Jeremy Clarkson was beetling along the M40, doing 70mph in his distinctive green Mercedes, with what looked like a mobile phone clamped to his left ear. Probably unable to believe his good fortune, another driver pulled alongside while his girlfriend snapped the infraction and - kerching! Sold to the tabloid front page: “Berk in a Merc”.

What is surprising is that Clarkson seemed surprised. Accosted at home, he came over all of a mumble and slammed the door. Behind it, he no doubt had a moan about how millions do the same every day - which is undeniable but not the point.

You can get away with breaking traffic laws, but not if you are a television star. You can snaffle a hooker, but not if you are the Governor of New York. You can tip drunkenly out of nightclubs at 3am, but not if you are third in line to the throne. You can trawl Clapham Common for a bit of rough, but not if you are an MP.

This is nothing to do with having higher expectations for “role models” than Joe Bloggs, either. The reason you cannot get away with such derring-do is that you are more likely to be caught than Mr Bloggs, because you live your exalted life perpetually spied upon by those who are gasping for the chance to dob you in.

People possessed of fame, wealth or power, surrounded as they are by cheers, applause and autograph hunters, always make one critical mistake: they come to believe that the public honestly like them. And perhaps, once upon a time, that was the case - when lower orders knew their place and did not entertain fanciful notions such as all being equal before the law.

Today, however, our wonderful Western culture of meritocracy is riven by tall poppy syndrome: such is the resentment felt towards anyone whose head grows higher than the parapet that he risks having it lopped off. Status, now, is afforded only within the rules of the national sport that builds 'em up, knocks 'em down, then glories in how the mighty are fallen.

It is unedifying, graceless and doubtless curtails what could have been many a productive career. Yet the extraordinary thing is that, although you and I know it happens, as does every sentient soul who ever reads a newspaper, those just ripe for the lopping always seem to be arrogant enough to think that they can beat the system.

They cannot. The only way that anybody may continue to enjoy the fruits of privilege is to keep his head down and nose clean. You want to keep the palace, the title or, maybe, the green Mercedes? Fine. Then bloody behave yourself better than the bloke who has none of them. It may not be fair, but it doesn't sound too bad a deal to me.

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