The Genesis Of 'Happiness Anonymous' 

 

The Nottingham Happiness Experiment

 

In my twenties, my friend Sean and I decided to tackle one of life’s great mysteries: were the people of Nottingham... happy?

Naturally, we approached this with the scientific rigour of two philosophy students who’d had one too many pints. Our method? A classified ad in the Nottingham Evening Post. It read something like:

“Happy? So are we! Join ‘Happiness Anonymous’ to share your joy. We’ll be in the bar at the Royal Children pub from 8pm this Wednesday. Wear a hat so we can identify you.”

Yes. A hat. Because nothing says “I’m emotionally stable” like turning up to a pub in headgear for a secret society of joy.

Wednesday arrived. Sean and I took our positions at the Royal Children, hats firmly on, expressions somewhere between hopeful and slightly ridiculous. We were ready. Nottingham’s happiest were surely on their way.

We waited.

And waited.

At one point, a man walked in wearing a hat. Our hearts leapt. This was it — the first disciple of happiness!

He ordered a pint, sat down, and began doing a crossword.

We stared. He stared back.

It was a tense moment.

Eventually, he left.

We never spoke.

No one else came.

Our conclusion? Either no one in Nottingham was happy, or they were happy enough not to respond to mysterious ads involving hats and anonymous joy-sharing.

Still, we considered the evening a success. We’d conducted a social experiment, consumed two pints, and confirmed that happiness, much like good hat etiquette, is elusive.

True story.

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