He actually dismounted at the traffic lights, wheeled up to my window and started shouting at me through the glass.

Foolishly, I laughed. Right in his face. I couldn't help it. His cheeks were crimson, he was foaming at the mouth and I swear his temples were pulsating.

My misdemeanour? He thought I hadn't seen him. In his mind, all drivers want to tip cyclists over their handlebars into the nearest gutter.

I don't but I could make an exception. I know plenty of drivers are inconsiderate, but don't insult me by suggesting I can't see a red-faced man decked out in luminous yellow.

Every day, on my interminable drive to work, I navigate the terrors of Bristol traffic, and bad cyclists are high on my hit list; almost equal to weaving past commuters queuing on the M4 for two miles to get on to the ring road.

I hate my journey to work. It's karma for living in a rural idyll but needing a city wage.

As I waited for a break in the traffic so I could turn right, I saw shouty man making slow progress towards me, cheeks blowing with the effort of turning the pedals. I turned across his path, knowing he would not have to brake. There was a line of traffic following in his wake and if I didn't go now, I'd never get across.

As I turned I saw him fling out his left arm, signalling that he'd be following on behind me. I left plenty of room; a good couple of metres.

But he thought I hadn't seen him. Thought I'd put him in danger.

While I was waiting at the next set of traffic lights, shouty man loomed up in my rear view mirror.

Normally in these circumstances, given that I have no chance to escape I'd placate, smile, apologise and reassure.

All with the window shut; you never know what some people might do.

But he looked so ridiculous. I knew I'd done nothing wrong. And he was the fourth idiotic cyclist that morning.

Number one had wobbled along the white line, totally blocking the road in both directions, helmet jauntily positioned low over her nose, meaning I had to crawl behind her for minutes until it was safe to overtake.

Number two had shot out across my path on a cycle route, clearly believing she had the right of way and glowering at me over her shoulder as I hit the horn.

Number three had come towards me on my side of the road, alternating between pavement and gutter, swinging wide around the drains, headphones in his ears, oblivious to the chaos he was causing.

I pressed the electric window button for a fraction of a second, opening a four-centimetre gap, and got spittle in the corner of my eye.

"You stupid girl!" he screamed. Now I probably shouldn't have sniggered at him, but I'm blaming nerves.

And I'm no more a girl than he was a gentleman; although thanks, shouty man, for reminding me I've still got my youthful looks.

"I've done nothing wrong and you're being very threatening," I said, with as straight a face as I could muster.

The Gods were clearly on my side for once; the lights went to green and I left him in the middle of the road.

I did feel a little guilty for disrespecting an elder.

But he deserved it.