Never mind The Plan – here's how to get happy

I'VE accidentally discovered the secret for finding happiness in Guernsey and I'm going to explain how you too can become happier in your daily life.

A few weeks ago pain began to invade my right hand and within a few hours had reached the excruciating level when even this tight Guernseyman felt it best to pay up and visit the doctor.

After painfully parting with my money (literally, because I attempted to use my bad hand to enter the PIN number) and then enduring some equally painful plying of fingers, I was grateful to collect my strong pain meds and scuttle off home.

The next few days of focusing 100% on not moving my fingers, shouting at any man, woman or beast moving in my direction and generally turning into an even grumpier old man led to me successfully going cold turkey on social media.

Hell, not just social media – anything happening beyond the walls of the room I was currently in held no interest for me at all.

My former constant companion was left idle and ignored, plugged into its charger and functioning only when I demanded that Siri told me the time.

Gradually the pain subsided from excruciating to merely intolerable and I was drawn by force of habit to the iPad. My poor swollen, twisted hand had neither the dexterity nor the strength to be of any use at all.

I turned to daytime television and tried to focus on UK politics and the American election, but Judge Rinder and Loose Women seemed more of a coping mechanism and helped dull the discomfort. Netflix had a surprising number of Christmassy romances, which helped me to drift off into painless sleep.

More doctor's visits and a trip to the PEH still couldn't solve the mystery of the balloon hand but did get me out meeting people. And the pain medication was obviously dulling my addiction to Guernsey politics without me actually realising it.

All sorts of important things were being discussed by the States and probably social media was alive with angst. But I was free of it for the first time in four years and, except for screaming like a baby when a fly landed on my bad finger, I was becoming content.

For about two weeks I was completely free of self-righteous indignation from bleeding heart liberals. I was living in a world where everything was just fine except for my hand. The plight of polar bears and the inhumanity of filling holes with rubbish didn't seem to crop up during the course of a normal day.

When I could bring myself to look outside, birds were flying, rabbits were playing in the meadow (actually, mostly avoiding being pounced on by Zero or Gravity, our two rabbit-loving cats) and the biosphere at Old Farm looked as diverse as usual without the help of a duly appointed officer.

It was good to listen to the fireworks and imagine the pleasure they were giving to young and old without being reminded of the poor pets and other animals and the calls for imposing controls. Social media was probably red hot around budloe night but it all just passed me by.

As I became more accustomed to the gammy hand I was forced back to the iPad to keep up to date with emails – work must go on. Even though very awkward and something of a balancing job, I did revisit Twitter and Facebook out of habit.

It was pleasing to note that a few of my Twitter followers had worried about me for a couple of days.

I started to read the political tweets and, even though somewhat sedated by strong medication, found I couldn't bear to read them when I still couldn't manage to type responses fast enough. Passively reading the outpourings of tax-and-spend rhetoric was too much to bear, so it was back to Judge Rinder.

Clearly politics has become an important part of my life and removing it suddenly had, without me really being aware of it, created a void within me. But there was no craving to get back into it. As I became a bit more functional I caught scraps of information here and there, giving me clues as to what was going on.

But even the debate on the Grand – but completely useless – Plan couldn't tempt me back.

I was free of them and the void was filled with happiness and contentment.

And that, my friends, is the way to achieve happiness in Guernsey and perhaps really make it the happiest place on Earth.

Just zone out the politicians and live your own life, not the terrible one they tell us we live in.

Unfortunately, the last few weeks of isolation in rehab is turning out to be a false hope. My one-handed typing skills are improving and daytime TV is losing its attraction.

I secretly listened to Sunday's BBC phone-in and I know the 11-plus is back up for debate. Will I be able to resist?

I fear my happy time is coming to an end. But there is still hope for you.