I’ve written before about the curse of the mobile phone generation.

That previous rant came after I was forced to watch a gig through a forest of arms raised to film the band on their mobiles.

Irritating would be the mildest description I could offer that experience.

I wouldn’t want to give the impression that I’m some gruel-supping luddite,  but I just think there are times when the mobile is best left at home – or, at the very least, turned off.

Let’s face it, most of the guff transferred between phones via calls and texts is hardly essential to the workings of life.

That sentiment is clearly not shared by at least 50 per cent of the western world which seems to be growing ever more attached to the mobile habit.

I say this as a prelude to sharing with you one of the most jaw-droppingly dumb sights I have encountered in many a year.

On Friday night I was driving over to Stafford to visit some friends.

As I made my way along a country lane just outside Penkridge I approached a woman cyclist.

After the persistent rain of the last month it was a rare, but perfect time for a summer-evening’s bike ride.

But as I moved into position to overtake the rider, the idyllic snapshot of an outdoor pursuit in the English countryside began to crumble.

First I noticed the woman was riding with only one hand gripping the handlebar.

As I passed I saw why – in the other paw she clutched her mobile phone.

Even worse, she was in the middle of texting somebody, eyes quite clearly fixed downwards at the phone’s screen instead of on the road ahead.

Now quite what was so important that she was willing to risk serious injury is anybody’s guess.

All her limbs were still intact and she did not appear to be bleeding, so presumably she wasn’t trying to contact the emergency services.

Nor was she being pursued by a potential attacker/angry mob – although the latter may have been appropriate considering her knuckle-chewing stupidity.

If I were a betting man I would wager her text went along the lines of ….”Will call u l8r, am out on bike,” or something similarly pointless.

As I overtook her I fought the temptation to wind the window down and point out in words of no more than two syllables that her behaviour was considerably less than well-advised.

But even that would have been futile.

Because not only was the cyclist texting she was also doing so to the accompaniment of music from her iPod – total genius.

Progress. Don’t you just love it?

By Andy Toft