The Courier & Advertiser (Perth and Perthshire Edition)
What happened to UN International Day of Happiness on March 20?
IT SOMEHOW slipped by without my noticing, but last Thursday was the United Nations International Day of Happiness. Did I experience a sudden, inexplicable glow of rose-tinted warmth, a burst of gleeful exhilaration? Er, no. I’m sure I’d remember that.
It would have been a great idea to consult my diary for the entry of March 20 2014. A s kids, we were always given a diary for Christmas. But being kids we lacked the patience to write anything in them after the first week.
So no help there. A lthough it was only seven days ago, I had to rack my brains to recall the events of those 24 hours and, having racked, I was no further forward. This must be the UN’s fault. Maybe they chose the wrong date, or did they mean that only the UN was intended to be happy then?
Further research was required so I turned to Mr Google. “Was the United Nations happy on March 20?” I inquired.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “I don’t believe it was a good day at the office for the Secretary General, Ban Ki-moon.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “What happened?”
“Wait a minute,” he responded. There was a sort of rustling noise as he leafed through the pages of Ban Ki-moon’s diary. “Hm,” said Mr Google, “that was the day he left NewYork for Moscow to persuade President Putin that it was not a good idea to have Russian troops in Crimea.”
Oh dear, then. “Not an International Day of Happiness at the office for the Secretary General?”
“I think you could say that,” agreed Mr Google.
I pondered. “Do you think Mr Ban Kimoon would have told Mr Putin that he was infringing the International DoH? Turning it, in fact, to an International Day of Unhappiness? A nd did President Putin not drop to his knees and sob and say how sorry he was to have spoiled everything, especially on March 20, when the UN had decreed worldwide euphoria?”
More rustling sounds. “There’s nothing in the diary to that effect,” reported Mr Google. “Oh – but here’s some good news. Before he left for Moscow, the Secretary General was visited in his ivory – sorry – NewYork tower by a Mr Ofer Leidner. That would have cheered him up.”
“Who that?” I inquired. “A nd how so?”
“You must have heard of Mr Ofer Leidner,” tut-tutted Mr Google. “Everybody knows him who’s followed him on Twitter.”
“I don’t follow anybody on Twitter,” I said bleakly. “Life’s too short. So kindly give me a few details.”
There followed the sound of key strokes as Mr Google “followed” Mr Leidner on wherever. “He’s a tech entreprenreur,” Mr Google reported, “who helped to set up a website which can measure happiness scientifically. A lso he’d like to be a DJ helping people to dance their faces off. That’s what it says here anyway.
“He had a meeting at the United Nations, but it couldn’t have worked. Ban Ki-moon decided that he’d have to go to Moscow anyway.”
I thanked Mr Google for his help. “I couldn’t have discovered this stuff without your help,” I said. “That’s not to say I believe any of it.”
“Thanks,” said Mr Google. “Have a nice day.”
So far, International Happiness Day does not seemed to have lived up to its promise. But there was something else I was to discover.
On that day of Thursday, March 20 2014, it was the start of the National Cherry Blossom Festival in the United States of A merica. There was a party to celebrate this in Washington DC. To attend the event you’d have had to wear a pink frock or a pink tie and hand over $200 for a ticket.
I contacted my friend Walter who lives in Michigan, where they grow so much of the fruit that they call it the “Cherry Republic”. I asked: How did the Cherry Blossom Festival go?
“Nah,” he drawled (if you can drawl on email), “that’s just Washington. The cherry blossom comes out a month earlier than it does here. Ours is better though, as long as there’s no frost.” “Have a good day,” I said. “You’re kidding,” he said. It was snowing. Still looking for evidence of the UN International Day of Happiness, I discovered that East London (the locus of the Eastenders TV soap) had been voted the worst place in Britain to live and the lovely village of Comrie, Perthshire, had held a meeting about flood defences.
A h well, there’ll be another day of happiness along next year.