Dear Mary

Q. A man I know (but not very well) has invited me and another girl to stay in a villa he’s been loaned. He says the only thing I’ll have to pay for is my flight but I suspect that though we’ll probably have picnics on the beach each day for lunch, we’ll go to expensive restaurants at night and split the bill three ways. I like them both, but they are spoilt while I’m an artist and just can’t spend what they can. It would be so uncool to start saying, ‘But I only had the salad and water and you’ve had the oysters and champagne blah.’ Nor would I want them to subsidise me every night. So I would love to go but how can I get around this bill-splitting problem?

Q. Some elderly friends of mine love to entertain in their London club on their visits, but a problem arises when their London friends want to reciprocate. Recently one of these gave a special dinner for them in her flat, taking enormous trouble with the food. However, the stress of getting there — they are both infirm and had to hire a car with a low chassis and then climb stairs — exhausted them. Restaurants are problematic due to noise and mobility issues. How do we return their hospitality? — E.S., London W11 A. Hotels are always superior to restaurants as hosting venues for the fragile. The solution is to take them to lunch or dinner at the Grosvenor hotel. This establishment has much to recommend it.

Q. Next month, four of us from university are going up on a wildfowling trip north of Inverness. We are catching the night sleeper from Euston and I have been charged with booking the berths. Two of the team are in a heterosexual relationship whilst the fourth, a man I have met just once, is homosexual. Inevitably I will be expected to bunk up with him in a cabin. The problem is that I am considerably better off than the others and would much rather have my own space but I fear a personal move to first class may prompt suspicions of homophobia (which couldn’t be more wrong). How can I get around this one? — S.H., London SW10 A. Since, in your age group, homophobes are as rare as hen’s teeth, there is virtually no risk of anyone thinking you are homophobic.

Q. When an invitation to shoot arrives in the autumn, I have a sense of both excitement and dread. The dread is because at the end of the day, metropolitans request that the guns must each tip to the gamekeeper a sum far higher than would be the norm for traditional country folk. Indeed, in a ritual of trumping one another they often double the going rate. The shoot owner rarely intervenes since he is obviously keen for his keeper to receive as much as possible. It leaves someone like me (I am 20 and without a City salary) in an awkward situation. Either I put myself very much out of pocket or I reject the demands and risk seeming tight in front of the rest of the party. Which should I do? — Name and address withheld A.

Q. How can I tactfully request that well-meaning old friends stop toasting my (new) husband’s hospitality? It seems ungrateful but, during a week’s stay at our new house in France, these much loved friends did it at least once a day, to the point that the other members of the house-party became irritated. I admit they were slightly out of their depth socially and had obviously read some sort of misinformation that this behaviour was required. My husband tells me he likes them but that I shouldn’t ask them again unless they stop the toasting. I hesitate to tell them this as I know they are insecure enough to take umbrage and may refuse to come again if they fear they may make other gaffes. — J d L., Bordeaux A. Why not invent a local superstition about toasting?

Q. At a recent party I was delighted to find my hosts had put me next to one of their most high-profile guests. We had never met before but they knew how much I had to say to this excellent woman. I was consequently dismayed when she failed to — or rather, was unable to — turn. Her first interlocutor, a somewhat physically overbearing character, talked to her with almost pathological intensity throughout all the courses. The dinner came to an end and she and I had been unable to exchange one word. We had been 20 tables of ten. Had one of our hosts been at our table he or she would have slapped the offender down, but neither could see what was going on. Fortunately the old friend on my right was able to include me in a three-way conversation but that was not the point.

Q. We recently stayed for a Saturday night with an old friend and were warned before we arrived that my husband’s carer would not be able to join us for dinner as that would make us 13 around the table. We are devoted to our carer and feel that his exclusion was much more to do with snobbery than superstition. For the rest of our stay, our host seemed to find him perfectly agreeable company and we wonder whether, in retrospect, he regretted the exclusion. Should we have insisted he join us, Mary? And do you agree that no sophisticated person could take this superstition seriously? — B.T., London SW5 A.

  Q. We have been invited to stay with a generous friend in Greece. Now we hear from other (slightly closer) friends that they will be staying very nearby. They have been emailing to say that the two house parties must get together. We know the last thing our host will want is to see some other people he knows from London. Even though he quite likes them, he won’t want to make the mental effort as this is to be a laidback holiday. We just want to blob and eat junk food, while the other lot are healthy and sporty. Also they are quite nosy and will want to see his house, but he is very private.

Q. My partner and I have been living together for 26 years, but now that he’s asked me to marry him, friends seem determined to give us a wedding present even though we wrote ‘no presents’ on the invitation. We had both been married before we met and already had more than enough ‘stuff’. Since then we have both inherited collections of furniture from our parents. Without wishing to seem ungrateful, we need to have a plan to prevent more belongings coming into the house.

Q. I live in Balham but work in Mayfair. Twice recently I have had to take whole days off work to wait in for deliveries of online purchases that could only be scheduled for ‘some time between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m.’ My son says this is the hidden price I must pay for shopping at low-cost outlets. I have a cleaner but she doesn’t work a 12-hour day. What do other people do? —J.F., London SW12 A. Other people have had the sense to make friends with retired neighbours. Many of these long for the chance to get away from their partners and sit quietly reading in a neighbour’s house all day instead of being bothered in their own.

Q. Every summer, just when England is at its loveliest, we have to pack everything up and make a stressy journey to go and stay with someone who has a house abroad. I can understand people wanting to repay hospitality, but we really don’t care about cutlet for cutlet. More to the point, we have our own lovely garden and pool. Yet when someone invites you six or seven months ahead, how can you say no without hurting their feelings? — Name and address withheld A. Bare-faced honesty has done the trick for one popular but plain-speaking society figure who replies to such invitations: ‘Obviously we like you very much or we wouldn’t see so much of you.

Q. Since my husband began to appear in the Rich List he has become much more popular with ‘artists’ in our wider circle and we receive enough private view invitations per year to last us a lifetime. My husband is a kind man and will often buy something he doesn’t particularly want just to be supportive. He recently made an appearance at a neighbour’s local show and bought the least awful picture he could see. Now we hear the girlfriend of this artist has been telling friends she is going to challenge my husband over his meanness because ‘it would have been no skin off his nose’ to have bought one of the bigger monstrosities.

Q. My wife and I are enthusiastic dancers so when we heard that people we know through mutual friends were giving a party on a sprung floor at Cecil Sharp House in Regent’s Park with ceilidh dancing and a caller, we were desperate to go. The trouble was, we hadn’t been invited. We knew there was no sit-down dinner to complicate things and logic told us that the hosts would probably welcome additional numbers of willing dancers. I was too shy to telephone them and put them on the spot by asking if we could gatecrash. We are now kicking ourselves for not having been pushy, as our friends say it was a great party and the hosts told them we would have been welcome. How should we have tackled this, Mary? —Name and address withheld A.

Q. My son goes into his final year at school this September and I would like him to be able to duck out of next summer’s leavers’ bonding trip. This seems to have become a compulsory fixture despite the school abdicating all responsibility for planning it to the inexperienced upper-sixth-formers. Some of this year’s leavers were physically attacked by gangs during their week on a Spanish island and some had clearly joined in with all the degradation on offer and the attendant health risks. The parents tried to arrange an early evacuation but the boys insisted on toughing it out. The school claims this event is a worthwhile rite of passage but I fear the risks are not worth taking and wonder how you would advise my own son to avoid being peer-pressured into taking part.

Q. The setting was dinner for 16 at one of Europe’s most civilised houses. Sitting on the right of the guest of honour (sixty-something) was a blonde beauty (twenty-something) who stared into social media on her iPhone for the entire first course. The crime was compounded by the light from the iPhone focusing on her grinning face. The conversation was obviously disrupted as she was totally ignoring her neighbour. Believe me, Mary, this girl was brought up to know better. The issue was that our host had turned to his right so couldn’t see what was happening. I felt I should have intervened but could not see how to do so discreetly. I was too far away to signal to the girl. What should I have done? —Name and address withheld A.