I don't know about you, but somehow I was glad to learn recently that we have a national statistician – a very presentable lady (with an unusually spelt name) called Jil Matheson. Jil is a fellow of the Royal Statistical Society – a no doubt august body of which I had hitherto remained uninformed.

I was further delighted – if delight is the emotion that causes me to feel nauseous and punch chairs; I may be a little confused on this point – to hear that our honourable co-leader Mr Cameron is soon to spend our money on establishing a national happiness index, possibly involving a neon display visible in the backgrounds of our more mass-market TV programmes like Blue Peter and I'm a Voter, Please Get Me Out of Here. Jil, who was "really looking forward" to taking up her post as our national numbers-botherer only last year, may still be jolly about having achieved an important "life goal" – something which will help her to boost our index.

I've been away from the UK for three months and felt a little out of touch, but I tried to get myself up to speed as I bounced over the Atlantic on a cripplingly expensive boat because I am terrified of flying.

As I landed at Southampton to the usual drizzle, chaos, queuing and the impotent shouting of people with posh luggage, I thought back to the last period of Tory rule and the charm and alacrity with which public utilities and services, which is to say utilities and services which I owned, were sold without my permission and then allowed to fail while becoming exponentially more expensive when I repurchased.

I remembered that our nation's healthcare, its intellectual future, its ability to communicate effectively and to travel easily and its major material resources had been given to the nation's people in part as a measure of prudent self-defence and in part because nothing else would have been even remotely adequate as an appreciation of their efforts in the second world war.

I wondered why a decision made by people who had survived a real and terrible war, as, it happened, against people who routinely tortured other people, or abducted them, or invaded their countries to rape their resources, had been overturned and why, during a made-for-TV-real-casualties-fake-war, what was left of my national inheritance was being torn up and thrown away. I wondered why, for example, "free" prescriptions came to be described as "free", when we've all paid for them in advance.

It would, of course, be lovely if the success of policies was measured by any standard other than the increased wealth of the already sickeningly wealthy and the entrenched comfort of the policymakers themselves. Then again, a percentage of the British public, when asked what would make them happy, might simply respond: "Bigger tits." And, rather more fundamentally, we do – kind of – live in a democracy. We have grown used to leaders who ignore public opinion but even so – we're a democracy.

And it does seem slightly – I don't want to complain – but just the tiniest bit utterly wasteful and mind-bendingly stupid to cobble together a government the majority of UK citizens didn't vote for, to abandon manifesto promises, to dismantle shelter for the poorest and weakest and to generally act like an occupying force and then to turn around and make us pay for surveys that will ask if everyone's having a good time.

Of course, I could just be miffed because I am never surveyed. No one has, at any time, quizzed me about my preferences in any area. However, should Jil want to drop me a line, these are the kind of questions I'd like to be surveyed on:

Question 1:

Do you picture royal statisticians loitering stylishly in frock coats (outside Fortnum & Mason's, rather than Boots) and:

a) noting your answers on parchment;

b) filling their mahogany-lined offices with questions which predict their own responses;

c) handing over perfectly reliable statistical information which is then plaited like hot toffee before being dropped down the back of the sofa to get all furry by any and every passing politician.

Note: You may answer yes to more than one question.

Question 2:

What made you happiest recently?

a) learning that Labour MPs were steadfastly supporting disgraced Phil Woolas and the general principle that lying is as essential a part of an MP's repertoire as, say, larceny, or random shagging;

b) learning that Ann Widdecombe can't dance;

c) learning that England's trees are history. Try not to cry while answering – smudging may invalidate your information.

Question 3:

Do you feel the recent student riots betray anything telling about the happiness of the nation?

a) assorted youths just kicked the crap out of Conservative HQ; does that indicate happiness?;

b) the Metropolitan Police, famed for their caring and tender crowd control methods, did not decapitate a random undergraduate "just to set an example" – they let the window glass tinkle. Does that sound like they're delighted with mass firings and savaged support staff?;

c) look at my face – do I look bloody happy?

Question 4:

What alternative suggestions would you give MPs?

a) I know you're statistically likely to be sociopaths, but could you maybe not act like them, perhaps once a week?

b) you're public servants, how about serving us? We're the public. We pay your wages;

c) go away, go very far away and never come back.