It’s quite often enjoyable when, in life, you hear about the number rising. The score in your favourite football or cricket match. The amount of money raised for charity in a specific appeal. The proportion of the electorate’s votes counted for the politician you’re rooting for. etc. etc. etc.

And conversely - it’s often quite sad when the number that’s rising is your age - or the extra amount of tax you have to pay this year - or the number of extra minutes you have to wait for the bus to get you home.

But the emotions associated with these things seem to pale into insignificance when Mother Nature decides to play the game. For me, it’s heartbreaking when it’s the number of souls confirmed dead. Not knowing for a minute what was coming at them. And soul-destroying when you see the number rising by the hour with every news bulletin.

I once looked out from my hotel window and stared at the shanty town opposite. Just inside the walls of the hotel compound was a 5-star swimming pool with tourists sunbathing. Just outside was the flooded shanty town with young children wading through the muddy waters trying to get across the street. It was Kuala Lumpur. In the year 2000 I think. A sight like that is enough to change your politics. Did it change mine? Well - I still have a hard time trying to reconcile with the statement “Well tonight thank God it’s them, instead of you” - whenever I hear those words.

But nearly 60,000 and rising is depressing. And watching the number rise on 24 hour TV is enough to make me cry.