Many years ago, a golf gti cut accross three lanes in front of me on Queensferry St in Edinburgh. I drew up next to him at the lights, turned and mimed dickhead at him. He went mental, followed me along Melville St, flashing lights, repeatedly overtaking me, stopping in front and suggesting a fight was required. I kept repassing him and driving on, sh***ing myself. This carried on up Manor Place, and onto Shandwick place until we wound up at the lights outside haymarket police station. He gave up then. Nowadays I just shake my head sagely and avoid eye contact, and definately keep the windows up. Maybe occasionally throw my hands up in despair. Life’s too short.