Bramley, a picturesque Surrey village, has found itself the unfortunate poster child for a modern malady plaguing Britain: the disappearance of accountability.
What began as a mysterious stench in a pub’s cellar has morphed into a full-blown ecological and bureaucratic disaster, with petrol seeping into the earth and local authorities shrugging their shoulders. A petrol station once owned by the Co-op and now run by Asda has been leaking fuel for years, causing significant damage to the environment, residents, and their livelihoods. But the most disturbing part of the saga? No one wants to take responsibility.
To outsiders, the story of Bramley’s woes reads like a Kafkaesque nightmare. A broken pipe beneath the Asda forecourt leaked fuel into the village’s water system, contaminating supplies, killing fish, and forcing the replacement of pipes. Since May, 600 households have been unable to drink their tap water safely. Thames Water is doing what it can, but residents are left with a village scarred by constant roadworks and disrupted businesses, while their homes may now sit on a toxic petrol slick. Their concerns about property values seem to fall on deaf ears.
Asda, the petrol station’s current owner, has masterfully distanced itself, labelling the problem “historic.” The supermarket chain is now majority-owned by private equity giant TDR Capital, a fact that only compounds the sense of faceless corporate negligence. Meanwhile, Surrey County Council passes the buck to Waverley Borough Council, which claims no authority to intervene. The Environment Agency, citing an ongoing investigation, remains silent, while the UK Health Security Agency asserts that its role is “advisory rather than regulatory.”
Asda’s chairman, Lord Rose, who it was revealed this week is taking over from Mohsin Issa, told a residents’ meeting in the village there would be ‘no quick fix’.
To the residents of Bramley, this constellation of agencies, councils, and companies exists in theory to protect them. Yet, when their small village was thrust into crisis, each body pointed fingers elsewhere, leaving the villagers to face an unnerving reality: when something goes wrong, no one is prepared to take responsibility. It’s not just a localised problem, either—it’s emblematic of a much wider issue across Britain today.
This shift away from accountability is something Dan Davies explores in his book The Unaccountability Machine, which paints a bleak picture of how big systems are structured to avoid responsibility. The Kafkaesque dance of passing the buck seen in Bramley is a perfect example of what Davies terms an “accountability sink”—a place where decision-making is so fragmented that no one is ever to blame when things go wrong. Bramley has become an unwitting symbol of this modern malaise, where sprawling bureaucracies and corporations have lost the ability, or perhaps the will, to respond to human problems with anything other than indifference.
The Bramley saga is not just a freak occurrence; it is the result of a long-developing trend towards unaccountability. It’s a mindset that began in the early days of corporate structures, as limited liability allowed investors to reap the rewards of risk without bearing the full consequences of failure. Davies explains that this made sense when the risk was spread across individual shareholders, like a widow investing her savings in a railway company. However, in today’s world, it’s private equity giants and multinational corporations benefiting from these protections—shielded from blame when things go wrong.
So, what happens when the system becomes so unwieldy that the feedback loops between action and consequence break down entirely? For the residents of Bramley, it means they’re left navigating a labyrinth of agencies and authorities, none of which seem to have any real interest in fixing the problem. Companies like Asda, backed by private equity, are happy to assert that the issue predates their ownership, leaving villagers frustrated and feeling abandoned. It’s a game of pass-the-parcel with no winner, only losers.
Davies suggests that systems built to manage the complexity of the modern world often sever the direct link between decision-making and responsibility. As organisations grow and processes become more industrialised, those within them lose their sense of agency. It’s not that no one cares—it’s that they are operating in a framework designed to prevent anyone from caring. This is what Davies likens to a “decerebrate cat”—a system that can function, in a technical sense, but without the ability to respond meaningfully to real-world issues.
For the people of Bramley, this cold, dispassionate system is all too real. They face the frustration of speaking to low-level functionaries who simply lack the power or authority to take decisive action. In many ways, the problem goes beyond the specifics of the petrol leak: it speaks to a much larger crisis in our institutions and corporations, where the drive for efficiency and profit has rendered human-scale problems invisible.
What is particularly damning is the realisation that this could have been avoided if someone, somewhere, had cared enough to act sooner. In a simpler time, a leak would have been fixed, apologies made, and compensation offered. But now, even determining who owns the problem feels impossible. The residents are left in a void, where corporate interests, local government, and national agencies all pretend the matter is someone else’s to solve.
The truth is, the system has been designed to fail them. The rise of private equity ownership, the fracturing of regulatory responsibility, and the erosion of local authority power all contribute to a culture where it is easy to evade responsibility. And unless something changes, Bramley’s experience will not be unique. Other villages, towns, and cities across the country may soon find themselves entangled in similar webs of indifference and inaction.
The plight of Bramley is a warning. It shows what happens when responsibility is allowed to slip through the cracks, when systems are designed to protect organisations rather than the people they serve. If we don’t start addressing these accountability sinks, the question won’t be whether another village suffers, but how soon it happens.
Richard Alvin
