Mary Killen

Q. My friend John sets the standard of dress for our small community. It has come to his notice that HRH the Duke of Edinburgh is sporting black suede shoes with black tie. I think John is keen to adopt this mode of dress but is unsure about it. I think he should stick to black leather. What do you advise, Mary? Also, should suedes be worn during daylight hours? —G.A., Crewkerne A. As is revealed in the forthcoming biography ‘Young Prince Philip’ by Philip Eade (Harper Press), the Duke has never been that interested in ‘correct’ dressing. In his early life his valet battled to keep him out of the visibly mended cast-off suits of his father. However, there are special rules for nonagenarian royals which do not apply to the average man.

Q. I belong to the clerical profession, one to which, in theory, a certain dignity adheres. I particularly dislike ‘trendy’ abbreviations of my Christian name. On meeting recently a new ecumenical colleague I introduced myself as ‘David’ and he replied: ‘Oh great, I’m a Dave too!’ I was lost for words. What should I have said or done? After all, nobody called Jesus ‘Jeez’. — Father D.S., Southampton A. You should have nipped the abuse instantly in the bud by smiling pleasantly as you replied ‘Do you know… I thought everyone would call me Dave but in my neck of the woods they all seem to want to call me David. Apparently they think it has more dignity and is more appropriate to the office.

Q. We normally drive guests departing our house in France to our nearest station for trains connecting them to Eurostar. One departing guest, an attractive divorcee, had half an hour to kill, so I suggested a croissant and coffee, which meant lugging her very heavy case over to the café and back again to the station where, as I sank exhaustedly onto the bench with the case between us, my elbow activated a battery-driven item in the suitcase. Toothbrush? — I wondered — or something of a more intimate nature? Was it polite to ignore the buzzing, and feign deafness? Or should I have mentioned it, risking some embarrassed scrabbling in the case? A.T., London SW3 A. On this occasion your silence will have spoken louder than words.

Q. Thank you for your advice regarding my ‘fecundity’ question (24 March), but I did refer in my question to a gastronomic salon i.e. a private house. The location was not a restaurant and no need to drop credit cards around! —R.S., Bombay A. I must apologise to readers for advising R.S. how to shake off a tiresome drunk in what I assumed was a restaurant scenario. When a drunk has bearded a happily chatting group in a private house it is a different matter. Here the correct protocol is for the most alpha member of the group to take responsibility. Simulating fascination with the drunk, he can suggest the others leave them alone so they can have a more intimate discussion.

Q. After dining at a well-known gastronomic salon in Bombay with two gap-year visitors, together with two exceptionally pretty girls working in Bombay, we were sitting in a side room, whereupon a gentleman with a straggly beard tried to join our group with the following comment: ‘Eh... fecundity — there is nothing like a polysyllablic word to get the party going!’ We looked at each other in slight amazement as we tried to recall the meaning of the word. When we did, the implication, particularly for the girls, held distinctly unappealing prospects! Mary, what should we have done? — R.S., Bombay A. No doubt your cosy smugathon was irritating to fellow diners. The bearded man’s remark was passive-aggressive and probably linked to alcohol intake.

Q. My daughter’s bedroom window has a clear view down into next door’s kitchen. Yesterday she drew my attention to several mice who were bolting out of the kitchen skirting, feasting on crumbs and having a high old time while my neighbour (who is very nice but not a bosom pal) was safely upstairs putting her many children to bed. Do I tell her? I think if the circumstances were reversed I would want to know. But she has a new baby so I am afraid she might be feeling overwhelmed already. Please advise! — Name and address withheld A. Your neighbour must be informed. The problem is that by telling her you observed the mice from your private viewing chamber next door, you risk making her feel self-conscious in her own kitchen.

Q. Over the last 20 years four of my closest friends have moved abroad. The good thing is that they come to stay with me when they are in London. The bad thing is that invariably, when they are packing up to leave our house for their cheap flights, they find that they have somehow accumulated too much luggage during their stay, and ask to leave the overspill with me, to be collected when they next visit. The next time they come the same thing happens again. I do not want to be inhospitable but there are now 11 leftover bags. What should I do? — J.F., London SW12 A. Email your friends to announce your discovery that it is surprisingly inexpensive to send parcels abroad through the Royal Mail.

Q. A talented young man helps me out as an intern. Sadly I can’t personally offer him full-time work but I have a close friend who will be recruiting shortly. This man tells me he will be looking for young people who are bilingual and super-bright — but that he prefers school leavers to graduates as he wants to ‘mould’ them. The work he is offering is interesting, but although my intern is bilingual and superbright, he is a 24-year-old graduate and, quite rightly, self-confident and fully aware of his own worth. Should I tell my intern to pretend to be humble and mouldable? Or should I let him emanate his usual brio?

Q. Our son is at school in England with the son of a billionaire. They have become friends and we would like to invite the child for the week-end. However, our own manor house, while of historic and architectural significance, does not offer the opulence to which our prospective guest might be accustomed. How can we address our pangs of social anxiety? In the country where we live, we have certain social and literary cachet but no serious money. —Name and address withheld A. Your problem needs to be put in context. You are a high-profile political figure; the billionaire boy will be aware of this.

Q. In the light of WikiLeaks and Facebook, should the Chatham House rules still apply in civilised society? My life is rather mouvementé just now and, although I have no immediate plans to publish it, I feel it a duty to keep a diary. Unfortunately my wife thinks there is an element of sneakiness about my doing this. My view is that if you have the kind of access I have, then it is almost a moral obligation to keep a record of who said what, for the moment when, as they say, the history books come to be written. Can you rule, Mary? —Name withheld A. A diary, written as a narrative of one’s own life, is one thing. It is useful for the purpose of self-analysis and as a record for one’s children.

Q. At a drinks party I was introduced to a senior politician and found myself lost for words. I was not overawed, Mary, the problem was that although I admire the man, every gambit which went through my head seemed to be intrusive, patronising, critical, grovelling or stalker-like. I would like to be better prepared should the situation recur. — M.W., Wilts A. You could have taken a tip from the Queen and posed the anodyne query ‘Have you come far?’ You might even have used ‘Have you had a busy day?’ Such gambits give a politician scope to reflect on those areas of his life he can discuss without breaching security. However, it would have been more considerate on your part to explain who you are yourself.

Q. I have two sons. The elder speaks in RP, like his parents; the younger with an estuarine accent. They went to the same state school. What should I say when acquaintances who have met both boys question this anomaly? I find it difficult to explain without making both sons seem pretentious. — Name withheld, London A. You could disarm the questioners by explaining that the one with the estuarine accent was more able to pick it up from his schoolmates ‘because he has a much better ear than his brother’. Say no more and let them draw their own conclusions as you smile pleasantly. Q. Your column once discussed the best way of warding off unwelcome conversations in the close confinement of a flight.

Q. How, when you have asked people for drinks at seven, can you make sure that they do not stay all evening? We recently moved to the country at weekends and my husband has invited some neighbours to come up for a drink on Saturday night. It did not occur to him that, because they are the sort of people who have ‘tea’ at six, they may think they are invited to stay for the whole evening. — Name and address withheld A. It is too late now. Your husband should have made himself clear when issuing the invitation. The formula would have been, ‘We’re going out on Saturday at 8.15 but can you come for a drink beforehand? Come at seven.

Q. A friend gives regular dinner parties with all the potential to be brilliant events. She knows wonderful people and always has an interesting mix. She has a flat in Chelsea. She is a beautiful, stylish and generous woman but she rarely gets the food on the table before 10 p.m., by which time people are feeling a bit tired and irritable and also drunk and full of nuts and crisps. Our friend is a businesswoman and seems to be hard-wired to do everything at the last minute. She laughs when we tease her but nothing changes. She is giving another dinner soon but my husband is losing patience with her. How can I help her to mend her ways? — K.M.B., London SW3 A. Confide that your husband has a blood test the next morning and has to fast for 12 hours before it.

Q. A close friend has married, in later life, a very nosy and mischievous man. She adores him and keeps boasting about what a computer wizard he is. Unfortunately, I have sound reason to believe he has been hacking into my emails and reading them. It was pretty smart of him to work out my password but this he undoubtedly has done. I have nothing to hide but I resent the invasion of my privacy. I don’t want to embarrass my friend by confronting her husband directly. As my own husband says, ‘what grown man in his right mind would bother to hack into a Sloane Ranger’s email account?’ How can I let this man know that we know what he has been doing? — Name and address withheld. A. Let’s pretend the man’s name is John Smith. Change your password.

Q. Each year I send out about 130 Christmas cards and get back about 80. This year I received 40. I have no reason to think that I have become less popular. Can you shed any light on this disheartening development, Mary? — J.F., London SW12 A. Many people simply could not afford to send them, but there were other factors at play. Traditional scenes celebrating the birth of Christ were widely unavailable outside of galleries and museums (where they are costly). It seems pointless to send a Simpsons Christmas card. The Post Office, in a bid to avoid offending non-Christians, is issuing secular stamps one year and non-secular the next. This year only compulsory stamps of Wallace and Gromit were on offer. These did not seem to strike the right note.

From Craig Brown Q. As I get older I find myself more and more afflicted by dindinitis, which is probably best defined as a morbid dread of dinner parties. Within ten minutes of sitting down, I find that I am tongue-tied and so too is everyone else. Short of ‘You must give me the recipe’ or ‘we much prefer Waitrose’ or ‘Next time, you should try the B1033’, I can think of nothing to say. I don’t like to appear rude, Mary, but how can I refuse all further dinner parties without giving offence? A. Bad dinner parties are like bad flights: one is enough to put you off for ever and start to promote a phobia. And even a good dinner party with scintillating fellow guests can be arduous if your social phobia is advanced.

Q. Each year I help to organise a big Christmas event for charity. In October I write to all my rich friends inviting them to buy tickets. Some loyally do, others say they won’t be able to come but send donations anyway. A third lot don’t even bother to reply. Falling into this last category are three friends who, when I run into them, always insist that though they won’t be able to come they will definitely be sending a donation ‘because you are always so good at supporting my charity’. This is true. They do not realise that, as a trustee, I see the names of everyone who has donated and I know for a fact that these three have never given.

Q. I volunteer for a charity one morning a week. This happens on one of the mornings when my cleaner comes. I have a feeling that as soon as I have gone out she knocks off early, knowing I won’t be back, although she still has another 45 minutes to go. I cannot put my finger on why I think this; it is just instinct. She is generally reliable but I think this is a temptation too great for her to resist. As I pay her £12 an hour, I find it annoying. What can I do, Mary? —J.F., London SW12 A. Why not get into the habit of loading the oven with a cake just before you go out? This will give you licence to ask her to take it out of the oven just before she leaves. Q. The other day I was treated to a fantastic lunch by a restaurant-owning friend.

Q. The other day, when making a purchase in a rather poncy shop, I was taken aback when the assistant stared directly at the keypad while I was entering my PIN. Normally they make a point of rather ostentatiously looking away, but this one made a point of ostentatiously looking at the pad. I could not tell whether this was absent-mindedness, or to make the point that anyone working in the establishment must be above suspicion, or even some sort of double-bluff. I hesitated but then felt I had no option but to key the numbers in with him looking. Since then I have wondered how I might, without being rude, have asked him to look away. —C.B., Aldeburgh, Suffolk A. Perhaps he was innocently day-dreaming.