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Have you heard this one, then? “A banker, a teacher, a Tory MP and a Daily Mail reader are at a table. On the table are ten biscuits. The banker scoffs nine of them. The MP turns to the Mail reader and whispers: ‘Watch out! That teacher’s after your biscuit’.”

Have you seen this Facebook update? “Remember when local government workers, teachers, lecturers, policemen, ambulance staff, nurses, midwives, doctors and firemen crashed the stock market, wiped out banks, took billions in bonuses and paid no tax? No? Me neither.”

Or this? The Journal of Personality and Social Psychology says a person’s “agreeableness” has a negative impact on their earnings. Agreeable qualities include compliance, modesty and altruism; “disagreeable” people (those who “aggressively advocate for their position during conflict”) get more promotions and earn, according to the 9,000 sample, an average of £4.4k a year more than their nice competitors. In fact, the only thing worse than being nice is being a woman. And that fact is really disagreeable. So, in our world, nice people, or people with lumpy bits, do finish last.

But I bet you have heard this: Nick Clegg, like an avenging angel, has revealed that executives may get their pay curbed so the unrestrained private sector can share our pain.

They deserve it, of course, because they’re all utter bastards.

If you believe The Journal of Personality and Social Psychology.

Does it all mean the tide’s on the change? Many seem to sniff in the wind the scent of a new world order where individual and corporate greed are curbed – many of them have been quoted in this column in recent weeks.

I’d like to think so. Nick Clegg’s planned curbs may be a good indicator: in our world as we know it there is of course no chance whatsoever of his threats being anything more than empty posturing. If the world is changing, if there are votes in decency and fairness, then his plans may stumble as far as the House of Commons, where the Tories will throw them out. If we live in an age of miracles, private sector greed will be made accountable and, for example, we won’t all continue to be the victims of unrestrained corporate troughing every time we pay an energy bill.

We shall see.

In the meantime, one last thing from a week to make you think. Did you see this? According to The Guardian, a quarter of all homes are now in fuel poverty (that is, households spending more than 10 % of total income for adequate light and warmth). A statistic of which the free market deregulators who privatised our public services must be so very proud.

No reverse gear

Two years ago we became the ashamed owners of a four-wheel-drive car and I became one of those drivers I won’t reverse for. Now we have two 4x4s, and I’m going to have to drive in permanent reverse gear.

It’s the winters wot done it: two principled eco-aware climate change believers prepared to damn the United States to hell for selling the world down the river have two two-litre 4x4s for fear of frost and ice. We all have our breaking point.

We won’t complain about paying a road tax premium and we refuse to be considered fuel guzzlers as we do about six miles a day between us. Nevertheless, we have both invested in those Groucho Marx disguises – false specs, big nose, bushy tache – lest we are recognised.

Bothered and bewildered

Talking of feeling ashamed of yourself, thanks to those Brothers and Sisters who’ve kindly offered help and support this week as I try and find a way of coping with my lunatic dog, especially Sister Fiddle.

Having a neurotic mutt is trying in the extreme, and having a neurotic mutt you’re failing to help makes you feel useless.

I’ve listened to and read thousands of words but by now they’re all contradicting each other – “your collie needs eye contact”; “on no account make eye contact with your collie” – and I’m painfully aware that all my idiot pooch knows to do with books is eat them or pee on them.

However, always willing to try and never one to give up (that’s what supporting Scotland at rugby does for you), I’m off to bed with Sister Fiddle’s dog whisperer. I promise not to pee on it.

Anybody know where I can get prozac for dogs? Or dog owners?

Did the Earth move?

Did the earth move for you? No? Not even a rattle in the wardrobe?

No. Us neither. Poor old Cornwall. Even our earthquakes are insignificant.