Janet Street-Porter: This is nothing compared to the 1940s

Christmas has come early for some citizens, according to the Chancellor. Now he's unveiled measures designed to stimulate the economy and get us spending again, one thing's clear – we're still not happy. Critics say he's foolhardy, that he's discriminating against the haves. We've become a nation of moaners. OK, high-street sales are slumping, and Marks and Spencer are contemplating another stupendous one-day sale. John Lewis is feeling the pinch, and organic vegetables are shunned as too costly.

You'd think we were back at the end of the 1940s, with rationing, economy provisions, no luxuries like stockings and little chance of more than a home-knitted woolly under the Christmas tree. My parents not only spent years apart during the war – without a mobile phone or a Blackberry to communicate, instead posting lovingly handwritten letters to each other that might take months to arrive. They also managed to repair gadgets, make their own decorations, and cook meals using economy cuts and root vegetables. They brewed their own wine and beer and enjoyed simple entertainment like listening to the radio and playing cards. All contributed to a robust ability to cope when money was in short supply.

Thank God I experienced some of that growing up, because it has certainly helped me to not buy things I can't afford and to adopt a cautious outlook on purchasing unnecessary luxuries. Yes, we're in a recession, but for most of the middle Britain it's not as challenging as life in 1949. If you've still got a job, you're lucky. Time to think positive and start reinventing that true British grit that got us through a couple of wars. Time to stop whingeing about the price of a turkey, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, a gallon of petrol, or the cost of your central heating. In 1949 we were fitter, worked harder and saved more. Now we're a bunch of spoilt sissies.

For pensioners and those without work, things will be tough over the coming months, even with the Government's handouts. But reading the headlines in some papers you'd think the middle classes were facing unprecedented hardship. OK, workers earning over £75,000 a year will be £250 a year worse off. If you earn more than £150,000 a year your tax rate will increase from 40 per cent to 45. Take a long-haul flight and you will pay more tax. Even though VAT will drop, tax on alcohol and tobacco will increase to maintain current price levels.

Try as I may, I can't get worked up about all this, and yet it is billed as class warfare. Some Tory pundits predict the rich will leave the country. Really? High earners, including non-doms like Ron Sandler, the man the Government brought in to run Northern Rock, aren't going anywhere. London is still the most fun city in the world – that's why it's packed with expatriates from all over the globe.

I have no problem with paying more tax to give the poor and pensioners a better chance. I do have a problem with raiding private pensions to help prop up the gap in the absurdly comfy pensions that public-sector workers can look forward to, no matter how little they contributed. There isn't a class system any more, just those lucky enough to work in the public sector and the rest of us. That's my only complaint. One headline last week summed up middle-class moaners: "We can't afford the school fees". It seems that an increasing number of families are now having to contemplate the "unthinkable" – take their children out of private education. That day can't come soon enough for me.

When celebrities believe they are invisible...

Well-known men who cheat have a fatal weakness, and it's not in their trousers. These chaps get regularly recognised, but once they step into a hotel in pursuit of secret sex, they're convinced they are invisible.

We don't know the truth yet but for now it seems that Gordon Ramsay naively believed he could sneak out of a West End hotel room and no one would notice, the same way that when Lenny Henry, arguably the most famous black entertainer in the UK, once spent a night with a woman who wasn't Dawn French, it took place in the unlikely location of a hotel in York.

Cynics might think that Gordon was set up – it was a bit of a coincidence he was photographed at all – and the woman involved is clearly ambitious for a career in the spotlight. She'd tried to contact Max Clifford and emailed several television agents looking for work. Further revelations are expected next Sunday. I expect her media fame to last as long as that of two well known women who kissed and told – Rebecca Loos and Faria Alam. Lovely Tana, on the other hand, will see her media career really take off now.

Why can't you visit me on my desert island?

My dream came true last Sunday and I finally (after decades of wishing and hoping) made it onto Desert Island Discs. Proof that factual radio is thriving has come in the form of dozens of texts, emails and messages from people who heard it (and it will be repeated this Friday at 9am on Radio 4). The feedback has been as positive as when I appeared on I'm a Celebrity.

Sadly, however, Desert Island Discs isn't available on the BBC i-Player, which is a real shame – why? The musical clips are so short they can't be the problem. Could it be a legal reason to do with the late Roy Plomley? If so, the BBC should resolve the matter pronto.

* Just spent a top weekend in Venice. Blue skies, nippy winds, fantastic eating, from neighbourhood cafes to a place off the beaten track frequented by workmen in blue overalls. It was in the boatyard on the southern side of the island of Giudecca. Best of all, I managed to walk through large parts of the city and not see a single tourist. But back in London, acclaimed fish restaurant J Sheekey has opened a new sea-food bar, and it was pleasing to discover that their octopus and potato salad tastes even better than the one I ate on Saturday night in Venice, and their crab even fresher.