All hail the Happiness Tsar

There are many things that keep me awake at night. Foremost amongst these, obviously, are the warped thoughts and imaginings of my own diseased mind. Then there is the concerned voice of my social conscience, fretting about the future of the human race and whether the planet is doomed to disappear forever in a coughing cloud of our own carbon monoxide poisoning. More recently, thanks to my newly acquired impairment, there has also been the thorny issue of whether I’ve accidentally left the gas hob on and if I can really be bothered to get out of bed to check when it means putting my bloody prosthetic leg on again.

However, since his rise to infamy and position of immense national importance, there is one particular shadowy figure that has frequently kept me from blissful slumber. His name is Dr John Reid MP and, God help us, he is the Home Secretary - the fourth most powerful person in the United Kingdom after the Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Graham “Oh go on then, give me another primetime series because I’m really not on TV enough” Norton.

But why, I can hear you asking, does John Reid keep me awake and in such a state of almost catatonic terror? Well, have you looked at him lately? Have you heard him speak? Have you pictured him, as I all too frequently have, loitering down a dark alley? Have you felt the clammy sensation of cold sweat on your brow as you imagine him slipping on a pair of black leather gloves, picking up a knuckle-duster or a monkey wrench from his toolbox of punishment equipment, and then lying in wait for the next reprobate or hoodie who dares to trespass on his manor? Have you thought about what it would be like to be a foreign visitor to this apparently blessed and sceptred isle who has inadvertently outstayed the duration of their visa, only to be woken in the dead of night by a text message on your mobile phone, no doubt sent personally by the fearsome man himself from his steel-clad bunker in Airdrie and Shotts, warning you in no uncertain terms that you should get the hell out before his lads come round and break your legs? No? Oh, it’s just me then.

The good news for my tired eyes and frayed nerves is that having probably deemed himself unable to carry out some of the fundamental tasks required of a Home Secretary - such as keeping a lid on the prison population, deporting foreign inmates rather than simply releasing them back into blissful freedom, and making sure that the Home Office doesn’t just implode in utter chaos - John Reid has decided to resign from the Cabinet and return to the back benches. Let joy be unconfined. From his position of far less responsibility he will be able to carry on serving his constituency, spend more time with his family, and probably indulge in some of his favourite (alleged) pastimes, such as terrifying small children and kicking over pensioners whilst they stand queuing at bus stops.

However, should Dr Reid find himself at a loose end, I have a suggestion for him. In the course of doing some internet research, I recently discovered that the Government has a so-called ‘happiness tsar’. Brilliant. Just brilliant. We actually have a person specifically in charge of ensuring that we’re happy. Who knew? In my humble and ill-informed opinion, I say that the Prime Minister should sack the anonymous and eminently forgettable Labour peer who presently occupies this vital post, and put John Reid in his place. Could there be a more perfect job for our former Home Secretary than to be in charge of people’s happiness? I think not. I can already imagine him turning up at my front door accompanied by two heavies armed with baseball bats, his square-jawed face wreathed in a smile that looks more like a Pit Bull terrier chewing a wasp, before he grabs me round the neck, twists me into a head-lock and menacingly orders me to be happy … or else.

Oh dear. I think the nightmares might be trapped in my subconscious for some time yet to come. Maybe I’ll try and picture the calming countenance of a far less terrifying figure. Hannibal Lecter. Joseph Stalin. Vlad the Impaler. Norman Tebbit. Graham Norton.

Yes, I’m feeling better already. John who?