THERE is a wise old saying – either that or it was a one-liner from an American comedian – that the most critical period for any marriage is breakfast. Given the permutations within and without marriage that should now be "the most critical period for any relationship".
But whoever said it and whatever the coupling, it's wrong. The most critical time – apart from trying to wallpaper together, which as everyone knows should only be attempted by masochists and the mentally frail – is packing holiday bags.
In the ca
se of a mixed marriage, man and woman, I put it down to difference in temperament. A man, naming no names, thinks of how simple are his daily needs: that a shirt can be worn two days in succession if necessary, one pair of adaptable shoes will meet all contingencies and, well, possibly two pairs of trousers, but surely launderettes can be found everywhere?
A woman thinks differently. A lifetime of dealing with men and children and their messy little ways means she thinks of every eventuality involving clothes, shoes and weather, likely and unlikely, and packs accordingly.
I don't want to re-open old wounds, but that thinking accounted for us taking a travel iron to the other side of the world and back last autumn. Not a big item, adding only half a kilo or so to the load, causing no trouble as it lurked in the corner of a suitcase for five weeks. But we never actually had to use it.
We have discussed that occasionally since, usually when packing an overnight bag for a family visit, but I suspect that Liz doesn't find it as amusing now as I do when I ask: "Have we got the travel iron?"
Not least because, as she points out, we used everything else packed for the New Zealand trip, quite a lot of it several times. And when every airport check-in was full of people hauling coffin-size cases about we had only two medium-size cases, never close to the weight limit, and a rucksack.
Behind that is the unspoken suggestion that if I feel so strongly about over-packing I can get on with it myself while she potters about in the garden, checks cricket scores and calls upstairs: "Can I pack the car yet?"
We did try me doing the packing once for a family holiday. It was not a success. Jacqueline, late teens at the time, and I were going through a stronger than usual "I must read everything in the world within the next 12 months" phase and packed one case with books only.
"The advice is to take half as many clothes and twice as much money as you first thought of," I said to Liz as she expressed mild dissatisfaction. "And please be careful how you tip those books out."
We, let me rephrase that, she repacked with the result that, as usual, we had almost everything we needed on holiday. Since then we've had a simple division of labour. Liz packs and I advise.
Me: Do we really need that?
Liz: Yes.
Me: Fine.
It works well. And as we packed for our most recent family holiday I never mentioned "travel iron" once. It was too close to Liz's right hand.
The full article contains 560 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
