This week I’ve witnessed society melting down in front of my own face.
I’ve been working in Bordon. If you’ve never been there before it’s a one-horse, nine-kebab shop kind of town with one main road running through the middle.
On Wednesday, a journey that would usually take 45 minutes was approaching two hours.
It transpired that a car had broken down on the road and so everyone was taking it in turns weaving around the outside, nipping in before the oncoming traffic.
Just one car had caused everyone in that queue around an hour’s worth of delay.
Figuring I was late for work already, I thought I’d pull over and help the two women.
They were puzzling over the car’s handbook, trying to work out where exactly water is inserted into a 20-year-old Honda Civic.
One of the women looked a tad emotional as I helped.
She said they’d been there for nearly an hour and nobody had offered any form of assistance.
In fact throughout the 60 minutes, a wodge of disgruntled travellers had flipped her the bird or shouted pinheaded obscenities through their windscreens as they passed by.
You know what Wednesday mornings are like at 8am; we’ve all got to be somewhere life-threateningly crucial.
Probably carrying out a transplant procedure, saving a busload of nuns, or maybe rushing into work so we can check our Facebook and get the kettle on for a brew.
Now I’m not painting myself as some form of chivalrous knight in a silver Mondeo (diesel, estate).
But even my miniscule brain can fathom that if the bloke at the front of the queue had taken just a few minutes to help get the car off the road and given the ladies a hand to get going again, it would have saved everyone’s bacon.
Clambering back into my wagon, I felt sorry for the woman, but I felt even more sorry for us as a society.
Too busy to help, too selfish to care, too stupid even to help ourselves.