According to one sour Whitehall source, the only name not on the list is Larry, the Downing Street cat. Otherwise, David Cameron’s back-scratching roll call of honours, his parting "gift" as Prime Minister, is a snapshot of cronies, colleagues and donors. While, unlike the moggy, none of them has been photographed sitting on Mr Cameron’s lap, the 48 he has recommended for titles and awards will already be purring. With Theresa May’s office announcing she will not veto her predecessor’s wishes, an inner coterie of advisors, cabinet members, funders and Remain campaigners has effectively got the cream.

It’s a bit rich, in every sense, and not just because the Remain supporters were about as useful as a mousetrap made of cheese. For years the Tories have tried to persuade us that theirs is the party in which blue and white collar workers can place their trust. Then, overnight, comes proof that beneath the Ryanair flights to cheap Spanish resorts and the oft-worn polo shirts, Dave is still decidedly posh, and hell bent on making sure that his chums continue to rule the roost. As we always suspected, the Government is a self-perpetuating clique.

Thus Mr Cameron, the human loofah, wants knighthoods to be bestowed on staunch Remain supporters such as Philip Hammond and Michael Fallon, a peerage for Gabby Bertin, his director of external relations, and an OBE for his wife’s stylist and aide, Isabel Spearman, with whom it is rumoured Samantha Cameron might soon be going into business. Even more egregious, he has allegedly put at the top of the list two generous donors: Ian Taylor, who has funded the party to the tune of around £1.6 million, including the dosh to help the Better Together and Remain camps, and Andrew Cook, who gave around £1m to the party and £300,000 to Remain. Even George Osborne, whom some blame for the Brexit result, is slated to be made a Companion of Honour.

If it weren’t so blatant an abuse of the system, such a brass-necked class act, it would be funny. After reading this list, anyone who thinks that privilege is dead and that Britain operates on an egalitarian, meritocratic basis must be overdosing on hallucinogens. Is it any wonder that in the EU referendum the electorate wanted to bloody Mr Cameron’s nose, and those of his pals, by voting him out of office? As Paul Flynn, Shadow Welsh Secretary, remarked of rewarding party donors, it would be more honest to put the honours up for sale, and use the proceeds for the NHS. “It might well be a practical policy, and would strip out the hypocrisy. Just let people buy them on the open market.”

How true. And how sad. In the same month in which there have been calls to strip Sir Philip Green of his knighthood for his venal, self-serving mismanagement of BHS, the honours system is already looking decidedly tatty. That it seems likely Sir Philip will manage to cling onto his title, unlike the disgraced Fred Goodwin, shows the process to be a tawdry and even disreputable business that has no place in a fair, open democracy. When you consider that Jimmy Savile and Rolf Harris once made the grade, you question the credentials of those who put candidates forward for selection as well as those they elect. Is this a club you would wish to join or be associated with?

I can’t be the only one who goes out of my way to avoid the words Lord or Lady when introduced to a life peer. It’s not just that I am unsure of the correct form of address, but that the whole thing is so preposterous I am surprised anyone takes it seriously. By contrast, inherited titles, while undoubtedly an anachronism, are no reason to think less of the holder who fell heir to the rank. With life peerages, however, it is different. As lists of those who have refused to accept a title show, it is possible politely to say no. Refuseniks, who include John Cleese and Alan Bennett, Polly Toynbee and Mark Rylance, add to their distinction with their principled stance. How telling that it usually takes a government leak for the names to be made public. Could the establishment fear that spurning their baubles might be contagious?

Probably not. The Hyacinth Buckets of the world who feel they have only arrived when a peer of the realm has crossed their doorstep are not such rare creatures as you might like to think. A deep vein of snobbery runs through Britain and Scots, while perhaps less quick to be flattered or be found getting above themselves, are not immune to the charm of a title, and the doors and bank vaults it opens.

Novelist Michael Frayn tried to turn down a knighthood gracefully by saying that, having spent 70 years getting used to his name, “I don’t want to change it now”. Most of those who claim to be embarrassed at the so-called distinction while nevertheless grabbing it with both hands usually insist they’re just doing it to please their mum. Give me a break. It is the most toe-curlingly blatant excuse since the dog ate little Jemima’s homework. And there are lots of us who, if we were ever in that position and were pompous enough to accept, would be instantly disowned by our parents, or their ghosts.

One suspects that, like the Mikado, Mr Cameron had been keeping his little list up his sleeve for weeks, pruning and embellishing according to mood, like an octogenarian on life-support altering his will. Despite the opprobrium heaped upon him, however, a love of titles is not the preserve of the Tories, even though they milk the system with a panache and lack of shame that reveals centuries of experience in these matters. Gordon Brown, Tony Blair, and other Labour lights might have declined these lucrative favours, but plenty have conveniently forgotten their socialist, liberal or anti-establishment credentials when presented with a comfortable seat in the Lords.

I find all such honorifics and laurels unnecessary as well as invidious. Those to whom they fall are usually only doing their job – gallery directors, politicians, actors and chat show hosts – all of whom are surely well enough rewarded as it is, in terms of income and prestige. And there’s another consideration too. As soon as one accepts the state’s seal of approval, then one is compromised. Those who speak out against authority are rarely given letters to add to their name; not that they will be bothered. Good writers and artists, journalists and commentators, whistleblowers and freethinkers know the only badge of honour worth having is finding or speaking the truth.

Independence might be a long way off but I hope that, come that day, our leaders will scrap all honorifics. Such a tarnished and out-dated way of congratulating and rewarding even the most hard-working and talented does not befit a fair-minded, egalitarian society. A dusty and disreputable relic of a hierarchical past, these sort of titles should be allowed to fade gradually from sight, rather like the Cheshire cat’s grin.