Mary Killen

Q. We are lucky enough to be lent a chalet in Verbier. My wife invited her niece and boyfriend who is showing signs of becoming a fixture. He is not blessed with a great intellect and has been brought up in a household where shared meals are a rarity. He has little in the way of table manners. Chalet breakfasts often consist of croissants and honey. He used his knife to help himself to honey so, ensuring I was observed, I placed some on my own plate using a teaspoon. He then emulated this by using the spoon to spread the honey on his second croissant, thereby transferring crumbs, butter and possibly bodily fluids to the honey pot. This was but one example of a number of calumnies. They are likely to wish for further invitations when others may be present.

Q. I wonder if you can give me some advice. My parents have agreed I can have 20 people to a party in our house in Balham. I am 16 but very responsible so they agreed to go out between 7 p.m. and 11 when the party is taking place, though they would only go somewhere a few minutes away so they could come back in an emergency. The problem is that now they have found out that all their friends who live in Balham will be out on the night of the party and my father is diabetic, so he doesn’t like to eat later than seven. He does not want to sit in a restaurant for three and a half hours waiting until it is time to come back again. What do you suggest, Mary? B.F., London SW12 A.

Q. Now that eco-issues are so fashionable my husband has come out as a militant meanie on energy conservation. Meanwhile our three teenage daughters use absurd amounts of hot water each day and leave their laptops and televisions on. They also prance about in the skimpiest clothes imaginable, which means they always want the heating on full blast. Mary, how can I tackle these incompatibilities so that I can conserve some of my own energy and not have to dissipate it all on resolving domestic disputes? A.B., Pencaitland, East Lothian A. Stimulate your daughters’ own interest in conserving energy with the purchase of a Wattson O1 energy monitor. (£149.50 from www.electricity-monitor.com). This minimalist, packet-of-butter-sized device is easily fitted to your mains cable.

Q. My brother-in-law, of whom my wife and I are very fond, is an admirable man and rightly proud of the ordinary background from which he has risen to a leading position in his company. However his rise (without trace, as they say) means that all he knows about food and wine is what he has gleaned from expense-account meals and he has adopted many of the mannerisms of waiters for home use. For example, when opening wine he waves the cork under his nose, pours some wine into the glass, sips it adopting a judicious expression and then proceeds to pour it for others. Recently, after he had gone through this ritual, I realised the wine was clearly and unmistakeably corked and said so.

Q. Although I consider my dog Claude to have been born without a brain, he miraculously remembers that Wednesday is the day for his extra-long walkies and sits by the front door, thereby allowing no one to exit without his being in tow. So it was that this Wednesday Claude took up his position, collar on and gazing nobly as blue Great Danes are so adept at doing. At 7.43 a.m. precisely we set out and would have followed the customary route which entails an eager rush along Tite Street, greeting the Honourable Mrs Schleswig-Mopps’s trio of pugs, over Royal Hospital Road, navigating the four-wheel-drive tractors in Durham Place and a hurtle around Burton Court ending in an imperious trot down Royal Avenue. No sooner had we left the house than I felt a buzzing in my coat pocket.

Q. My very nice Polish cleaner wants my husband and I [sic] to come to her house for dinner one evening and, to be brutally frank, we don’t want to. Her English is very limited, my Polish non-existent, and I think it would be a night of sheer hell for all of us. Please can you come up with a cast-iron permanent excuse? At the moment I have told her that my husband is unwell, but he can’t be sick for ever. A.J., London W5 A. You have missed the point. What could be better than to go to someone’s house and be served with a free, probably delicious, dinner and not have to sing for your supper?

Q. I am a fan of The Archers but my listening pleasure always dips whenever one of the villagers makes the offer of ‘a coffee’ to another Ambridge resident. I feel the producers of the soap are failing to serve their loyal audience as it deserves, and are also missing an audio trick, in that they persistently omit any information about the nature of the beverage provided even though we live in a very caffeine-conscious age. For example, I would expect the Grundys to be a Nescafé family and the Aldridges users of cafetières, but there is never the happy sound of beans being ground in Jennifer’s Aga kitchen, and meanwhile Ruth, who is always bringing refreshments to Deevid on his tractor, would presumably have a Thermos, but again, we are never told!

Q. Two years ago I purchased a pair of Beretta shotguns which are ‘over and under’. In the shooting field this caused others to peer suspiciously down their noses at my gleaming new barrels. Generally it is only acceptable to arrive at a shoot with antique guns and when asked about your weapons’ provenance to remark that ‘they were made for grandfather in 1906 when we had our estate in Norfolk’. With my Purdeys consigned to the safe I quickly got used to the modern comforts of the Spanish guns which shoot fast and accurately with no recoil. To make them blend in better I had the shiny stocks changed to English walnut and the gold triggers changed to faded silver and then the family crest engraved into a gilded oval in the stocks.

Q. We live in a small flat and when we have visitors for a weekend or a few days we arrange for them to sleep in a spacious bedroom made available by a neighbour, who is also a good friend. She charges only a nominal amount, which so far we have preferred not to mention to our guests. But because it is at least partly a commercial arrangement she finds herself embarrassed by the gifts left her by grateful visitors. And then come the cards or letters, and even Christmas cards. How can we make it clear to our visitors that they need not overdo the effusions of gratitude — without their feeling mean-spirited and obliged to contribute, and without making ourselves look too grandly generous? I would be grateful for your advice. J.D., Frankfurt am Main A.

Q. This summer I spent a couple of nights in an hotel in France. The friend I had been staying with suddenly had rather a lot of people so I volunteered to go to the hotel — quite a good holiday trick if there are a lot of children about. Usually when I check into an hotel room I never make use of the drawers or the wardrobe. I just scatter my things about the room so that when I leave I need only glance around to make sure I have not forgotten anything. This was quite a nice little hotel, (a favourite of the late Auberon Waugh)*, and on this occasion they had unpacked for me and hung up my clothes and effectively hid a suit which I did not notice was missing until I went on to stay with friends further north and wanted to wear it.

Q. I recently prayed to St Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, in the cause of a friend who was desperately ill. My prayers were answered. I have been told that it is protocol to acknowledge in writing favours received by St Jude. To where should I post the letter, Mary? I am confused. Name and address withheld A. You are not expected to write to St Jude himself. Instead, it is traditional to place a small ad in a publication with personal columns. Why not do this to coincide with 28 October, this saint’s feast day? Q. My wife and I are planning to visit the mediaeval countryside of the Saxon villages of southern Transylvania where one can observe the results of hundreds of years of traditional land management and non-intensive mixed farming.

Q. I have started to commute to London and although I do not travel in every day I find myself constantly wearing the wrong kit in the wrong place. A Barbour looks dreadful in London — equally a Crombie or a Chesterfield looks somehow provocative at Westbury station. I can’t be expected to carry two coats at all times. How do other commuters solve this conundrum? M.C., Somerset A. Head for Cordings at 19 Piccadilly, London W1 (www.cordings.co.uk). Your particular needs will be met by a classic ‘covert coat’ (£425) suitable for wear in both country and town and favoured by social types as diverse as the late Lord Deedes, Damien Hirst and Alex James.

Q. An elderly relative has developed the disgusting habit of licking her knife after using it for, say, jam, and then using it again to help herself to butter. It’s horrid having to take butter from a dish into which some one else’s saliva-strewn knife has been plunged. Any ideas? B.M, North Berwick A. Re-educate your relation by giving her tea at your own table. Serve scones from the oven, handing out the first one ‘to test’ by an accomplice who will have been primed to load it with butter, then lick his knife. As his knife-wielding hand now lunges for the jam, cry ‘Greystoke! Greystoke!’ and steer the hand towards the teaspoon he should use. ‘What does Greystoke mean?’ your relation is bound to ask as your accomplice apologises.

Q. What is the etiquette regarding bowing or curtseying to Prince and Princess Michael of Kent? Last week I attended the memorial for Isabella Blow in the Guards Chapel. It was a magnificent occasion, but emotionally draining, and I was just collecting myself when suddenly the royal couple passed by, leading the mourners out of the chapel. Had I known they were present at the service, I would have been prepared to follow the lead of others and do the correct thing, but I was in the very back row and looking in the wrong direction so it was too late to do anything at all. I would not wish to have given offence. Had I been prepared, what should I have done? I am a 31-year-old male. K.J., London W12 A.

I work in an office where the loo is shared by three separate professions — all rather civilised ones, at that. Q. I work in an office where the loo is shared by three separate professions — all rather civilised ones, at that. However, we are not money-makers, and therefore cannot afford a cleaner. And yet, despite my efforts to make people aware of the mess they create, I have found that again and again it is my office which buys the cleaning fluids, cleans the loo, empties the over-flowing bins and so on. How, Mary, can I make the others share the burden? Name and address withheld A. Start by researching a cleaning service which will perform this function for a fee. Ask for a written quotation.

During the summer I worked in my step-father’s office. I discovered that while he is generally well liked his (25) employees do have one gripe. Q. During the summer I worked in my step-father’s office. I discovered that while he is generally well liked his (25) employees do have one gripe. At Christmas he always arranges for each one of them to receive a present of a hamper of ‘luxury’ foods. These, apparently, often contain items such as olive paste, wild boar sausages, crystallised fruit and stem ginger which the recipients are none too keen on. One employee told me they have Googled the cost of these hampers and, frankly, most of them would prefer the cash. How can I tactfully persuade my stepfather to start giving cash instead without hurting his feelings?

Q. I am shortly going to stay in a glamorous venue in Tuscany whose name I cannot reveal here as it would look like vulgar boasting. I have not been there before, and am extremely worried about the layout of the lavatories. Due to having had an extremely strict English nanny who would not let me, aged five or six, ‘spend a penny’ in the night — I was sometimes reduced to using a wastepaper basket — I suffer from abnormal anxiety about having to pee when away from home. I was recently a guest at a bohemian house party in the Isle of Wight. My first night there I only slept four hours due to a fellow guest telling me that we must be very careful not to wake the eminent social and military historian whose room was next to the loo, and who was a very light sleeper.