Chaos theory, in its simplest and most popularly understood form, posits the idea that tiny incidents can have catastrophic effects - for example, a butterfly flapping its wings can ultimately, through a chain of atmospheric events, affect the course of a tornado on the other side of the world.

Or, to put it another way, a bit of snow on top of a hill in Allerton can bring an entire city centre four miles away grinding to a complete and utter halt. But I'm getting ahead of myself - about three hours ahead of myself. Let's wind the clock back to about 6pm on Wednesday.

I arrive at the Interchange to get my bus, and am greeted by the sort of sight you'd expect to see if someone had announced a nuclear bomb was going off in Bradford in an hour, or the zombie apocalypse was nigh.

I've never seen so many people milling helplessly about since I covered, as a young reporter, a fire at a pie factory in Wigan in the early 90s.

At my bus stand, there were quite literally scores of people, either staring uncomprehendingly at the digital displays that blatantly lied about the non-existent buses that were due to arrive, or on their phones saying, in unison, "I can't get out of Bradford city centre!"

After about half an hour of no buses at all, I found a man in a Metro hi-vis jacket who said cheerfully, "They should get you all a cup of coffee, shouldn't they?"

"Mine's two sugars," I said. "If only I could," he laughed. "What about a bus?" I riposted.

It transpired that there had been snowfall in Bradford that afternoon which had meant none of the buses could actually leave the Interchange for two hours. Now they'd all gone out, none of them could get back. There were no buses, nor were there likely to be imminently.

The odd thing was that there was actually no snow in the city centre. At all. I decided to trudge off to find a train, but to cut a long story short ended up getting a lift with a work colleague. It should have been maybe an half-an-hour journey.

I got home at just shy of 9pm. The traffic was bumper to bumper all the way. No-one could really understand why, until we get to a hill in Allerton that was covered with snow. And that hill covered with snow had brought pretty much the entire traffic network to a snail's pace crawl.

A butterfly flapping its wings can alter the course of a tornado half-a-world away. A bit of snow in Allerton can cause a four-mile tailback to Bradford city centre, chewing up the bus timetables and leaving a lot of very angry people in its wake.

Now I'm no expert, but it seems to me that a bit of grit on that hill in Allerton might have solved this. It seems to me that a bit more emergency planning by the bus companies might keep their buses moving.

Of course, that's only a theory. Maybe we all just prefer the chaos.