No, this is not the politically-correct race-relations stuff: this is the much more difficult, no-holds barred marital relations stuff. It started like this: we were a bit late leaving so my husband was stressed about getting all the jobs done in time for the rugby (we were off to work on our other house for the week-end.) When we arrived I decided I wanted a lesson on how to reverse the trailer up to the garage door. This resulted in a great deal of miscommunication as I believe my husband is the worst teacher on earth with a zero tolerance level and also male/female brains seem to work in opposite directions. My plan was to position the car across the street with the trailer behind me, the way I reverse my own car into our garage at home. My husband wanted me to do it the other way round, driving across the pavement in front of the house and approaching from the other direction. I didn’t get this at the time - so tempers got frayed. Then, “Swing!” he shouts, “Which way?” I wonder and promptly choose the wrong one so that the trailer is about to jacknife. Apparently, he was thinking car’s nose and I was thinking steering wheel. At this point he made me get out of the car, lesson aborted and we were both furious. This meant that I stomped off upstairs to unpack kitchen stuff, instead of helping to unload the furniture from the trailer (as planned). Further, I left him to cart the bulky old TV upstairs by himself, thinking that he could fall down with it on top of him for all I cared, whereas he, too cross now to ask for help, made a plan with two sturdy straps and staggered up on his own. I should mention two things: (1) I had already looked up the doctor’s number on my cell phone should my adored husband break a leg or worse and (2) These are not the kind of games you can play unless you have been married for a very long time.