion that my pen ceased to function. I fear she may have added some guff about this being "the most important political document to be produced since our country's nobles appealed to the pope in the Declaration of Arbroath in 1320."

Caught up in the cultist fervour of the moment, what with all the snake handling and fire-walking, I may have imagined that last bit, but you get the drift. It had all got a bit mad by that point, but the debate on the Independence White Paper had started off OK, if something of a re-run of the day before. Mr Salmond ran through his case for extra spending on childcare only working if the tax revenues that flowed from higher female engagement in the workplace accrued to Scotland rather than to the Treasury.

Labour leader Johann Lamont does not join in much of the verbal barracking of some of her troops, but she increasingly uses gestures, such as the index finger twirling at her temple to indicate that she considers Nationalist MSPs to be certified fruitloops.

Her counterpart opposite on this is Finance Minister John Swinney, master of the exasperated harrumph. Indeed, if exasperated harrumphery was a Commonwealth Games sport he could lead a domestic gold-winning team next year.

But when he and Labour's Drew Smith summed up proceedings, this comprised the debating highlight of the day, one Holyrood veteran who has always been a fine debater up against a relative newcomer who is shaping up as a real talent. Their exchanges were worthy of a serious issue, a credit to the Parliament.