I like to think I'm quite an understanding person. Not in a Mother Theresa way - the headdress plays havoc with my fringe and I can never find the right accessories to go with the frock - but in an open-minded, approachable way.

But there are some things that I just don't understand. Like people who read in the bath, for instance.

Now, I love reading and I love baths, but that doesn't mean I want to do both at the same time. Just like I love chocolate and I love cheese but I wouldn't necessarily want to tuck into deep fried brie in a warm Snickers sauce.

It seems I might be in the minority on this one though. I mentioned it at work the other day and was met by a solid wall of "oohs" and "aahs" of undiluted pleasure as colleagues waxed lyrical about their love of bathtime books.

One chum admitted that he refuses to leave the comfort of the tub until his skin is as wrinkly as a raisin that has spent too long on a sunbed (why am I suddenly thinking about Mother Theresa again?), or until his wife manages to break down the door using one of their two children as a battering ram.

Yes, there was a good chance his book would end up submerged in a pile of Matey bubbles; yes, the moist print inevitably rubbed off on to his hands so he needed yet another wash after his bath; and yes, his other half was forced to make alternative lavatorial arrangements if he was reading anything longer than a Mister Men book. But apparently the rewards of reading while floating naked in a lukewarm pool of his own detritus more than made up for it.

Sorry, but reading in the bath still doesn't float my boat. And just so we don't have any argy-bargying later, here are a few other things that I don't understand...

People who like ironing (sub-clause: people who iron pants). I have to admit right from the start that I don't iron. At all. Ever. I know we have an iron, but I don't think I'd be able to pick it out in a police line-up. My mother, on the other hand, adores ironing, so much so that she irons everything from tea-towels and face-cloths to hankies and my dad's pants. Who she thinks is going to be inspecting my father's undergarments for creases is beyond me. Maybe Leeds United's door policy has been extended to include crinkled keks. But whatever the reason, it is a family passion that has passed me by.

Why people take The Da Vinci Code so seriously. I hate to break this to you, but Dan Brown hasn't actually discovered the Holy Grail, he's just written about it. I'll say this only once, but I'll say it slowly: IT'S JUST A BOOK!

How we all adored humous and now we don't. One day I was buying six family-sized tubs of the stuff and dipping in everything from broccoli to a bar of fruit and nut; the next I couldn't bear it. It's like the day JFK was shot - we can all say exactly where we were when humous went out of fashion.

The rules of cricket. My beloved has tried to explain what is going on so many times he has now produced his own set of flash cards saying things like "LBW does not mean Lovely Big Whack" and "playing at silly mid off is not a laughing matter" and "shut yer face".

That's the problem you see. He just doesn't understand me.

Updated: 10:47 Monday, January 31, 2005