IT’S the time of year to which we all look forward: publication of the annual United Nations World Happiness Report. Hooray. Let joy be confined. Britain, an agglomeration of different countries, came 17th out of 149 this year, which isn’t bad (though it was 13th last year).

For the fourth year in a row, the happiest country was named as Finland. This sometimes strikes Scots as odd: aren’t they just dour drunks like us, freezing their butts off in an endless winter? Nope. For a start, they get better summers than us, as all the Scandinavian countries do. And their cold is a dry cold, not the soul-sapping, bone-dampening dreichness that we get.

True, like us, they tend to drink to get drunk rather than as an accompaniment to meals, as happens in hot countries. But, in other respects, they’re quite different from us. They don’t moan all the time. Don’t say much at all, apparently.

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Without wanting to rain on anyone’s parade. I don’t see meteorology getting much, if any, weighting in the World Happiness Report, which is odd given how much weather hones the personality – which is why Scotland and Ireland are so full of bitter people.

The factors which are considered include social support, personal freedom, gross domestic product, income inequality, levels of corruption, age of population, confidence in public institutions, whether the country is an island, whether the head of government is a woman, and even whether lost wallets are handed in.

This year, dealing with Covid-19 was also taken into consideration, so further factors included proximity to infected countries and knowledge from previous epidemics. All of which is fine and valid. However, the problem with these surveys is that, using data from Gallup, they also ask people for their own assessment of their countries.

The trouble here is that the Scandinavians, who took five out of the first seven places, tend to be more patriotic than us and in a decent, moderate, contented way. You don’t find folk in Finland saying: “I’m a proud Finn but …” Or “I think it would be better if we were ruled from Stockholm.” They haven’t been unhinged by 300 years of colonialism. They don’t suffer from Stockholm Syndrome.

So they give their own countries the thumbs-up, and who can blame them? I don’t know much about Finland other than having a Finnish gym buddy, and he’s a fine fellow, a giant of a man with the gentlest of natures. Oh, and I’ve read all the Moomin books and even listen to them on audio recordings.

On YouTube, I like to take walking tours through small and, to me, hitherto unknown towns in Scandinavia, because they are just so cosy, clean, colourful and beautiful. I remember once, in the actual real world, being on a tour of Norway which was so perfect that, in the end, I was glad to see an industrial estate. (That said, the lack of farm animals outdoors was disturbing – we Scots from an island broke into cheers when finally we saw a flock of sheep).

The other notable aspect of the World Happiness Report is that, with the relative exception of the Netherlands (population 17.3 million) every one of the top 10 countries is small. Three of the Nordic countries, including Finland, have almost identically sized populations to Scotland’s 5.4m (with only Sweden considerably higher on 10.2m). The others range from 0.36m (Iceland) to Austria (8.9m).

Many of these countries have fewer resources than Scotland which, alas, is uniquely incapable of running its own affairs because of its bad weather, neds, lack of confidence, unruly hair, ingrained sense of inferiority, respect for Boris Johnson, poor communication skills, and, among the men, various sexual problems. Though that may just be me.

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It’s a shame really. We could be happy like the Finns. We could reduce income inequality and hand in lost wallets. But we are lost souls, drinking to keep our spirits up, fighting each other, wiping a sleeve across our dripping noses as snell winds and dank smirr dispirit us.

Make my days

ONE way any society could be happy is to work less. The Scandinavians famously have their work-life balance sorted and never fell for the presenteeism that blights (or blighted pre-covid) the British workplace. I remember a party of Danish newspaper folk coming to see a newsroom where I worked. They thought we were mad but, worse still, sad.

This week, a Cambridge University study reported that the happiest folk among 5,000 polled were part-time employees working just one or two days a week. Professor Brendan Burchell said: “Why do we think working 40 hours a week is normal?” Good question.

We’ve had this 40-hour malarkey for aeons now, and it’s time something was done about it. If you cut out the faffing about and meetings, most jobs could be done in half the time.

There’d be more time for play. You could tidy the house, read a book, introduce yourself to the kids. You could just chill – lie in a hammock, like I do. It’s better than working.

Ye olde snail on goat meme

I WOULDN’T have been happy to live in the Middle Ages. Everything about it was horrible. Artworks of the time depict horrible people in horrible jester’s outfits tilling the land in long pointy shoes.

They had harlequins, something I’ve always found sinister, as I do clowns. And they had contagions. At least we don’t get these any more. And, if you think today’s television is bad, imagine having to check Ye Radio Times to see if anything was on the tapestry.

You say: “Well, at least they didn’t have cyclists.” True, but they had arrogant horsemen, the cyclists of their day, riding roughshod over everyone. They didn’t have mobile phones or Twitter, though we learned this week that they did have a meme.

It consisted of an ornament of a praying knight in a helmet emerging from a snail shell balanced on a goat. I see. Possibly, it means the knight is a coward or a dumb-ass but, according to the British Museum, no one really knows.

In the Middle Ages, though, it had them holding their sides with laughter. Horrible pillocks, in their stupid pointy shoes.

Time in loo

PUBLIC lavatories could help alleviate loneliness, according to a Westminster report. I don’t think the All-party Parliamentary Group on Loneliness is saying public lavvies are a good place to meet people. But they will encourage those with liberal bladders to get out and about when everything returns to abnormal.

The group also recommends “loneliness proofing” housing developments and public transport through more green spaces, playing areas and local buses. All these things were better in the 1950s than they are now. It’s called progress.

Another thing you rarely find now are clocks in public places. Even pre-lockdown, I never went anywhere in case I found myself marooned in a place where I could not tell the time. It’s a sign of the times that, often now, you have to try and tell the time from the position of the Sun, as these pointy-shoed pillocks did in the horrible Middle Ages.

You say: “Why not just look at your mobile phone or watch?” Unhand me, madam! I’m not taking one of these new-fangled contraptions with me when I’m out trying to enjoy myself at the mall.

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