Men are good at many things, but they can't row. Fiona Gibson talks about why men and women can't argue effectively

I don't hold with the view that men are rubbish. Men are good at lots of things: lifting heavy objects, cleaning drains, collecting your car when it has been clamped. But men cannot argue. Which is a terrible design flaw, really, considering that when you need a full-blown screaming match, it is generally with your partner (ie, a man).

My husband and I don't argue lots. So, when we do have something to quarrel about, I want it to be good. I need volume, recriminations, the dredging up of old hurts. Women are good at this stuff. If rowing were an Olympic sport (arguing, I mean, not the boating kind), we go for gold. My partner, however, would rather indulge in a more sedate activity such as remote-control flicking. Like most men, he shudders when he senses that his partner is ill of humour.

It usually kicks off with some niggling discontent about his socks/underwear/loose change tossed carelessly onto the bedroom floor. I try to step around it. But as the days progress, his misdemeanor grows into something monstrous, dominating my waking thoughts. Whichever way I turn, I can see his little heap of belongings, mocking me. So I explode. A dropped sock becomes, 'You do not appreciate me'; 'Who cares how I feel?' and, 'Do you give a damn about me at all? Huh?'

By now I am screaming. I have slammed a door and stormed upstairs. I lie on our bed, quietly, expecting him to trundle up after me and humbly apologise. But I do not hear footsteps. What I hear is gentle strumming, and humming. He is playing the guitar. And that is why men and women are basically incompatible. Women are vocal, eloquent beings; if something bugs us, we need to blast off (if we don't, we become martyrs, simmering with silent rage, not unlike our mothers). And men? You give good argument; his communication mechanism shuts down. You yell and cry; he folds up his newspaper and quietly leaves the room.

Last time my partner and I quarrelled, I stalked him around the house. He walked a bit faster, attempting to lose me by swerving out into the garden. He decided to potter in the garage. It is very difficult to give a detailed run-down of your partner's personality failings while he is tinkering with the lawn mower and murmuring, 'Maybe it's the blades. Or oil. Perhaps that's what's wrong with it.'

It's a ploy, of course, to make you shut up and leave him alone. It unnerves him, to hear you yell the words 'selfish!' and - worst of all - 'We need to talk.' It's a phrase rarely used by men. And so this argument is getting nowhere. Relationship experts agree that men and women cannot argue effectively; that to achieve anything, you should never go on the attack (as in, 'You never help with the children') as he will simply go on the defensive ('Yes I do! I read them a story in, er, January.').

Instead, we should adopt a serene voice and say how we feel. Say, 'Darling, I am finding it rather difficult entertaining the children for the entire weekend. Perhaps we can reach some sort of compromise and you could get off your lazy backside and play with them or are you so pathetic you can't manage even that?'

Oops. Sorry. I lost it for a moment. But I'm all steamed up now and, really, what I need a whopping good row.

Where the hell is he?

Do men and women speak different languages? What do you think?