Where does one stop?

I got myself into some paroxysm of rage last Wednesday evening when some cunt drove into my back wheel on the junction of Rivington St and Shoreditch High St - this is after we had both been stopped waiting at the junction for 15-20 seconds (I can only assume he was impatient and wished to give me a little nudge out into the road). I got off and went round to his window and gave him some abuse, most of which began with 'wa', 'fu' or 'cu' and probably ended with something like 'people like you don't deserve a licence'.

The guy was obviously getting a bit tired of my endless (and TBH overblown) tirade, as he said 'there was no need for that now, get on your way'. Which I did, after realising that I probably was getting a bit too psycho. After going down a sidestreet to cut onto another main road, I met the car again. We clocked each other in his mirror and I was so so tempted to gob in his window, but I didn't... I'm a bit ashamed of myself for considering it, but I didn't do it, as I realised I was probably going to contribute to motorists' negative perception of cyclists even more than I had already.

So basically I think there comes a time when you have to chill the fuck out, realise when you look like a nutjob (er, getting in the dude's car sounds a tad nutty, IMHO) and get the Tube or bus the next day in order to regain some distance from the daily situation, realise why you get on your bike everyday rather than suffer the general public's halitosis, and thus regain your cycling zen.

[/my tuppenceworth]

Someone did that to me the other day. I twisted round to face them and pulled an exaggerated expression of confusion and spread my hands mouthing 'why?' They were reasonably apologetic.