Humour

Q. Former colleagues, with whom I got on very well in the context of the office, are buying a house near my own and say they are depending on me and my husband to introduce them to ‘all’ our friends in this area. This has been giving me nightmares. Like us, our friends down here are busy with jobs and children and would not thank us for foisting on to them new neighbours who would not be on the same wavelength. It’s a sense of humour thing. We are so tired we just want to relax when socialising. But I don’t want to be unneighbourly. How can I tactfully dispel the newcomers’ presumption that we will provide some kind of springboard into a ready-made social scene? — Name and address withheld A. You don’t have to introduce them to your real friends.

Q. I love my boyfriend but he has a terrible habit I was unaware of before he moved in. If he uses honey, Philadephia cheese, Sudocrem or anything at all with a lid, he leaves the lid off. He has been living at home until now and his mum spoiled him by never telling him off. I don’t want to have to follow him around all day or spoil our relationship by nagging him, because he actually gets quite petulant when I do and says: ‘Get a life.’ We are both 27. Any suggestions? — F.C., London W11 A. You will have to use a loss-leader technique to deal with this. Collect dead insects from window corners. Your friends will have plenty if you have none yourself.

Q. We have two granddaughters working hard and happily at university. It is our pleasure to give them some cash at regular intervals for books, rooms, foreign travel and, we hope, a lively social life. But we have just learned that they have each come under the influence of a new political leader, to whose party and cause they are making serious donations of cash. While appreciating their right to do what they want with our gifts, it is far from our wish to support a man whose political views we reject. Should we take the obvious sanctions? — Name and address withheld A. I consulted a member of my panel of experts with your vexed query. My advisor is a pillar of probity and wisdom and professionally involved in money management.

Q. What can be done when more people than you can cater for accept an invitation? We are giving a two-hour 21st-birthday drinks party for our daughter. Our Chelsea cottage will hold a maximum of 70 but, adhering to the immutable law of party-giving, which is that a third of those you invite will be unable to come, I advised my daughter to send out a hundred invitations in the expectation that only 70 would accept. Calamity! For the first time ever the formula has failed and all one hundred have accepted. For various reasons we can’t change the venue and we have no garden to expand into. Is it ever acceptable to uninvite people and, if so, how? — A.P., London SW3 A. No, it is never acceptable to uninvite.

I have been alone in the country this festive season as my adult children and most of my friends are abroad until the second week of January. I have been perfectly happy to have avoided all the fuss about food, to have got on with some work, and to have walked my dog. My grown-up daughter was worried I would have no parties or fun, but this was mitigated by the fact that I had been asked to a local private dinner for an American writer who happens to be my literary hero. However, at a carol service on Christmas Eve I saw the well-connected woman with whom he is staying, and she didn’t mention anything about seeing me for dinner on 5 January. I’m worried that she has forgotten. She is very friendly, but also flaky.

Q. Is there a tactful way to deter certain people from buying clothing for one’s tiny children as Christmas presents? I am not ungrateful, but over the last two years the very expensive clothes have been only worn twice — on the two occasions when the gifter came to visit. It seems so wasteful but I hesitate to suggest that I do not share her taste in clothing and she should save her money. — Name and address withheld A. No, you must not do that. Instead carefully insert the children into the clothing, leaving the labels intact. Take an old-fashioned snap (i.e. not digital) and post this as part of a thank-you letter to the kind donor. You need make no further gesture. Then take the clothing back to the expensive shop for a refund. Q.

Q. After a recent dinner I found myself on a two-seater sofa enjoying the restful company of a woman who seemed happy to do all the talking while I just nodded and pretended to be listening. I regret my insincerity, not least because of what happened later, but I was slightly drunk. I came to my senses, however, when my wife wanted to leave. It was just in time to hear this woman saying, with a portentous look on her face, that she had never told anyone else what she had just told me. She said that now, having talked about it for the first time, she realised that the whole extraordinary story, although traumatic, had been the most important thing to have ever happened to her. She made me promise never to tell anyone else due to the high profile of the dramatis personae involved.