Who is the happiest in Britain?

The release of the data on Britain's wellbeing shows some interesting trends

The Office for National Statistics has today published a huge amount of data from the UK’s first annual national wellbeing statistics. This now gives us a base line to compare to in the future but today’s stats only serve as a snapshot. In the next round we can see who is getting more or less happy but for now, comparing people with each other is as interesting as it gets.

We’ve taken the raw data and made some graphs and charts to illustrate a few things we thought you might find interesting. Firstly, the type of job you do makes a big difference to how you rate your sense of wellbeing and whether you feel what you do in your life is worthwhile.

There’s a huge premium for people doing caring and working in leisure in terms of feeling like what they do is worthwhile. It’s also interesting that professionals are happier than managers.

But whether you have a job in the first place makes even more difference to how you rate your sense of wellbeing and whether you feel what you do in your life is worthwhile.

People living in different parts of Britain have different levels of life satisfaction. Looking at the average rating of satisfaction, we’ve made a table that shows the fifteen most, and the fifteen least satisfying places in Britain.

We were struck by how rural the most satisfied parts of Britain are and the extent to which the least satisfied correlates to areas of persistent poverty and deprivation.

We were also struck by the gender divide in that data. It shows that women have both higher life satisfaction and higher self-reported anxiety. Anyone would think that women take life more seriously than men.

Finally, we were struck by the way that satisfaction and whether you feel what you do in your life is worthwhile changes with age. It seems that from your late teens until your mid-twenties it’s all downhill but life gets better until you hit forty. Then it plummets and its lowest during your 50s. Life “begins” again at sixty but then satisfaction falls again once you reach eighty.

So what? Well, we like graphs and charts and we’re interested in what the differences between people tell us about what we might do differently in future.

Over the past few months IPPR North and Carnegie UK Trust have been looking at other places that have sought to make wellbeing central to their approach. The UK is now at the vanguard of the debate about how to measure people’s wellbeing.

The data published by the ONS today provides us with high quality and detailed measures to work with. The next stage of the debate has to be about how we translate these measures into policy making practice. It is only when these measures find their way through into the policy making process that the policy makers’ cliché about what you measure being what matters will be true.

Tony Blair, looking very, very happy in 1996. Photograph: Getty Images

Richard Darlington is head of news at IPPR and tweets as @RDarlo. Imogen Parker is a researcher at IPPR and tweets as @ImogenParker.

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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times