WHAT a miserable experience. Nobody suggested Census 2011 would be barrels of laughs but quite frankly, on behalf of every solitary Person 1 in the land, it's a real downer.

That sinking feeling descends the moment you tick the 'me' box in question H1 for who usually lives here, because immediately in H2 comes the first reminder that you're Johnny no mates.

Counting everyone you included in question H1, how many people usually live here? Below lurks a mockingly empty white tickbox and you can almost sense the sneer concealed in "everybody you included in question H1". Then to rub it in comes H3. Starting with yourself, (geddit?) list the names of all the people counted in question H2; and if there are more than six you can request a Continuation Questionnaire.

By now you've decided the whole world's having fun in numbers except you, but thankfully we loners get to skip the complicated family tree bit, only to be deflated when they start rubbishing your house.

How many rooms are available for use only by this household? Do NOT count bathrooms and toilets. Hell fire, that's where I'm at my most creative, how dare they dismiss them so casually. But, moving swiftly on, I note in passing that questions involving same-sex civil partnerships outnumber the others five to four. Oh for the simple life eh?

On page eight you must describe your national identity. Snap answers? Stony broke, downtrodden, enslaved by Brussels. They don't fit.

Answer question 26 by admitting you worked last week and you're whisked straight to 32, without even a hint of "well done thou good and faithful servant", and you're back to fretting whether wee George's cuts will leave your kneecaps intact.

And suddenly at the foot of page 10, for you Person 1 the war is over, because the next 22 pages are absolutely nothing to do with us, even though there's a temptation to re-invent an invisible 'pal' from childhood, just to have a visitor A, B or C for the back page.

But do be careful what you wish for, because waiting around any corner could be a team of economists from the Office of National Statistics, ready to herd 200,000 Census survivors into darkened cellars to partake in one of Dave's Wellbeing Debates. Are we satisfied, happy or anxious, when every three missiles thudding into the Libyan sand would buy a new hospital?

Gross Derision Product or happinomics gone mad? You're on your own Dave.