Yesterday I went to the aid of an elderly couple who had knocked over a scooter while parking their shiny red Jag near their home in East Sheen.
“What do we do?” the woman asked?
“Leave a note”, I replied, but that wasn’t what she meant at all. She was trying to work out how to make the scooter stay stood up. They had got it vertical, but had no idea where the stand was or how it worked.
There was some damage to the bodywork where it had hit the kerb, which she rubbed with a handkerchief. “That won’t work”, I said.
“It is so irritating, it’s so difficult to find a parking space here, and we live here”, she said, implying that the scooter was an interloper taking up too much space.
“Not as irritating as finding someone has knocked over your scooter and damaged it”, I thought.
This was probably a perfectly normal and decent old couple, and I hope they left a note, but underneath I could see clearly a wealthy person with a brand new Jaguar with no consideration for someone who clearly wasn’t as well off, who owned a well used scooter. And no sense of proportion; the scooter took up much less space than their Jag.
There was no sense at all that she felt anything for the owner of the scooter at all. The husband kept quiet.