Civilised society tells us we should behave in a certain way. From an early age we are consciously and unconsciously schooled in the correct manner to go about our business. What is deemed acceptable behaviour, how to behave towards those around us. The rituals and constructs of social interaction.

Of course, within ten minutes of venturing out for a drink in any medium sized market town or city in this country, anyone with half their faculties intact will discover that this is just a veneer. And not even a robust high quality veneer at that. More the type applied to the dashboard of the Austin Princess, circa 1978, very Terry and June.

Cast your eyes over the locals squaring up to one another outside the nightclub. The chin down to protect the throat, the skin going pale, as the blood flows away from the extremities towards the vital organs, the body instinctively moving into a bladed stance, side on, to present less of a target. In my home town, it seems to be the convention for street pugilists to remove their shirts at this point. Study the scene and you'll notice the only thing missing is the voice over by David Attenborough, "See how the young males beat their chests to intimidate their rivals....". Our genetic inheritance.

Behaviours which have evolved over hundreds of generations, thousand of years, come steaming to the surface, in an eruption of pent up rage. No room for social niceties here, "I say old chap you seem to have spilt my pint and I'm rather browned off with your squiffy mate who's just vomitted on my flannels. Bad form and all that". None of that, it all disappears in an instant of flailing fists, boots and heads which ends in A&E.

These reactions and behaviours are even recognised in police self defence training. The S.P.E.A.R system, (Spontaneous Protection Enabling Accelerated Response) which is trained to law enforcement agencies all over the world, teaches officers to work with the natural, instinctive "flinch" reaction, when faced with a surprise attack.

Has it always been like this? Certainly the instincts and reactions have always been there, lurking below the surface, ready to kick in, in the blink of an eyelid as the tinkle of broken glass signals the incoming Budweiser bottle.

Is it getting any worse? Maybe. What we lack in modern society is any sense of self control. We don't teach it, we don't inbue it in our young. Stoicism is an old fashioned value. The Great British stiff upper lip is long defunct. Footballers burst into tears after being caught out in the latest tabloid sting "roasting" incident. No X Factor contestant can hope to take the grand prize unless they are prepared to lay their emotions bare for the viewers and break down at least once a week in the later stages of the contest. The commonly held limits of what is and is not acceptable behaviour, the glue which binds society together, are slowly desolving.

Why do I say all this? Earlier today I found myself in the freezer section of my local Morrisons. Bad planning on my part. I normally make some excuse and arrange to meet my other half at the checkouts "to help with the heavy stuff", before sloping off the to car park to read my latest book about the Third Reich, whilst sat in the Corsa. On this occasion I had failed and was slowly pushing the trolley around, my mind wandering. I reckon I do some of my best thinking in supermarkets. I was already feeling a bit out of sorts as I 'd just passed an elderly couple. The old gent, back bent by years of hard labour, slowly pushing his trolley around, whilst his wife talked to herself. A window on my future? I mused.

As we moved into the tinned soup aisle, I made eye contact with another chap, about my age. At that instant, stressed out by the whole shopping experience, I could have cheerfully strangled him. He'd done nothing wrong, in fact if first impressions count for anything, he looked like a nice bloke. The problem was, in that instant, as I gazed into his domesticated, emasculated dead eyes, I saw myself reflected in them. Fortunately, I rationalised my feelings and moved on to the diary produce.

In fact the whole shopping trip was only brightened when I copped an eyeful of tit as some woman bent over at the check outs. I do apologise, but you see it's in my genes.