Q. I know someone who is a theatre producer, an extremely generous man who never says no to anyone, whose secretary is besieged with calls from friends of his wanting (often free) tickets for Oliver! How can she deal with this without offending them? How can he continue coming off like a saint? It is doing the poor secretary’s head in.
Name and address withheld
A. So that the applicants can avoid feeling like members of a salon de refusés or that other friends have been given priority, the secretary must say that the producer had allocated his block of special tickets to a charity. ‘We are hoping that some of these will be returned,’ she can say. ‘In which case you will be at the very top of the queue, but in the meantime it might be safer for you to join the ordinary queue for returns.’ In this way your friend will be able to retain his saintly status.
Q. While corporate jets and private aircraft are deeply uncool in the present climate, all that changes when, out of the blue, you are invited by a very successful City friend to take a lift to a shoot in his eight-seater helicopter. All carbon-footprint and moral issues fly out the window with the glamour and excitement of such a tempting and almost certainly one-off invitation. You accept with gratitude and think it your good fortune to have the opportunity to know the experience of private air travel. Then, to your dismay, it is casually suggested that you might like to contribute something towards the fuel of the return flight — Battersea to North Wales. Your fellow passengers are none too bothered (being recent masters of the universe) but to your horror you know that having accepted a wonderful suggestion you are now in for several hundred pounds. I have a modest income and can in no way afford such means of transport. How do I remove myself from this embarrassing predicament and yet still go to the shoot? At the same time, it would be nice to get the message across that you don’t behave like that when you invite mere mortals.
P.R., London W11
A. You can relax in the knowledge that there must be some mistake. It is virtually unheard of for a ‘mere mortal’ to be invited to contribute towards the cost of said fuel. The instigator of the flight normally covers all the costs himself and notches up favours due from those he gives lifts to.
There is a very acute ‘paydar’ at play within such circles and the instigator will be all too aware of who can pay and who cannot. So simply admit that you cannot afford to contribute and ask if it will be all right for you to still have a lift. Do not forget that your financial inadequacy serves a valuable social function. It will act as a benchmark to boost the self-esteem of those for whom a contribution, if asked for, would present no problem.
Q. A close friend asked me to use my discount card at a certain shop to buy a present for her god-daughter and send it directly on. Understandably — given that the goods never went through her hands — she has forgotten that she owes me £70. How can I tactfully remind her?
Name and address withheld
A. Next time you see her gasp with self-reproach and say ‘I must pay you back that £70 I owe you!’ When she says ‘What £70?’, you can say ‘Oh, I must be mad. No, it’s you who owes me £70! How silly of me.’
If you have a problem write to Dear Mary, c/o The Spectator, 22 Old Queen Street, London SW1H 9HP.
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