I must admit I felt a slight twinge of envy when the news broke a month or so ago that Elon Musk had become the world’s first trillionaire. It seemed unfair to have so much money. I practised the piano very hard for a number of years. Where’s my billion? Now don’t get me wrong; I do not begrudge Mr Musk his financial success. He’s obviously a driven genius and has worked very hard for everything he has, but come on folks, a trillion dollars? In the time he takes to sneeze, he probably earns my entire year’s income. Very soon, he won’t need to send up rockets to deliver Starlink satellites; he can just climb up his pile of money, past the stratosphere, and throw them into orbit with his own hands.

The morning that Elon became a trillionaire, I took delivery of two cubic metres of firewood and had to move it down the side of the house to the woodpile. I didn’t look forward to this. I mumbled under my breath that I bet Elon Musk doesn’t have to lug hardwood; someone else would be paid...