THE doctors, nurses, police, paramedics and firemen who protect our health and safety will be breaking bad news to people somewhere in the Faithful City, and beyond, today.

It's a sad fact, but the cycle of life brings us all into contact with grief and suffering eventually, just as it conjures other trials and tribulations on a daily basis.

It's a fair bet that thousands of us will battle through another Monday, convincing ourselves that tomorrow can only be better. What a luxury.

For 118 Russian families, such an opportunity must seem a million miles away, beyond all hope.

For the past week, the world has been gripped by a drama which belongs in a Tom Clancy novel.

Borrowed wisdom and crash-course expert knowledge have allowed us to pepper conversations about the likely fate of the men trapped inside the submarine Kursk as confidently as some of us have pronounced on the antics of Nasty Nick.

LR5 rescue craft? Yes, we know what that is. The Barents Sea? Not the place you'd choose to be as autumn beckons. No thanks!

In other words, we think we know. In fact, we don't. It's a complete betrayal of the fact that, yes Brother, in general, we enjoy a cosy lifestyle.

Today, we're able to report details like the Kursk's flooded escape hatch, or the deployment of the Royal Navy's LR5. As the picture grows larger, so it becomes more focussed.

In Murmansk, life has been darker, a living nightmare. Or, perhaps, something much, much worse.

Few of us can possibly know how it feels to wait for the moment when divers radio back from the seabed with a chink of hope.

Few of us know how long the wait will feel until the moment when someone tells those families that all hope has gone.

It's probably not what any of us wanted to hear as another week begins, but it's time to count our blessings.