Is it time to start calling out bad cyclists?

Junction where New Oxford St meets Bloomsbury St - which, incidentally, is the first time I've done that road at rush hour....never again. Waiting at the lights, guy all in black on a SS - who we shall call Mr F - comes up behind me and tells me to move forwards. I tell him I can't because otherwise I can't see the lights above me (would have shifted sideways but so packed in like sardines). Mr F kindly tells me to fuck off before going round the island to continue up the other side of the road. So basically wanted me to get out of his way so he could run a red. My conclusion at the time: Mr F is a cnut. I stand by it.

What you need to do is watch Planet Earth. In detail, watch the subtle body language of the animals. Specifically the Baboons. Note the way the leader of the pack never relinquishes his positions to those behind him. They're pathetic minions who don't even deserve to look at his glorious tree bark polished behind. If challenged, he needs to show dominance and quickly. Begin by showing no hesitation, only battery acid levels of concentrated venom. This is your spot, infringe, and you'll rip his goddamned trachea out with your previously filed down teeth.

He'll back down. If you encounter the hardier kind of threat, you turn slowly and silently, exorcist style and make deep air gulping noises at him, preferably without coughing. If further undeterred, let our a sudden, tyre inflating, juice box bursting, god fear inducing banshee of a scream (spittle preferable) at his face

Or wear a cap and look like you do crack. That tends to do it for me.