A few years ago, my mate took me out for a spin in his Lotus Elise. We are both in our early thirties.

We're driving along a coastal road, going through the gears but not gunning it, when we become aware of a big new model Mercedes E class aggressively up close behind flashing its lights.

We can't think of anything we may have done wrong, and wonder if perhaps the vehicle behind contains a bored executive who fancies a race in the company car.

We indicate for the aggressive Mercedes to pass before it ends up grazing us. As it roars to overtake we get a glympse of a couple - perhaps in their late fifties or early sixties - inside, a red faced angry man behind the wheel.

The logical conclusion is he has some issue with two younger males in a Lotus sports car. A clear case of Wee Man Syndrome.

The Mercedes, with Mr Not-To-Be-Outdone overtakes and cuts in close to the front of the Lotus, before roaring away up the road.

As he gets away, he slightly misjudges a bend and whacks the kerb with a force that most likely resulted in minor wheel damage and/or a slow puncture. We watch his car bounce back to the road and his furious braking as he corrects himself, before roaring off again at double the pace.

To our delight, we catch up with the Mercedes a mile further down the road, stopped at a red traffic light at a junction before where the road forks in two.

My pal thinks exactly what I'm thinking, and we pull-up beside the Merc, just a couple of inches in front, just enough to be noticed.

And we both make the beautiful decision deliberately to ignore Mr Angry in his newly scuffed Mercedes, to look busy in a conversation between ourselves about something else entirely.

We chuckle as we feel Mr Angry's rage reach boiling point.

And when the lights change, we drive off slowly and calmly, as the Wee Man and his apparently unfortunate docile wife roar off in the other direction, back home to Angry Land.

Does that count?