It should be pretty easy to get on provided you're on holiday with someone you actually like. Photograph: AlamyMy mother used to say that the reason couples argued on holiday was that they weren't used to spending time together. She also said the most successful relationship she'd ever seen was between her aunt and her merchant seaman husband. They only saw one another for three months out of every year, and consequently managed to string out their honeymoon period. It was about 18 years before they finally began to repulse each other.
I took all this entirely at face value, not considering the fact that she might be trying to put a positive spin on being single (she was single). And so I always dreaded holidays with any given partner, the way you'd dread your next-door neighbour starting work on his basement: staring at your life, waiting for the cracks.
In many relationships, this is a perfectly reasonable approach. But when you're with someone you actually like, it is pretty easy to get on, so long as you a) don't (both) have a cracking hangover every time you wake up, b) allow "free time", when you're allowed to listen to your iPod, like when you were on a French exchange, and c) you state your preferences in a clear way. I've seen many couples torn apart by the "I don't mind, you choose" fandango, when really they both mind, and are displeased with the other's choice. My husband, conversely, greets every new exploration like this: "In terms of sightseeing, between 'none', 'some' and 'lots', I am happy with 'none' and 'some'." It's very clear.
I've read so many tortured pieces about the nightmare of travelling with other couples and other families: what if their kids eat different things from yours, or go to bed at different times, or make annoying noises; or what if the wife is a slob and the husband is right-wing, or what if someone's tight, or what if they all like the name game when your forte is Boggle? I just think those people aren't suited to group holidays. Taking it as read that you like your friends and that their views won't surprise you, that you're not an arse and you accept that it's none of your business what other people's children eat (or indeed, what other people eat), you observe the rules of the pub: did you go to the bar last time? No? You should probably go this time. Did your wife go last time? That's irrelevant. You are two people, in the eyes of the round, not one person.
Someone is always tight. Accept them, like mosquitoes. Except don't spray them. There is time for the name game and Boggle!
My sister's golden rule is: "If someone isn't annoying you, you're probably annoying them." I urge you not to accept this: you'll end up trying to offset your paranoia by finding reasons to be annoyed by somebody. But she's often right about that kind of thing.
