But this is still the lowest number of such deaths in 15 years, and the Scottish executive is keen to take credit for its efforts to keep knives in the kitchen and off the streets.
So the justice minister, Cathy Jamieson, reminded us of the amnesty and tough new sentencing rules that may have contributed to this lessening of indigenous brutality. The bizarre phenomenon of Glasgow neds posing as samurai warriors will become a thing of the past when her ban on the sale of swords comes into effect.
But have the hard men really gone soft, or just retreated into their shell suits? This week’s encouraging statistics, when studied in detail, reveal a depressingly predictable pattern of drunken conflagration in almost 70% of the deaths. When fired up on a cocktail of tranquillisers and cheap spirits, the pugnacious Scot doesn’t need a blade.
One disturbing and overlooked aspect of the figures concerned the second biggest cause of death: kicking and hitting. Fists and boots ended the lives of 24 people, up on 14 the previous year. Chances are, many of those who administered the blows remember nothing of their crime.
Jamieson was as sharp as an outlawed switchblade when she reeled off the executive’s measures against knives. She then mouthed a few blunt platitudes about alcohol.
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Why the starkly different approach? The smoking ban taught the first minister, Jack McConnell, that bold is best. He refused to compromise on health, despite the squeals of protest from the licensed trade and tobacco industry.
But while the executive has restricted access to other harmful products, it is positively libertarian in its approach to liquor. The Licensing Act 2005 should be known as the Lost Opportunities Act. It allows 24-hour licensing in “exceptional circumstances”, but does little to stop drinks promotions by supermarkets and off-sales.
Instead it tidies up the complex licensing process — an administrative detail fascinating to local government anoraks but incomprehensible to the rest of us. The drinks industry also gets until 2009 to prepare itself for a law passed two years ago. Is it really such a delicate flower? After all, there is now one liquor licence for every 230 Scottish adults.
If the executive is minded to be bold on booze, there are plenty of suggestions. Last year The Sunday Times reported the views of John Smith, president of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, who wanted publicans to serve no more than three drinks at a time to customers.
It could also take up a demand by teenagers who petitioned the parliament to raise the price of alcohol. This might be difficult under current powers, but there is nothing to stop Holyrood sweeping cheap cans of cider off the shelves.
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Supermarkets use alcohol as a loss leader. A government really intent on cleansing the nation’s liver could confine off-sales to the unenticing little howffs of old. No more picking up a six-pack when you really went out to buy a packet of cornflakes.
Or how about following the lead of our sober American cousins and raise the legal age for drinking to 21? Over the top? Unrealistic? Not when alcohol- related deaths in Scotland have tripled since 1991.
So far, a bit of Buckfast-bashing by ministers is as close as we get to tough talk. Buckfast is an easy target because it is made by monks, not multinationals. How absurd when the health minister, Andy Kerr, condemns it as the devil’s brew, while supping with big guns like Diageo, Scottish & Newcastle and Tennents to draw up guidelines on a policy of “responsible consumption”. After meeting industry executives recently, he talked about reaching “common ground” . Let’s call it a compromise.
These companies have every right to protect the interests of shareholders. But we shouldn’t kid ourselves it’s for the common good, and neither should Kerr. Working with the drinks industry to reduce sales is like asking British American Tobacco to help enforce the smoking ban.
Booze and blades are Scotland’s scourge. Yet while we tackle knife crime with steely determination, we dance around the alcohol issue with all the deftness of a drunk attempting the slosh on a Saturday night.