One afternoon as I was driving, rain made it difficult to see, and you might think other drivers, in the same predicament, would have a little more understanding than usual. But no. There as ever was the impatient, incessant blowing of horns.

I was at the end of my tether with this din and was about to pass out at the wheel, but managed to crawl at a snail's pace to my destination, making a worthy contribution to Beijing's traffic snarls that day.

I almost forgot to mention that the first morning I drove I managed to get into a wrong lane, and, transfixed, was stationary for a good five minutes before simply deciding to drive on. All the while cars were speeding past, on the wrong side of the road, their drivers no doubt disgusted with my indecision. The traffic camera watching me was disgusted, too, and a few days later I received a traffic ticket.

Despite all this, my car still manages to give me pleasure, like the feeling of having some new gadget.

For many men, a car is a gadget, a toy and a lot more besides. Something I once read tried to psychoanalyze these men, more specifically why they are so rude and ignorant.

"Few things in life can match a car," the article said. "It's super powerful, but obedient and easy to manipulate."

So there you have it: When men are at the wheel they harbor the illusion that they are the masters of the motoring universe.

However, I know that when I am at the wheel I am indeed master. I may be a little indecisive and I may lose my way now and again, but one sure sign of being in full control is this: Making the enlightened decision to treat others with respect.