Mary Killen

Q. We have a friend in her late sixties who has been a widow for ten years. Over that period of time we have asked her to many social occasions at our home. She has never asked us to her house. It’s reached a stage where we are starting to feel that maybe we shouldn’t ask her again. Do you have any ideas as to how we could resolve this problem? – P.H., Wiltshire A. Yes, but first let’s look at the likely reasons for her failure to reciprocate. One: you have a large, beautiful house, whereas she has a small grotty one and wrongly assumes you would not want a return match. Two: secretly her house is stuffed with treasures. People would talk if they saw them so she keeps them out for security reasons. Three: she is neurotic about money or mad.

Q.  How should one discourage a fellow diner from helping himself too greedily from a dish you are enjoying yourself? A writer friend invited me to lunch in the River Room at the Savoy Hotel. The treat was only marred when the pudding course arrived: ‘opalys white chocolate jelly sphere’. This was a thin chocolate shell over which the waiter poured perhaps a dessert spoon of hot chocolate sauce, bursting the shell and revealing the content within — a raspberry hibiscus ice cream. It was the single most delicious thing I have ever eaten but I had only had one spoonful when my friend’s husband, who was next to me and had not ordered a pudding, asked could he taste it. ‘Of course,’ I said. He then ate say, six spoons’ worth to my further one.

Q. A close neighbour has a two-car garage that occupies her entire street frontage. However, she has developed a habit of parking her car outside my house so that I then have to park way up the street (I only have one car). When her many children visit, they also park in front of my house if I am not there. I think this is rather rude. Is there any way I can tactfully get the message to her that she should either park in her garage or down the street, where there is plenty of room? I have considered appealing to the local council but this seems a bit draconian. Your advice would be much appreciated. — John, by email A. Beam pleasantly at the neighbour as you inquire whether she might consider renting one of her two garages to you as a parking space.

Q. After a beach picnic in Denmark two girlfriends and I went for a walk in the dunes. Returning along the beach we found we had to cross a naturist section. A man made it clear that we must conform and so we did, feeling rather foolish carrying our bikinis — but we had nowhere to hide them! — to be greeted at the far end by our goggle-eyed husbands. They said the man had his own agenda. In future, what is the etiquette for crossing the nudist section of a beach? —V.W., London SW6 A. A frisson of excitement is detectable in your enquiry. It suggests that you may have quite enjoyed the enforced exposure.

Q. My nice young London terrace neighbour, whose total rebuilding works are eight months old now, with plenty still to go, has mailed me to express the hope that the last few months have not been too painful. How can I let him know about the constant noise, dirt and dust, the wafting Polish cigarette smoke, the occasional drilling at 8.01 on a Saturday morning, the whole inconsiderate (and I accept inevitable) continuum of it, without falling out with him? —A.B., London SW18 A. You can assume his overture is a coded request for comments. Make your benevolence towards him clear by saying the disruption is a price worth paying to have such a welcome new neighbour.

Q. How can I tell a new young colleague that he needs to wash? He and I share an office and he is exceptionally nice but the smell in our shared quarters is sickening. What do you advise? — E.C., Oxford A. Try this method which has resolved the same problem for others. Say to the youth, ‘I am going to ask you a question and I want you to be completely honest, even if you think it may hurt my feelings. do I smell?’ When he says no, say excitedly, ‘Phew! It’s not me then. But haven’t you noticed there is a terrible smell in our room? If it is not me then it must be you!’ Move closer to him as though to check, then recoil crying ‘it is!’ in the satisfied manner of someone who has solved a riddle rather than someone who is revolted.

Once again Mary has invited some of her favourite figures in the public eye to submit personal queries for her attention. From the Rt Hon Michael Gove MPQ. Without his parents quite knowing why, our seven-year-old son has become fanatical about football. I have tried to channel this enthusiasm in a positive way, booking him into local coaching sessions, and on the basis that one should support a football club for reasons of dogged local patriotism rather than a thirst for glittering prizes, I have sought to nurture a passion for our local team, Queens Park Rangers, in his breast. But our son has remarked that QPR appear to win less often than other teams his school friends support — notably Chelsea.

Q. In my late fifties, I find myself, in the run-up to Christmas this year, going to social events and meeting up with contemporaries some of whom I have not seen for years. I have always been bad at recognising people but I notice that some now seem quite offended. They are taking it wrongly and thinking that it is because they have deteriorated so much. Is there a fail-safe way in which I can find out who on earth they are without their suspecting I do not know? —Name withheld, London SW8 A. You might consider emulating the example of one considerate Sloane who carries a Smythson pocket jotter complete with pen. As the ‘stranger’ approaches she shouts, ‘I’m not even going to ask how you are until you have written down your phone number.

Q. Coming across a secluded pool while walking in the Picos in Spain on a very hot day we had an exhilarating skinny-dip, followed by some rather silly antics for forty-somethings. By chance a couple we know but detest (the husband is always ogling me) were staying in the same hotel. Since our return he keeps making sly remarks in front of us which can only mean that they saw all this; possibly they even followed us. Should I or my husband confront the pest? —Name and address withheld A. There is no reason for you to worry about loss of dignity when humiliation should rightly be heaped on the Peeping Toms. Simply purchase a dvd of the award-winning 2006 film The Lives of Others.

Q. Is it on to invite friends to a birthday dinner and, with no pre-arrangement, expect them to fork out for their meal? An acquaintance — let’s call him Ralphie — has done this for years. Responding to his always effusive invitation (‘I’d really like YOU to be there’), one arrives bearing a gift and, at the end of a convivial evening in a posh restaurant, with appropriate fine wines and liqueurs, the bill is divided between the guests, some of whom, being unprepared, cough up with fixed smiles. Those who pay cheerfully are Ralphie’s pals who, like him, are associated with boats. Ralphie is skipper of a millionaire’s ocean-going yacht so he is himself not short of a bob or two.

Q. I believe there is a recent trend among very well-brought-up people to attempt to alleviate the impression of elitism that their impeccable manners may provoke by putting their feet in places where they should not be. When I was in London just before the election, I noticed a picture of Mr Cameron sitting in a window, with one Nike-clad foot pulled up next to him on the windowsill. I believe this was deliberate, in order to reassure prospective voters that he was not a stuffy old fogey, but hip and with-it. Now, at my mud hotel in Mali, I have told the staff that feet are not allowed on tables, no matter whose feet we are talking about. There are some loutish people who will arrive, take their shoes and socks off, then order a beer and put their feet on the table!

Q. In the event of the expected death of a dear friend, I have been asked to organise the funeral. I have no idea which newspaper I should put the announcement in. Each death notice costs about £60, so if I were to do the Times, Telegraph, Guardian and Independent, it would all mount up, and with no guarantee of people even noticing it and being able to attend the funeral. Any advice? —C.D., London SW9 A. A new service, still in its infancy, has been set up by three society matriarchs to solve this very dilemma. With their website www.funeralinfo.co.uk, the women concerned have provided a simple solution to informing friends and relations of funeral arrangements being made, wishes about flowers or donations and transport to and from the service.

Q. I appear in a reality television show — perhaps unreality would be a more accurate description. The erroneous impression that I am fabulously rich has been so well conveyed that, when having dinner with new acquaintances, I sense a certain anticipation that I will be happy to pick up the bill. Most of my peers are still students. How can I enjoy going to restaurants with them without being landed with the bill for six or eight people each time and without blowing my own cover? —Name and address withheld A. Continue to join peers in restaurants but carry a spare, out-of-battery telephone into whose blank screen you periodically stare with frustration. This prequel will validate your sudden decision to leave the table — perhaps near the end of the main course.

Q. I was caught out last week during dinner. The guest on my left was droning on at length and I had tuned in to a more interesting conversation down the other end of the table when to my horror he suddenly said, ‘Sorry... I lost my train of thought. What was I talking about?’ Mary, although I had an ‘interested’ expression on my face, I had stopped listening long before. Can you advise so that I am fully prepared should a similar situation arise? —Name and address withheld A. You should reply with great enthusiasm, ‘I’ve no idea what you were saying because I’ve been staring at your face and it’s completely mesmerised me. Did you know you had a perfect Grecian profile/enchanting half-smile?’ Q.

Q. My wife and I both work from home. We happen to have three friends called Sue, all of whom ring up on a regular basis. On the telephone they all sound identical, and so when one of them rings to speak to my wife I struggle to find a tactful way of identifying which one it is without making her feel she is not important enough to allow me to recognise her voice immediately. —N.A., Glos A. You can sidestep the natural offence that a perception of interchangeability might cause in the Sues. Simply reply to their inevitable query how are you with ‘Hmm. How was I when we last met?’ The Sue’s reply will give you the data you need — e.g. ‘You were fine when we met at the Blahs.

Q. I live in a two-bedroom flat. It is not spacious but happens to be in the centre of Mayfair. By and large I welcome overnight guests. However, among their number is a couple who were essentially friends of my former girlfriend rather than me but who have become used to the convenience of the location. I find the hypocrisy inherent in their visits tiring and wonder how, without a confrontation, I can discourage them from inviting themselves? — Name withheld, London W1 A. Time was when James Bond wannabes living in Mayfair would keep a half fridge in the bedroom. It meant they could effortlessly pop a cork and toast a conquest with champagne. Why not purchase such a fridge, ideally a second-hand one since they are noisier, and install it in your guest bedroom?

Q. I have been building a small business, so far single-handedly, with a tiny bit of input from my parents. We live in a tight-knit rural community and a couple of unemployed graduate friends, still living at home like me, on hearing that I may be expanding soon, have asked me to employ them. They are far too intelligent to do the only sort of work I would need them for — packing up parcels part-time — but they have suggested they do it anyway and I give them equity in my company as a compensation for paying the minimum wage. I don’t want to do this, and my parents, who are friends with their parents, don’t want me to, but even if I could pay them a good wage, much as I love these friends, I don’t want them bullying me in my workplace.

Q. My first book comes out next month and the publishers are launching it with a drinks party in a London bookshop between 6.30 and 8 p.m. I can count at least 20 old friends and family, to say nothing of my editor and publicist, who will naturally expect me to have dinner with them afterwards. We don’t have a London flat any more. My husband would love to take ten people out to dinner but not 20 — not because of the expense, but because of the noise and the chaos. How do I choose without upsetting people? —Name withheld, Warwickshire A. You could be certain of hurting no one by planning to drive straight back to Warwickshire after the party, on the understandable grounds that you will be ‘too shattered’ to have dinner.

Q. I gave a drinks party at which I introduced two men who should have got on well. Instead one, who had had a bit too much to drink, became verbally aggressive, using a disagreement over architecture as the pretext for attacking the other. Despite my knowing the aggressor so well, and despite the passivity of his target, I was powerless to calm things down and it almost ended in (one-sided) fisticuffs. How could I have defused the tension? —M.W., London SW3 A. To distract an aggressor at a party, raise your hand in a general stop sign, tap your glass and call for general silence.  Announce that  a large quantity of cash has been found on the floor. Would everyone please check to see whether it is they who have dropped it.

Q. I was amused by your correspondent ‘J.P.’ (16 April) who complained of her daughter-in-law’s ‘bosom flashing’ at dinner parties. A similar thing happened at a house party in France this year: one of the female guests wore an open shirt so loosely knotted that ‘J.P.’ would have been even more shocked. The woman opposite became so exasperated she left the table briefly — to return with her own dress wide open and no bra. She had rather more on offer, and it did the trick: for the rest of the holiday the offender covered up. But — as you suggest — the men were disappointed. —M.J.H., Alston, Cumbria A Thank you for reporting this silent, but effective reprimand.