Of course, they are joking－I think. Beyond the confines of China Daily's compound, and the dangers I pose to those in it, it really is one big motoring jungle out there.

In fact China Daily can be a kind of jungle itself. In that scheme of things I am a middle-ranking lioness, an editor, looking after her pride, reporters. My job requires me to be chained to my desk most of the day, while the young reporters go out scavenging for stories. That rather restricts my opportunities for social interaction, leaving aside meeting strangers in the subway or on buses.

As the proud mother of a pride of lions, I had imagined that out in the motoring jungle there would be a modicum of respect between the animals sharing it. So the truth has come as a rude shock, with the emphasis on rude.

I have found that whenever I hesitate for even just a second on the road, there will suddenly be a cacophony of horns－and this is not from kindly elephants wishing me a good day－as my fellow travelers let it be known that I am stealing precious nanoseconds of their lives. If I take my foot off the accelerator for a second or two a car swoops in to grab the space that has just opened between me and the car ahead.

The survival-of-the-fastest rules seem to be enforced more stringently after sunset. The cover of darkness seems to bestow extra license on the aggressive, and cars speed past and cut across each other as if there were no tomorrow, making it difficult for me, for one, to stick to the one lane.

That despite my having heeded my driving instructor's advice not to put a sign on my car saying "Learner" as some people do, seeming to think it will induce other drivers to treat them well. "For other drivers that sign is simply an invitation to bully you," he said.

Two of my friends, one of whom drives a VW Beetle and the other a BMW MiniCooper, often complain that other drivers intimidate them because it is taken as a given that the drivers of those two kinds of cars are a walkover－young women.