A sample reconstruction of a typical phone conversation when partners in a marriage are on opposite ends of a major conflict:

"Hello?"

"Hello!"

"Hello?"

"Hi, can you hear me?"

"Hello?"

"It's ME! Hello? Can you hear me now?"

"Oh yeah. There you are. Hi! How is your day going?"

"Fine. Just back from up north. Noisy up there but it was OK. How are you doing? It looks pretty bad where you are."

"It was pretty bad last night. The Israelis were bombing the centre of the city again. Quieter now though. I just got back from a swim."

"You went swimming? In Tyre? Now, with the missiles falling and God knows what pollution in there? Ma-ark!"

"We figured it was the safest place to be!"

(Pause for sound of jets in the background. On his end, not mine, though the Israeli skies are also loud with warplanes heading to Lebanon and to Gaza to drop their missiles. My heart stops for a second. I pray there will be no explosion to deaden the line and leave me to my imagination).

"That sounds bad."

"No booms yet though. Hey, have you got the latest list from the army about where the Lebanese are being told to leave? Would be good to know when we're travelling in the villages tomorrow."

And so on, and so on, though the conversation is not so centred on work that the "I love you" at the end is forgotten.

In our travels abroad we have encountered many, many couples where both are journalists – probably because no one else could put up with our moodiness, our workaholic tendencies, our strange compulsions to see and report on things most people would stay away from.

These partnerships are not always easy. Anecdotally, at least, the divorce rate seems abnormally high. But such experiences also do much to wipe away the nagging and day-to-day annoyances that plague couples living more ordinary lives, because we are reminded daily how precious life is, how quickly everything a family has can be destroyed, how the only thing that matters, in the end, are the people you love.

And there is something incredibly reassuring about being able to talk to the one who knows you best about the strange and terrible things you've seen that day, and know that they understand -- even if it's over a crackly computer-to-mobile telephone line.