Happy days

There was a piece in the Telegraph last week claiming that nearly two thirds of people over the age of 50 are happier now than at any previous time in their lives. We know there are lies, damned lies and government surveys, and at first sight this seems to be one of the least persuasive polls ever. Who could possibly prefer to be in their fifties than in their twenties, feeling the ache in their bones, realising they have probably had most of the sex they are ever likely to get, and knowing that their personal date with mortality is moving ever closer?

I was just about to cast the paper aside with a Meldrewish ‘I don’t believe it’ when I realised that, actually, absurdly, I really am happier now than I’ve ever been before. Every day when I wake up I feel blessed that I’m no longer drinking and attempting to get through the day with a hangover and the certain prospect of more joyless refuelling.