A few weeks ago, I discovered that my Dad had started regularly volunteering for Better Together.

It made me ridiculously happy and proud. I can't imagine any other time when we will be on the same side of any debate. We certainly haven't been before, unless it's been on our Strictly Come Dancing favourites.

It's lovely to be working with him. It's quite sad, though, that that is the only heartwarming moment I've had in two and a half years of this independence debate.

I had hoped that the SNP's White Paper, published last week, would be a huge shot in the arm, that it would invigorate us with vision and would give some reassurance to those who worried about taking that risk.

Unfortunately, the 670 page document is set to have most use as a draft excluder or door stop. It doesn't answer the questions people have raised about vital issues such as currency, pensions and EU membership in an independent Scotland. It simply looks like someone has cut and pasted every wild claim the SNP has ever made about independence and presented it to an incredulous electorate as fact.

In the 650 question appendix, they insult my intelligence by telling me that the time would be the same in an independent Scotland.  It had never actually occurred to me that Alex Salmond might try to rewrite the laws of time, but I suppose anything's possible.

By the end of Tuesday, I'd had my fill of politicians and experts  chewing  over the same ground.  Alex Salmond told us not very much, Alistair Darling said there was nothing new. And that was it. It's not that Darling did or said anything wrong, but he needs to learn to come across less like a head teacher and more like the human being he is.

Worse was to come, though. The debate between Alistair Carmichael and Nicola Sturgeon the next day could, should, have been brilliant. You have two fiercely intelligent, compassionate, engaging, likeable people who should have been able to properly dissect some of the key issues. Nicola didn't want that, though. She would much rather keep the discussion focusing on the Tories or the Bedroom Tax instead of what independence would mean for Scots.

That debate format was always going to result in a shouting match, though. This was the third time Nicola had won through, by using the same tactics on different opponents. The adversarial cross-examination might have its place, but we've seen enough of it for the moment. I have a better idea.

Let's have the next debate around the kitchen table with some ordinary people.  Take my friends Anne and Stevie as an example. The referendum is on her birthday. If we become independent, that'll happen on his. She's pro UK, he's pro independence, albeit with a slightly different and quirkier vision than that presented by the SNP.  They care deeply about the sort of place their three daughters  will grow up in.

Take my niece Emma,  17 next year, casting her first vote on Scotland's future. She isn't sure yet.

Scotland is full of Annes, Stevies and Emmas whose voices are not being heard and who are being increasingly turned off by the lack of imagination on offer from both sides.

It's time to get those politicians out of their Holyrood and Westminster bubbles, out of those tv studios, out of their suits and ties. We need them to actually listen to and talk with Scots, answering their questions in their homes, round their  kitchen tables, in their parent and toddler groups, youth clubs, at their tea dances, on their fishing boats or their farms.

That sort of format would bring out more information, the politicians would have to be on their best behaviour and we might all learn something.

It might not be as fun for a few as a late night rammy in a tv studio, but we need a new perspective that gives ordinary people their say.  I'd watch those sorts of discussions with a much happier heart.