Radio 2 has spent a good portion of its broadcasting time this week telling me that 70% of us are quite happy despite the global economic and political dramas that are unfurling about us. This, apparently, means that we British have lost none of our stiff upper lip or stoicism since the Second World War engulfed us.
I think (you may think I'm wrong), that in fact we're just burying our dainty little anglo-saxon noggins deep in the soil (we don't have much sand in Wiltshire) and choosing to ignore the state of the planet because, frankly, we just can't cope.
This is why our TV schedules are filled with vacuous reality shows (which I watch) and patronising craft/cookery/DIY shows (which I watch and shout at) and Downton Abbey (which I watch and laugh at) - all of which turn our brains to soppy mush before the news comes on and terrifies us. Sitting down to watch BBC of an evening is becoming a traumatic experience.
We start off quite calmly as long as we avoid the soaps, meandering our way through gentle baking competitions and perhaps a trip around Britain's B&Bs with a bit of bitching along the way and then we're off perhaps to a hospital drama where we know that, eventually, everyone will get seen and won't fall off a waiting list. Then it's 9pm and we're taking a trip to the jungle and watching celebrities eating possum bottoms. If we last till 10pm we have a choice - serious analysis of the day's events with a bit of Robert Peston shouting at us or half an hour of armageddon on ITV with that starey-eyed woman.
I go to bed. It doesn't make me smile.
I don't think I'm happier or unhappier than anyone else. I'm just keeping my niggling doubts and fears to myself. I really don't need George Alagiyah to shake them up just before my head hits the pillow.
Have a good weekend. Turn off the TV.