One Indonesian chief of police announced that his men would be helping the separatist rebels in Aceh, rather than killing them, torturing them or merely arresting them. “They’re searching for their families, just as our men are searching for ours,” he said, rather movingly. Who knows, he may even have been telling the truth.

Natural disasters have a tendency to put human, political squabbles into perspective. We are tempted to hope, vainly I fear, that this sense of perspective will remain after the waters have receded.

Or at all.

I wonder how many people rang the credit card hotline and, deliberating how much to give, suddenly recalled that they’d recently spent £29 in Debenhams on a presentation box of lavender soaps for their ghastly mother-in-law? Shame was already poking its nose over the parapet, even before the tsunami struck. It was the time of year when the British people were at their most morally vulnerable.

The British public did not fork out over much for that Christmas earthquake in Armenia, if you remember. Still less for the destruction of Tashkent, back in the 1960s. Many of us associate Thailand, Sri Lanka and the Andamans with happy memories: it was as if part of us — a nice part — was washed away by that tsunami.

There was almost no haranguing of any kind. Just a regular reminder of where you could give money, if you wanted to. The public was left to its own devices and to make its own judgment. If we felt guilty about our own wellbeing or affluence, it was a natural and genuine response to tragedy, rather than something we were told to feel.

The Tamils who run my local grocery store in southeast London had set up a makeshift collection box by midday on Boxing Day. It was placed next to the bubblegum display and had a brown paper wrapper on which was scrawled: “Help our family and friends in Sri Lanka.” It was impossible not to contribute. This is one of the more likeable aspects of globalisation: these days, we know we are connected.

In the face of such irresistible destruction, we all feel weak and helpless. No matter what the experts say: it could have been us.

The telephone number for the appeal, by the way, is still 0870 606 0900.