Yesterday evening, Star Wars Day (May 4th), I had the sort of experience that makes time behave strangely. One moment I was riding along the M4 motorway, heading away from London on my motorbike. The next, a car swerved across my path. What followed unfolded in that surreal slow-motion way people always describe after accidents, but which you never quite believe until it happens to you. The car hit my bike car with enough force to tear the rear wheel clean off it (the car that is). I remember the strange sight of the new 3-wheeler car speeding away while my bike launched into the air like something from an action film. Then gravity returned to the conversation. The bike came down—on top of me.
When everything stopped moving, I found myself trapped underneath the wreck of my bike, facing oncoming motorway traffic. Oddly, my mind didn’t first jump to panic. Instead, I was distracted by the small miracle that my jaw was still attached to my face. My helmet had split into two pieces when it hit the concrete, yet somehow my face was still intact. It’s amazing what the brain chooses to focus on when chaos arrives. Then the pain in my legs began to make its presence known.
And something remarkable happened. Cars began stopping (to be fair it was that or drive over the wreckage).
Drivers jumped out without hesitation, stepping directly into a motorway environment. People were running toward me and somehow they organised themselves quickly, creating a protective box of vehicles around me, shielding me from the traffic. To be fair, I wasn’t in much condition to understand everything that was happening. Pain does that. But through the blur I remember hands lifting the bike off me, voices asking if I could hear them, and people moving around with an extraordinary sense of purpose.
These strangers had instantly become a rescue team. They managed the chaos that followed, diverting traffic and effectively shutting down a major route out of London for nearly 2 hours. For 40 minutes they stayed with me on the road. One person carefully held my head steady in case of a neck injury. Others spoke to me calmly, reassuringly, keeping me focused while we waited for the ambulance to arrive. Forty minutes is a long time when you’re lying on the tarmac of the M4.
To those people – whoever and wherever you are – my young family and I owe you more gratitude than words can properly carry. We will probably never meet you. You didn’t stop because you knew me. You stopped because someone needed help. You gave your time, your care, and quite possibly put yourselves in danger without expecting anything in return.
In doing so, you reminded me of something incredibly important: society works. We often hear the opposite. Turn on the news or scroll through social media and it can feel like the world is defined by conflict, selfishness, and outrage. Those stories travel fast. They capture attention. But yesterday I witnessed something far more powerful: ordinary people instinctively choosing kindness.
Yes, the individuals who helped me were clearly remarkable. But I also believe they revealed something deeper about all of us. Beneath the daily noise, people carry an enormous capacity for compassion. When circumstances strip away the distractions, the best in people shines through. Human generosity has always been part of our shared story. It shows up in our history books, in literature, in philosophy, and in the quiet personal stories people tell around dinner tables. Acts of kindness create value on both sides. The person receiving help feels gratitude; the person giving it experiences the powerful satisfaction of making a difference.
Yesterday, lying on a motorway staring at the sky, I was fortunate enough to witness that exchange firsthand. When the emergency services arrived, my sense of amazement only continued. The calm professionalism and kindness of the police, paramedics and hospital staff was extraordinary. I was struck by just how intelligent, capable, and compassionate the people in our National Health Service truly are. They are, quite simply, priceless—and perhaps we should all remember that a little more often, because none of us knows when we might suddenly find ourselves needing them.
So this morning I woke up sore, stitched together in a few places, and moving a little slower than usual. But I also woke up filled with gratitude (and some strong painkillers). Thank you to everyone who stopped and helped yesterday. Thank you to the emergency services who took over and carried me safely to hospital. And thank you to the strangers who turned a terrifying accident into a powerful reminder of human kindness.
Finally, a small apology to anyone who happened to be trying to catch a flight and found the motorway unexpectedly closed for a couple of hours. I’m afraid I may have caused a bit of traffic chaos.
Still, after yesterday, I’m convinced of something simple and wonderful: We live in a very kind world.
