One of the next generation had just bought a house. She was moving in soon. So was her partner, who had his own place.
“Have you got a lot of stuff?’’ someone asked him.
Silence. Awkward glances.
“Yes, my place is furnished.’’
“What are you going to do with it all?’’
Others at the table – niece, son, son-in-law, nephew, daughters – looked furtively at one another. Some seemed bemused. Two shook their heads in more of a “nooooo” than a “yes’’ way.
Cut, here, to the famous wagon wheel coffee table scene in When Harry Met Sally starring Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan. (Fans of the film rightly insist this scene comes second to Ryan’s fabulous fake orgasm, which may be the best scene she’s ever performed.)
Harry and Sally’s friends, Jess and Marie, are about to cohabit. Jess’s wagon wheel coffee table is in the centre of the room.
Jess: “I like it, it works. It says ‘home’ to me.’’
Marie: “All right, all right. We’ll let Harry and Sally be the judge. What do you think?’’
Harry: “It’s nice.’’
Jess: “Case closed.’’
Marie: “Of course he likes it, he’s a guy. Sally?’’ [Sally shakes her head.]
Jess: “What’s so awful about it?’’
Marie: “It’s so awful there’s no way even to begin to explain what’s so awful about it.’’
Jess: “Honey, I don’t object to any of your things.’’
Mare: “If we had an extra room you could put all of your things in it, including your bar stools.’’
The wagon wheel coffee table goes (I’ve been seeking one ever since that movie).
What Jess needed was a shed for his bar stools, coffee table – and everything else. I know. I was fortunate that there was a shed for my things when I moved into my partner’s established house 30 years ago.
Domestic décor preferences among couples are not, I think, necessarily gendered (even though they clearly are in the movie). I know of same-sex couples who have had similar tensions when one moves into the other’s place, and times when a man hasn’t compromised sufficiently to accommodate a female partner’s tastes and belongings.
Compromise is a wonderful thing, of course. But by the time you hit 30, if you’ve been single for a while and fortunate enough to have your own established sanctuary (I’m aware this sounds ridiculously nostalgic, given the housing crisis), then accommodating the other’s stuff can really try a new relationship.
That said, when I think about what I brought to the “shared’’ abode back then, there was nothing of great aesthetic worth. Many books, which we still have. Prints (mostly nautical; I don’t know why). And furniture perhaps best described as undergraduate chic. Except, that is, for a Thai teak coffee table and a church pew.
This was an advance on the belongings of one of my better mates. When he moved in with the woman he would marry in his mid-30s, his furniture comprised milk crates (seats), bricks and four-by-twos (shelves), a sofa salvaged from hard rubbish and a futon “upon which many had lain”. Go directly to the tip.
My church pew survives. The coffee table (my wagon wheel equivalent) was water-damaged in the shed. For years I kept it in a remote part of a later jointly established house, only surrendering it to Gumtree when moving.
Other stuff – on both sides – became culled (note passive tense) on the journey too.
“Whatever happened to my Australia II doona cover?’’ I inquired recently.
A good drop sheet when the bathroom was painted, apparently.
• Paul Daley is a Guardian Australia columnist
