Eagle-eyed viewers of STV's Taggart, the police show in which the famous DI and his team never have to think about trouble on the school bus or drugs talks to third years - or any of the more normal aspects of policing - will have noticed that the four-strong murder squad has been moved from its former base in Strathclyde University's Royal College building to the more vocationally-oriented Central College of Commerce, which is doing duty as the police station.
Central joins a growing club of schools and colleges which have been pressed into service in Taggart and Rebus to represent grim cop shops, all of which should make architects who design educational establishments sit up and think. It's worth noting that STV didn't hire Central's near neighbour, The Met college, perhaps because DI Taggart is in Strathclyde Polis and not in the London force.
A recent newspaper plug for independent schools told how Junior 3 pupils - P3 to 90 per cent of us - in Craigholme School are enjoying a lunchtime philosophy club which considers the great questions of life, such as "Can flowers be happy?", "What does a brain do?", "What is beauty?" and "What is total happiness?" Makes you think.
OBE by any other name
News that East Renfrewshire's education supremo John Wilson, aka the Baron of Barrhead, and Patricia Kennedy, heidie of St Mark's Primary in the same neck of the woods, aka HMIE winner of Scotland's most excellent primary 11 times over, were given OBEs in the New Year Honours List has led to the inevitable suggestion that OBE should now stand for the "Order of Baurheid Educationists" - an elite band indeed.
The death of Sir Edmund Hillary has turned up an amusing tale of how he came to found one of Nepal's first Himalayan schools.
The explorer set up the Khumjung School in the foothills of Everest after villagers promised they would give him the scalp of a mythical yeti. Sir Edmund had become intrigued by tales of the big, hairy creature on previous expeditions and was sucked in hook, line and sinker. But, predictably enough, the yeti scalp turned out to be a fake.
By that time, however, Sir Edmund had already committed money to the school, which went on to become the most sought-after among parents in the region. "Awe, wonder, humility, pride, exaltation" were the feelings the Kiwi reportedly felt upon conquering the world's mightiest summit. But it's good to know that, like many a traveller, he wasn't immune to getting ripped off by the locals.