Mary Killen

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.

Q. We have friends who we would like to see much more of but when they come to dinner they always stay until 1 a.m. — often a full three hours after we have got down. This even when all other guests have left, saying they have to be up early and they know we do too. This couple (who were brought up in another country) show absolutely no qualms about keeping us up. Although we like them enormously, they are a rather grand and formal couple, and we are not yet on the sort of terms where we could speak plainly and just ask them to go home. They seem to be relishing every moment and really enjoying the socialising, none of which, I might add, is particularly alcohol-fuelled. What should we do?   —S.F., London W2 A.

Q. I was interested to see Charles Moore’s italicisation of the word ‘patio’ in the issue of 30 July. We have a paved area in our garden at home, but my wife and I are unsure of what it should be called. What would you suggest? —S.B., Somerset A. Charles Moore was writing about the Alhambra, where the courtyards are called patios, but the truth is that outside of such venerable buildings and Latin countries there is no acceptable expression for the type of paved area you mention. So unless it could be classed as a terrace, you only have the option of pronouncing patio in a silly voice, which would be tiring, or just referring to it as ‘outside’ e.g. ‘let’s sit outside’ or ‘I left my book outside’. Q.

Q. I recently attended a house-cooling party. There were haybales around bonfires, barbecues and dancing to iPods with speakers. The house was open — although most of the furniture had gone — and we were invited to bring our own bedding if we wanted to sleep over. My 16-year-old daughter and I had a plane to catch so we left in a hurry the next morning. On the plane she remembered she had left two of her favourite pieces of vintage clothing at the party. As soon as we landed, I emailed our host to ask her to hold onto these precious items — a Hermès scarf and an Austrian loden coat — but she emailed back saying I was too late, she had been ‘hyperefficient’ and had already delivered a carload of left-behind clothing to the local Oxfam shop.

Q. We live in New Zealand and under our ‘business immigration scheme’ a delightful Korean family has moved into the neighbourhood. They are required to buy a business and provide local employment opportunities. Accordingly, they have bought a café, but they do not seem to have any knowledge of the hospitality trade, nor much English. My wife is helping their daughter with her English studies and, as a reward, they are delivering ample supplies of café muffins which can only be described as rocks. How can we tell them that these are inedible (and therefore unsaleable) without causing offence? – B.W., Auckland, NZ A.

Q. I am a governor of a top girls’ school in central London. When we are invited by the headmistress to school events by email, one of the other governors replies to every person in the group email. Obviously this reflects rather badly on my fellow governor — either she has not grasped the significance of the ‘reply to all’ box or she honestly thinks we are all interested in knowing that she cannot attend this summer’s junior ballet demonstration. How can we stop her doing this without causing offence? It is just another unwanted email. —B.L., Harrow, Middlesex A. Deal with the nuisance tactfully in the following manner. Next time the headmistress invites you, click ‘reply to all’ yourself when you RSVP.

Q. I am one of eight retired golfers who once a week enjoy a sociable but not too serious game on our local course. Recently the wife of one of our group has taken to joining us and, although we are all good friends, we would prefer the weekly game to remain an all-male affair. To make it worse, the golfing wife is very competitive and is usually better than the rest of us. We do not want to sour relationships in what has become a very happy group. Can you suggest a good solution? – P.B., by email A. Collude with the others to build up your admiring responses to the wife’s golfing prowess. Gasps of admiration and open envy should be freely expressed.

Your problems solved Q. The Welsh have this annoying habit of turning up unannounced. I think it must derive from the days when they all lived in little terraces beneath the pits and the mines, and it was a come-one-come-all community. In 1978 I moved to England, but I still find that Welsh persons on occasion knock on my door and try to drop in. They think they are being ‘friendly’. I am a busy man, Mary. Worse, my mother, whom I have succeeded in not seeing for many years, keeps leaving messages on my wife’s mobile, to the effect that she plans to ‘call in’ one Sunday without warning. How can I avoid this terrible eventuality? —R.L., Bromyard, Herts A. I do not admire your childish stance regarding your mother.