Mean girls, mean boys – is kindness out of date?

There it is. The insult from a complete and utter stranger that captioned a photo of me on Facebook.

A woman I've never met, from a town I've never been to, a friend of a friend of a friend, not only judging my poor old nose but broadcasting that judgement to the world.

Now, my nose is a rather impressive specimen. There's both egotistical and logistical reasons why my byline picture is never in profile.

But don't worry, I'm fine with it. As long as it can still sniff out a Krispy Kreme at 100 paces, we've got no problems.

But that's not the issue here.

My heart was heavy after reading the comment but it wasn't the insult itself that depressed me, it was the random and unprovoked unkindness of it all.

This was a drive-by insult. It came from no where, was motiveless and left me winded on the pavement why they sped off laughing.

But still, I moved on. I put it down to "one of those things" and actually started to feel a bit sorry for this strange stranger who got their kicks by hehe-ing at other people's physical flaws.

That was until last weekend and a girls' night out that all but destroyed my faith in humanity.

First there was the bloke who spilt an entire glass of vodka and lemonade down me. His response? You'd like to think it was an "I'm so sorry about that." You may even hope for a replacement drink. After all, we were in Binge Drinkers R Us so it'd only cost him £2.50.

But no. What I got was him looming over me and shouting "Woooaaaaahhh!" in my face.

I walked off, dress dripping wet, glass anything but. He carried on dancing.

Nice. You stay classy, son.

The highlight however was two tanked-up, badly-dressed bullies knocking seven shades out of a defenceless lad.

They were huge, hulking and desperate for a kick-off. He was puny, drunk and lost; the young buck separated from the herd, hyenas circulating.

Smiling, the first bloke punched him in the face. The boy fell to the floor but somehow stumbled back up.

The next Fight Club wannabe then headbutted him and he fell to the floor once again, forehead split open, shirt turning red, staying down this time.

Me – five foot nothing – and my sister – four foot nothing – pulled them off him and helped the poor thing back to his feet.

Thankfully the bouncers arrived at this point. Good job too because I think the surprise element of being ambushed by two screaming girls in ridiculously inappropriate footwear for combat had definitely worn off.

We left after this, our night well and truly ruined by the rudeness and banal brutality of others.

So is this it? Is this the point I give up on other people?

Like Ms DuBois, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers but my faith is seriously shaken.