To a list of glittering ­accolades which already ­includes "owner of a £225 biro", ­Manchester Gorton MP Gerald Kaufman recently added the status of clinician. "I've got this ­self-diagnosed OCD," Gerald announced blithely, which makes him do things like request taxpayer reimbursement for an £8,865 state of the art Bang & ­Olufsen television.

Indeed, it is Gerald's condition that forces him to eat the grapefruit part of his daily breakfast from one of a pair of £220 Waterford Crystal bowls, and when his cleaner broke said cut-glass vessel, he promptly claimed for another one. I do beg your pardon: he claimed for another pair.

How have you found this week? Forgive the presumption, for I lack Gerald's skills as a medical diagnostician, but it would seem the British public is in need of anger management. Not anger management in the conventional sense of the term, whereby sufferers are encouraged to temper their rage in rational statements such as: "I feel sad when you spend my taxes clearing your moat. I understand you might have a different point of view. Let's try to work through this coming from a place of love."

No, we have been so extraordinarily provoked on so many different levels that it is becoming difficult to manage one's anger in-tray. There are simply too many righteous furies piling up.

In the old days, one might have got one's MP on the case, but for luminously obvious reasons that avenue seems rather defunct now. I found myself losing the will to live during a phone call to my MP Mark Field's office yesterday, in which I noted the vital importance to his work as an MP of book purchases such as Peter Shilton's autobiography, but wondered after the £3,000 commission for shelves in a home office. Who had built them? Chippendale?

His assistant's response was to giggle. We're all nihilists now.

For many the experience of daily horror began fairly early on in Tony Blair's administration – with his conception, in hindsight – but the pace picked up for all and sundry last year as the spectacular follies of the banking system were revealed. Yet how quickly did credit default swaps give way to duck houses, and other forms of common larceny rather easier to understand.

And this tumultuous period doesn't feel remotely over. Loth as I am to add to that anger in-tray, those of you who had an establishment trifecta are in luck. In a week in which unemployment hit 2.26 million, it emerges that Prince Charles, a man who does not even put the toothpaste on his own toothbrush, got Richard Rogers sacked from the Chelsea Barracks development after two-and-a-half years on a project which the architect estimates could have provided 10,000 jobs. And where do you even start on the repulsively indolent Prince Andrew, who has just blown yet another few grand being helicoptered to a party at his golf club? If the royal family's ludicrous drain on the public purse is not next in line for scrutiny and outcry, then there will be something seriously wrong with us. Already the serfs seem restless, with former planning minister Nick Raynsford describing Prince Charles's intervention as "almost feudal".

And so it is. That the prince should judge now to be the time to be misusing his power confirms that those famously outsized ears are made of tin, and suggests the same ghastly confidence that allowed the rot to set in at Westminster. It's all so après moi le déluge.

But will the deluge come? Are we at that defining moment where the demand for serious constitutional change becomes a business imperative for anyone seeking power, or will things continue as they have before? The signs tend ominously toward the latter. David Cameron has been judged within Westminster to have had a good expenses crisis, which tells you all you need to know about how completely that rotten enclave still fails to get it. It simply will not be sufficiently boil-lancing to flip the government and the opposition, installing as chancellor a man who claimed £47 for two DVDs of his own speech on "value for taxpayers' money".

The noises off are the ones to listen to. "Is he going to be a new Thatcher, which is what the country really needs?" asked Rupert Murdoch of ­Cameron this week. "The UK ­desperately needs less government and freer markets," is ­Murdoch's ruling. Meanwhile Vince Cable voices amazement that ­self-regulation is still deemed the answer, warning that the bankers are getting back to their old ways, delighted to have been superseded in the public outrage by MPs.

And all the while unemployment and the fear of it looms, leaving many too harried and distracted to apply pressure on the governing class. What a savage irony it would be if a system whose intrinsic failings caused these fiascos were to be saved by default, as people struggle to simply weather the misery those same fiascos have caused. But manage our anger we must. Call it a revolution if you like, but the only thing that can fix this hideous, ­many-headed mess is wholesale constitutional change, and those seeking a direction for their fury should be demanding it as rabidly as they dare.