It's a jungle out there and only the fittest survive.

When I bought my first UAE motor almost four months ago, I was sure my life was about to change. My mornings used
to consist of the hour-long battle of the commuters, where I would compete against every other Bur Dubai resident for the area's five taxis. But all that was just a bad, distant memory once my new, shiny red Suzuki arrived.

For the first month, I enjoyed a honeymoon period on the roads of Dubai. Friday mornings were spent cruising down Jumeirah Beach Road with my shades on, feeling like I was on the set of Miami Vice, while in the evenings I had a penchant for driving past the glistening skyscrapers of the Marina. It didn't last long.

The enthusiasm I had for driving around Dubai wore off as quickly as the new smell of my car. Soon, I was the stereotypical driver during rush hour. Impatient, arrogant and angry. I could not stop frowning. In fact, I now have the roads of Dubai to thank for my first wrinkle (and a sharp rise in blood pressure).

I'd spent more than six years driving in the UK and I didn't know what my own horn sounded like.

All of a sudden I was horn-happy, sounding it at anyone who dared to wrong me. I struggled to get my head around drivers tailgating at 150 km/h and the lack of understanding of what lanes and indicating are for. Everyone was in a rush and in the midst of this rush, they forgot every single rule that
is supposed to be adhered to. After a month of having beefed-up SUVs coming at me from every angle, I realised the phrase 'survival of the fittest' applies to the roads of Dubai, and that, much like the animal kingdom, there is a hierarchy cars adhere to.

It roughly goes: SUVs, sedans, and then tiny little nobodies like my poor Swift. In order to survive the roads of Dubai, I had to evolve into a Dubai driver.

In the process of doing so, however, I had evolved past my vehicle. It was like having the personality of a Tyrannosaurus rex trapped in the body of a Labrador. A Hummer would see my Swift as a quivering wreck of a being, whilst the brains behind the body had different ideas. No one or nothing was going to jump the queue if I was in it. Unfortunately, this became my downfall.

Beware the Rotweiller

One fateful morning on my way to work, I was stuck in a traffic jam near Mankhool Road. As I was trying to zone out from the chaos that surrounded me, I spotted a white Infinity SUV make its crafty way to my side.

I took a quick look at the driver to see if I could see
a sign of courtesy on his behalf. A kind of, yes, I'm pushing in, but I'm going to smile and make a goodwill gesture. Nothing. He was looking straight ahead. An arrogant brain behind a nasty looking machine. In other words, a Rotweiller.

In keeping with my newly evolved behaviour, I, the Tyrannosaurus-rex brains behind the Labrador that is my Swift, sounded my horn and stormed ahead, leaving the bully behind me. My victory, however, was short lived. Before I had the chance to realise what had happened, he had smashed into me. Purposely. The next 20 minutes are still a blur to me. The police realised I was not to blame and gave me the green slip. A victory for all bullied Labradors on the roads.

Despite the inconvenience, stress and anger that the accident has caused, the one good thing to come from this experience is that I've learnt a valuable lesson. While driving around in my car before handing it over to be fixed, I noticed a change in my behaviour. I have reverted back to type and I'm now happily chilled.

I now allow every frustrated driver do as they please. Tailgater? I happily pull aside. Car horn sounders?

I just pump up the volume on my sound system. Queue dodgers? Go ahead, get home two minutes earlier than me if it means that much to you.

After all, Labradors may get home later, but at least they get home in one piece.