Robert McNeil: Happiness is something that only happens to other people

Published on Monday 11 May 2009 21:21

DISTRESSING developments are taking place in Bhutan, the admirably backward-looking Himalayan country 3,000 miles from the Welsh border. As reported previously, the Buddhist enclave eschews Gross National Product in favour of Gross National Happiness (GNH).

Prime minister Jigme Thinley (trans: Jimmy Thingwie) has identified his country's enemy as "greed, insatiable greed", and points to the mess the materialistic nations of the so-called developed world are in now.

You may say: "What mess? I've still got my television." It is an excellent observation, perceptive too, as this question of television is germane to the point of this story, which I will come to much further down.

But, first, a bit of background. The notion of GNH was developed in the 1970s by the former king, Jigme Singye Wangchuck (trans: Singin' Jimmy Arbuthnot). I say "former king" because Singin' Jimmy resigned in the belief that his country would be happier as a democracy. Funnily enough – remember, all is paradox – his subjects weren't very happy aboot this.

In a compromise, Jimmy gave the throne to his son, Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck (Jimmy Caesar Geranium Blenkinsop), who last year became constitutional monarch – like the Queen of Britainshire, powerless and therefore popular. At the same time, the country adopted a new constitution, in which government programmes are judged, not by economic benefit, but by the happiness they produce.

But how can you measure happiness? Easy: by the four pillars, nine domains and 72 indicators, of course. You say: "Hmm, sounds challenging. How do they work?" Well, it's not really quite simple. The four pillocks of the economy, culture, the environment and good governance are broken down into nine domains – psychological wellbeing, ecology, health, education, culture, living standards, time use, community vitality and, er, good governance again – each of which is analysed using the 72 indicators. The indicators include feelings of selfishness, jealousy, calm, compassion, generosity, frustration, and suicidal thoughts. Are you with me so far? Oh, you're having suicidal thoughts? Well, that's an indicator. I think you've got it.

A government spokesbuddhist, Kinley Dorji (trans: Alistair Campbell), explained: "We are even breaking down the time of day: how much time a person spends with family, at work and so on." Uh-oh, getting scary now. They've reduced happiness to mathematical formulae and are snoopin' on what you get up to in your hoose or hut.

Sadly, and this brings me to my point, that is likely to include watching television. Ten years ago, the country stupidly lifted its ban on telly-watching and, consequently, the nation's youth have become corrupted by western culture.

According to Snr Dorji, before 1999 if you asked a young person to name their hero, the inevitable response was "the king", much in the way people in this country say "Gordon Brown". After TV was introduced, the answer became: "David Beckham". And the situation has deteriorated since then: "Now it's 50 Cent, the rap artist," lamented Dorji. This is grim news indeed.

However, there is hope. Bhutan banned fag-smoking, as did the Scottish Government, and could yet follow the SNP's hitherto unmet manifesto commitment of banning television by 2012. Indeed, closer links could benefit both countries. Bhutan has one airport and two commercial planes, making it ripe for twinning with Dundee. The east of the country can only be reached from the west after four days' travel through the mountains, much like driving over roadworks on the M8 here.

Traditional dress is worn in both countries, too. Just as everyone in Scotland wears a kilt to work, in Bhutan all citizens wear a kira over their wonju (trans: duffel coat over their tracksuit). However, we cannot ignore the differences. Though it has a population of just 700,000, Bhutan has no desire to be ruled from neighbouring China. Also, there are no traffic lights in Bhutan whereas, in Scotland, there are five for every citizen. But, lastly, governance of Scotland is measured by Gross National Misery, since Scottish people are only happy when they're greetin'. We wish the government of Bhutan well with their happiness project. But it's no' for the likes of us.

Who said eating salad was good for you?

IT was a waste of time yon euthanasia advocate coming to Scotland to show us how to die. Here, two well known, quick ways are: eat a salad or go into a hospital. Hospitals are full of folk who think soap is Satan's mudpack, and it'd be a brave man or burd who entered one without wearing a protective suit and several face-masks.

This was after the authorities lied to us with dictionary definitions about hospitals being places you entered to get well. They've also been brainwashing us with guff about having to eat salad if we don't want to keel over with furred arteries choking our blobular bodies. Now, top reports by dissident boffins reveal that if you don't wash pre-packed supermarket salads, you might end up really ill, and could even be sent to hospital to double the risk. You'll know these salad packs: the ones that tell you there's no need to wash because they've washed them already. Unfortunately, they've washed them in manure.

A study – described as "top" in some quarters – has found that one in every 13 packet salads was contaminated with the superbug, Clostridium difficile. Scientists believe the bug may be spread by animal doofers used as fertiliser or by pickers who don't wash their hands. What a farce. You're best not eating anything that has grown in the soil. Soil is just dirt with worms in it. Stick to the humble pie. The filling is a pleasant mystery and the whole thing is put together in wholesome, stainless steel West Lothian factories by robots, to whom poo is a stranger.