Just as other groups have subverted vicious derogatory words, it really is high time we reclaimed "common". In that spirit, I felt wonderfully common, indeed militantly so, when I watched former Apprentice candidate Katie Hopkins on This Morning, telling Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughby why she wouldn't allow her children to play with other children with "low-class" names such as Tyler, Charmaine or Chardonnay.

In Hopkins's view, a name was a useful short cut in her important life, providing vital information on a child's social status. Her daughters would never be allowed to befriend a Chardonnay, brayed Hopkins. She may have said more but I had to go and put my head under the cold water tap. Kudos to Schofield, Willoughby, and the other guest, author Anna May Mangan, for marking Hopkins's card. But I have to disagree with Mangan that what Hopkins said was "dated". Depressingly, it felt all too current.

In some ways, it's true, Hopkins does seem to have hatched out of a time pod from the 18th century. She doesn't seem to realise that the people most likely to give their child an unusual name are celebrities, who are then emulated by regular parents. Therefore, the blame line, if there needs to be one, generally goes back to fame, not class, but even then only if the parents find the name suitable (I don't recall "Apple" started a naming stampede).

Then there are personal reasons. My first daughter was named Erin in reference to what I'd pretentiously decided were my "Irish roots". My other daughter was named Amy, because she'd had a rough time being born and it means "beloved". To think of these personal reasons, or anyone else's, colliding with another parent's noxious playground snootiness is incredible.

Despite what Hopkins thinks, name fashions can be fun, a barometer of changing times. Elsewhere, serious studies have been done on the socioeconomic impact of names, such as the one by Malcolm Gladwell, which manages to explore the topic without descending into ugliness, snobbery and ersatz social engineering.

But this isn't even the worst of it. It's tragic that Hopkins feels this way – mainly for her. You've got to pity a woman who can't even arrange a play date without spite knotting up her soul. However, the fact that Hopkins felt empowered to air this opinion may say more than we'd care to admit, not only about the undercurrent of hatred of the poor in Britain, but also its growing confidence and visibility.

Hopkins is by no means the first to adhere to name discrimination. Such people exist – they operate their personal caste system, with names and everything else, as a means of boosting their innate snobbery. It's their fig leaf of one-upmanship, and let them have it – they're usually too pathetic to worry about.

Where it becomes frightening is an event such as this. On one level, it's just a row on morning telly, but still, this is the mainstream. It brings it home that, for some people, it's not just the adult poor, the so-called "lower orders" they find disgusting, repellent and subhuman – it's also their children. The toxic drip-down effect is such that now even a child is considered fair game to be mocked, shunned and ostracised by adults, even for the fact of their names.

However Hopkins justified it, this came across as outright bullying of children via their class. There was a time when, if not decency, then social pressure at least might have stopped people such as Hopkins daring to voice such a prejudice against children, or the parents who doubtless lovingly named them. As Willoughby marvellously said to close the interview: "Oh stop!" – but that's unlikely to happen soon.

It would seem that, for some people, attacking the grown-up poor isn't enough any more – they're coming for their children.

Need some shed time, guys? Take as long as you like

It seems that men are escaping to their sheds in order to avoid their partners. What they are actually doing in those sheds varies (pottering, pursuing hobbies, staring at the walls, crying), but evading the women in their life is a big part of the attraction.

Eight out of 10 men, a new survey suggests, say that their relationships are better for having a "man space" and six out of 10 women agree.

Does that mean that four out of 10 women disagree, that they are standing in the way of a man and his shed, one of the most beautiful human/garden structure relationships in the history of civilisation? Who are these cruel and unusual women?

I also question the male bias of this survey. It's all about men escaping from women. It doesn't take into account the many women sending men out to sheds and therefore earning a little "woman space". So, men escape from women to sit in a draughty, creosote-stinking, rodent dropping-infested shed, while women escape from men by remaining in a nice comfy home with all the amenities? Isn't it great when a system works so well for both genders?

Soft-boiled Clegg is a fine one to talk

Nick Clegg has said that all electronic devices such as mobile phones and iPads have been banned from the table chez Clegg at mealtimes, with the emphasis placed on human interaction. A noble thought. Come to think of it, no one should be tweeting, gormlessly reading emoticon-strewn texts, downloading amusing videos of cats falling over or noisily playing Nintendo games at the table. That goes for the children, too.

However, are Kindles and other forms of e-readers also banned? As a child, I always wanted to read a book at the table. It was one of the great pleasures of life to munch and read and there was plenty of interaction with the characters on the pages. If Clegg were my dad, would he have some kind of problem with that and, by extension, my vibrant inner life at the top of The Magic Faraway Tree (a different land every week!)?

It always seems to be the case that the person using the device is deemed ill-mannered and uncultured, but let's flip that for a moment. Whatever the electronic device, there's arguably a case for assessing the quality of the human interaction on offer before being made to feel morally obliged to give up one's electronic toy of choice. It could even be perceived as the height of arrogance to expect people to arrive entertainment-free at the table. Especially if all you have to fill the void is some droning repetitive monologue that nobody in their right mind would be interested in.

It seems to me that a deal should be struck. People such as Clegg are keen for everyone to put down their electronic devices before they come to the table. Fine, but, in turn, they have to promise to be more interesting.