IN soap operas there is a classic shot used to show a character’s existential despair. If the camera operators in the Scottish Parliament were allowed more creative freedom, such framing would have come in handy on Tuesday.

The scene was Anas Sarwar responding to the publication of the Programme for Government. Surveying the Scottish Government’s plans, including restarting work on a White Paper for independence, the Scottish Labour leader spoke for many when he sighed: “Seriously, is that it? Is that as good as it gets?”

Had this been a soap Mr Sarwar would have spoken the lines at night, in a rainstorm, while staring skywards, his arms reaching up to the heavens, begging for comfort in his hour of need. Falling to his knees would probably have been over-egging the misery pudding. Maybe next time.

Though independence only occupied a few minutes in what was a long speech, the mentions were seized upon by critics as evidence of the First Minister’s “obsession” with independence. One newspaper was so angry it took to calling Ms Sturgeon “she”, as in the cat’s mother. “Breaking up Britain is all she cares about” bellowed the headline.

Now, using the she word is generally about as welcome to women as being told to smile because it might never happen. Douglas Ross, leader of the Scottish Conservatives, deployed his own versions of this during the debate, as when he scolded the First Minister for standing while he was speaking, and brushed off one of her interventions with the words: “I think we’ve heard enough”. If looks could lash he would have needed a whole bottle of calamine lotion to tend his wounds.

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While it is amazing anyone should be surprised that the leader of a party founded to secure Scottish independence should mention it regularly, one can sympathise with those whose hearts sank at the prospect of two more years, at least, of referendum talk.

However, there are ways of coping with the problem besides adopting the soap opera/existential despair pose. As part of its occasional commitment to public service, this column is working on a self-help guide, provisionally titled “Zen and the Art of Referendum Maintenance: How Scotland Can Survive the Journey to Indyref2 or Some Other Outcome (Probably Involving Devo Max But We’ll Keep You Posted)”, extracts from which follow.

Chapter one: don’t mention the war

Otherwise known as the Basil Fawlty option, this involves denying the existence of independence as a concept.

Followed by Labour MPs of the 1970s onwards much in the way the dinosaurs refused to believe in asteroids, with similar results. Strategy revived recently by Conservative Prime Ministers who either pretend not to hear any mention of independence, or deploy some variation of “not now”. Ignorance is a hard act to pull off given the extensive coverage of independence in the Scottish media, particularly by those outlets who reckon the public is pig-sick of the subject.

Chapter two: channel your inner Jimmy Reid

When the trade union legend was rallying the workers of Upper Clyde Shipbuilders near the start of their work-in, he told them: “There will be no hooliganism. There will be no vandalism. There will be no bevvying because the world is watching us.”

Scotland would do well to adopt the same calm, sober, keep the heid attitude towards a referendum. Before we know it the months will have passed and it will be all over, minus the shouting. Warning: actually involves not drinking alcohol, so clearly the nuclear option.

Alternatively, when faced with an apparently impossible task, such as quietly getting on with life while the independence debate rages all round, you may find comfort in the Serenity Prayer: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” Otherwise, eating scones helps.

Chapter three: never mind Ian Blackford’s cheese

Inspired by Who Moved My Cheese?, the bestselling guide to coping with change, this technique will appeal to those who find themselves consumed by annoyance whenever the SNP’s Westminster leader sticks his beak in. It used to be thought that no-one could induce more groans among his fellow MPs than Paddy Ashdown, but Mr Blackford manages it at every PMQs. In his haste to score a point against the Tory Government, or anyone who gets his goat, Mr Blackford has a tendency to lash out first and think later, if he really must. A recent example would be calling the UK-wide rise in National Insurance a “Tory poll tax” on Scotland. While he may rightly object to the regressive way of raising the money, £1.1 billion a year will be sent back to Scotland to spend on health and social care. Don’t recall that happening with the poll tax.

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Chapter four: get involved

Working on the principle of “if you can’t beat em, join ‘em”, how about involving yourself in the debate, making it an everyday part of your life?

Tricky one this, so ca’ canny. Start small by going along to the odd march or meeting. Put a sticker in the window declaring your allegiance one way or the other. The bolder among you may wish to hoist a flag outside the house, or join a party. Before long you will be slogging your way through BBC Scotland's The Nine every night in your search for the latest indy news. It might be a nice idea one week to invite the other five viewers round for tea.

Those who try the get involved step might consider taking on the ultimate challenge of reading Scotland’s Future: Your Guide to an Independent Scotland, the original White Paper published in November 2013. See a doctor asap if you start taking it seriously (especially the stuff about oil prices and deficit forecasts).

Chapter five: hold the blooming referendum

Purely in the interests of settling this thing for a generation, or a few years, depending on who wins. Far too sensible an option to survive contact with reality, but we can only hope.