Blonde's Eye View: Holiday fightmares

Plus it's funny to learn the random guy in Waitrose has never given his partner an orgasm.

It's not so funny when the couple at war are your mates.

Watching friends whose wedding you attended row, is like walking in on your parents having sex: you know they probably do it, but you never wish to see it.

A few curt put-downs can be ignored, but a slanging match in the middle of a restaurant sours an evening out.

Imagine if that's the Friday night of a weekend away.

After the initial horrific explosion, an icy chill descends.

She makes whispered accusations at one end of the table, he downs whisky after whisky at the other.

Sides are taken, coalitions formed.

Saturday is spent torn between trying to have a good time and trying not to upset anyone further.

You find out he was banished to the sofa overnight.

Lunch sees another explosion. It's like being trapped in an episode of Hollyoaks.

I'm too old for all the drama. It reminds me of university; when everyone was full of drink, drugs and hormones.

When we had nothing better to do than analyse our relationships and start arguments to avoid doing coursework.

But now my weekends are precious.

I want to get away from the Wharf and work, and relax; not be huddled in the cold listening to a girl sob because her husband never replaces the toilet roll.

What's worse than going on a group holiday where one of the couples has a fight? Being one half of the couple that fights.