Mary Killen

Q. Please advise on how I can move on from a social impasse. My best friend of 50 years claims she cannot afford to pay for a taxi to bring her a few miles across London to my house where I want to give her dinner and invite mutual friends who she would love to see. I know she can easily afford taxis because — despite being mentally and physically fit — she receives various disability benefits from Social Services. She is angling for me to pay for her taxis, as she thinks (correctly) that I am richer, but I refuse to do this on principle. At this rate we will never see each other again. — G.K., London SW3 A. Conspire with one of the mutual friends that he will offer to pay for her taxis on the grounds that he has some one-off business expenses he needs to work up.

Q. I have given up drink except on certain occasions when it would be really rude to refuse. What’s the best way of telling kind hosts at parties that you’re not drinking, without causing their faces to drop with disappointment? I’ve tried accepting a glass and then not drinking it, but that means a wasted glass for the host. — F.R., Suffolk A. The disappointment swiftly evaporates when you flourish a can of something which looks exactly like alcohol, such as Pils Infinite Session craft lager (0.5 per cent), which you have brought with you. As long as you are faux-mirroring your fellow socialisers by drinking what looks like alcohol, they will quickly forget that the stupefacient quota of your intake bears no comparison to what they themselves are glugging back.

Q. I have learned through a third party that a friend, who is feeling particularly insecure these days, has not been invited to the forthcoming book launch of one of our long-standing mutual friends. I don’t want to portray him as some kind of victim, but is there a way I can tactfully find out if, best-case scenario, his failure to receive an e-invitation was, as it so often is, a mistake by the publishers’ intern? Or if, worst-case scenario, he has been ruthlessly excluded on financial grounds for no longer being an ‘influencer’? This author is paying for his launch himself and it is in a private house. — Name and address withheld A. Telephone the author and say you’re thinking of booking a table for dinner after the launch.

Q. I wondered if you could advise me on a rather embarrassing situation please. I sing in my local Church of England choir and am a lay worship assistant (taking services on the fourth Sunday of the month). My problem is during the ‘sharing the peace’. The majority of the congregation shake hands, but there are two men who insist on kissing the ladies, some of whom are not happy with the situation but are too embarrassed to say anything. I took the service this morning and purposely held out my hand to one of these men, who took it but then insisted on kissing me on the cheek still. Please advise. — P.V., address withheld A. The horror of intimacy is a very English problem.

 Q. I am an artist living in the UK and was charmed to be invited by a fellow artist, a member of the Chelsea Arts Club, to join her and her uncle for lunch there. After paying by card, my hostess went to leave some bank notes on the table and I was surprised when her uncle, a distinguished gentleman, told her to put the money away. ‘You never tip in a club,’ he said. I am hoping to join this club myself so would like this protocol confirmed, since I cannot see the logic behind it. — P.E., London SW3   A. In clubland, a member does not tip. Instead he or she contributes to what is called a Christmas ‘box’ which is shared among relevant personnel.

Q.A senior colleague, on discovering that I’m a friend of someone who has become quite famous, engaged with me warmly for the first time. In their youth, she alleged, she and the ‘celebrity’ had been great friends — could I arrange a reunion? My celebrity friend drew a blank, even when I supplied a photograph and CV of my colleague. Although the celebrity is a kind woman, she’s also super busy and I don’t feel I can lean on her to have a reunion with someone she may never have met. I don’t want to insult my colleague by suggesting she must be mistaken. What should I do? — Name and address withheld A. Let’s say the colleague’s name is Jane Smith and the celebrity’s Liz Black.

Q. I note that (Dear Mary, 12 January) you advised your correspondent, resentful of Christmas expenditure, to offer instead ‘mutual experience gifts such as lunches and massages’. I am in my seventh decade and realised this year that, like most friends and family, I too have reached ‘peak stuff’. I propose that next year I will invite people to give me the name of their favourite charity and then make a donation to that charity. Surely this would be a better idea? — A.C., London W8 A. In the past this might have worked well, but sadly the idea is now tainted by excessive virtue-signalling on social media, with people boasting that although it is their birthday, instead of receiving a present they would like a donation to be made to their favourite charity.

Q. What is the current etiquette regarding chasing an opinion from a publisher to whom, by agreement and via a shared acquaintance, I submitted a manuscript six weeks ago? Other than acknowledgement of receipt and an expression of enthusiasm at the prospect of reading it, I have heard nothing further from her. I am aware that the days when a rejection would take the form of an encouraging lunch and, at worst, a rejection slip have long gone. But what is the digital equivalent of a rejection slip for today’s writer? Must I assume that if, after three months, I hear nothing, the answer is no? How will I know if this publisher (some decades younger than me) has even found time to read the manuscript ? To put this into context I am a published writer of established repute.

Q. Whenever I go to the theatre or cinema with any man of 60-plus, he falls asleep, even when the play or film is of a high standard. Should I wake him up? With a West End play particularly, it seems an awful waste of a ticket. (I am referring only to silent snoozing. If snoring occurs, I will of course give him a sharp dig with my elbow.) — E.S., London W11 A. Smelling salts — as used in Victorian Britain to revive fainting women — are unfashionable but still perfectly legal. Mackenzies is a traditional brand and is available online. The tiny bottle contains a pungent mixture of eucalyptus and ammonia.

From Michael Fabricant MP Q. When I go for intimate meals at a restaurant with a friend, I am invariably asked by other diners for a selfie or have embarrassing questions about my hairstyle directed at me. How can I turn these down — particularly the latter — while not seeming churlish? A. Confuse the applicants by saying you’ve promised yourself you’ll stop talking about your hair. And you’re asking everyone who wants a selfie for a £10 donation to the party. As the coffers fill, you can conflate the stress of these impertinences with a good cause. Soon your frown will turn upside down. From Anthony Horowitz Q. All year round, and particularly at Christmas, I am asked to provide quotations to go on the covers of other people’s books.

Q. A friend and I are giving a combined Christmas drinks party for 120 people. It’s being held at her house so I don’t feel I have the same leverage as if we were hiring somewhere. Unfortunately she has a very glamorous son and insists that he and some fellow students will make fantastic waiters (at £10 per hour each). These ‘waiters’ will know many of the guests socially and will keep stopping to chat as though they were of equal status rather than servants for the night. Food and drink will not be circulated properly and the front door will be left unattended. I don’t want to fall out with my co-host but the party will clearly be a disaster. — M.F., London W11 A.

Q. May I pass on a tip to anyone facing large family house parties at Christmas? I always used to find Christmas exhausting as we are joined by approximately 14 children and grandchildren every year for lunch and dinner over five days. Last year, however, my son devised a rota system. He drew up the rota and paired up individuals so that each pair took on the full responsibility for a lunch or dinner, including menu planning, shopping, cooking and washing up. It was great fun and the element of competition meant that the standards were ridiculously high as well. — L.G., Fosbury, Wiltshire A. Thank you for sharing this genuinely useful tip.  Q.

Q. My fiancé and I spend many great weekends with another couple. I am a vegetarian and quite particular about certain food textures and I cannot stand slimy foods like overcooked mushrooms or undercooked eggs. The husband of our good friends prides himself on the brunches he rustles up on the Sunday of these weekends, presenting the others with full English breakfasts and me with scrambled eggs on toast. I don’t quite know what he does to these eggs but they appear in front of me in a semi-liquid form, soaking into the toasted bread. I really need to figure out a way to stop this without offending our hosts. We’ve got to the point where I am presented with a mountain of this gloopy mess without being asked. I cannot request just toast the night before.