Mary Killen

Q. My husband and I will shortly be having some South American friends to stay. They come most years and it’s always enjoyable to see them. Our problem is that they never divulge when they will be leaving – possibly because back home it doesn’t matter to them what time guests come and go; they

Q. Two American clients, with whom I have bonded on a personal level, rang me to say they were coming over to London for a few days. They asked me to book ‘somewhere really special’ so they could treat me and thank me for a particular thing I had done for them. They liked my

Q. I am on a long, jam-packed and much disrupted train journey to Scotland. In the carriage someone is working on their laptop. But it seems to be a noisy affair. Very aggressive and excited tapping on the keypad so we are all listening to what sounds like a very fast Morse code. But it’s

Q. At the Ludlow Piano Festival, during a Tyler Hay concert, my husband and I spotted a fascinating-looking couple who were fellow members of the audience. We longed to know who they were and are kicking ourselves that we never found out the identity of this charismatic pair. During the interval we could have approached

Q. I have a friend whom I see quite often who keeps asking me if I will ‘get her invited’ for a weekend to the beautiful and luxurious country house of another friend. The country-house host is a long-standing friend and she barely knows the friend who wants to be invited. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting

Q. I left fashion school last year and since then I’ve spent most of my time applying for jobs and being rejected. (That’s only if they’re kind enough to send a rejection – most simply ghost me.) I finally have a job (the company does fast fashion) but when I tell my friends, who are

Q. On a recent short-haul flight, I had the misfortune to be seated next to a much older man who read, for the entirety of the flight, an erotic novel on his Kindle. I tried to avert my eyes but the bright screen and lewd language kept catching my eye. I was stunned into silence

Q. My husband and I (both in our eighties) recently visited a carpet shop with a view to replacing the stair carpet in our four-storey house. The salesman showed us various carpets and we discussed their relative merits. When I asked him how hard-wearing a particular carpet was, he looked at us carefully and said:

Q. My husband never wants to go out to lunch on a day when he could be gardening but he has grudgingly accepted a wonderful forthcoming local event that I’m very keen to attend myself. Now I find from a fellow guest that our host is planning on seating him next to a woman who

Q. For the past couple of years, many of my sons’ friends have been gamely running the London Marathon for good causes. I received more than 15 emails this year, all asking for sponsorship. As much as I’d like to respond in the affirmative, I am not in a financial position to sponsor more than

Q. Our son, 17, who is generally a credit to us, has started eating with his mouth open. It’s the only thing we don’t love about him. It’s not to do with sinuses and we don’t know if it’s a peer-pressure thing, but when we beg him to stop he always just laughs and insists

Q. My son-in-law is running the Paris marathon to raise money for cystic fibrosis research and has sent out a mail shot to friends and family asking to be sponsored via justgiving.com. He has had a fabulous response. Some people have posted supportive messages alongside their names but have chosen to conceal the amount of

Q. I have just returned from a holiday where I was the guest of someone extremely rich. She was emphatic that everything would be covered and I must not even think of bringing a present. However, after one lunch in a restaurant, I felt driven to make a gesture and quietly asked the waiter for

Q. I’m very fond of a neighbour in our village and we see a lot of each other. She has told me she has got X, an acquaintance of mine, coming to stay and wants to bring her over for a drink before lunch on the Sunday. The trouble is X is a decorator and

Q. Do you agree with me that it is very bad manners to ask for a wifi code as soon as you walk into a lunch in someone else’s house? I have a centrally located, although cramped, flat in Soho and am very happy to cook for friends and friends of friends, but it is

Q. I used to work for a well-known decorator and have now branched out on my own. Some friends of my parents have asked me if I’d like to redecorate their reception rooms. They’re very nice people and I think they have partly given me the work to help me establish myself. I’m a few

Q. I must be the only person with this problem but I would really welcome a solution. I have a lovely neighbour in the flat below who happily has my dog to stay when I go away. She also holds a set of keys to my flat so she can check all is well. This

Q. My husband had my portrait painted for my 40th birthday and everyone says it is an amazing likeness. Now his business partner wants the same artist to capture his wife on canvas. We are anxious because, as my husband says, the wife is ‘no looker’ and the artist is not one to give a

Q. I did a one-year cookery course in London a couple of years ago and then set myself up in business. Someone I know, who did the course prior to me and is an established dinner-party caterer, has been passing on to me work she can’t do (if she already has a booking on that