Once again Mary has invited some of her favoured persons of distinction to submit Christmas queries.
From Sir Tim Rice
Q. I have recently employed a full-time driver. A friend (a well-known art dealer and social gadabout) has informed me and many of my close circle that it is considered common to sit in the back of a car when being driven. This has caused me some distress. I am painfully aware that among the highly competitive brotherhood of drivers I may be harming my new employee’s standing by not sitting in the front with him. Of course, it would be foolish to take this issue to the extremes of a late friend of mine, a distinguished cricket writer who was such a snob that he refused to be in the same car as his driver, but I would very much like to keep all concerned happy. As I am 6ft4, the back of the car has great appeal. How can I remain stretched out in comfort while retaining my driver’s respect for me, and that of his peers for him?
A. Your art dealer friend is misinformed. Professional drivers consider themselves members of the caring classes. As part of being professional, they want their employers to enjoy their care: to be able to consume alcohol and dispense with the nuisance of parking and use the car as a temporary capsule of mental privacy between socially draining events. For this reason they will not take it personally if you do not address a word to them. Since it is obviously more comfortable in the back, and ecologically incorrect not to utilise that space, they also prefer it if you sit there. Incidentally, for reasons of clutter management and their own privacy, drivers prefer the passenger seat to be free.
From Mark Coreth
Q. I have recently had an incredibly successful show at the Sladmore, selling nearly 100 bronzes. In view of the credit crunch and most peoples’ reduced circumstances, I don’t like to seem boastful or insensitive when people ask me how I have done, but I would like to suggest my success. What do I say ?
A. Depersonalise your success by treating it as an uplifting sign in the encircling gloom. Deflect the achievement away from yourself by marvelling: ‘I just don’t know how my dealer did it. He managed to sell nearly 100 bronzes. It’s very encouraging news, isn’t it? For everyone.’
From Elspeth Barker
Q. On the day that our Ford Fiesta convulsed its last, my husband had providently purchased an equally inexpensive oxblood-red Mercedes-Benz at the local auction. How joyful we were as it bore us homeward, obedient and powerful, roaring delicately. But our joy was short-lived, for those very faces which over the decades have observed the noisy antics of our worthless cars through market squares and muddy lanes in silent sympathy, albeit tinged with bucolic mirth, are now twisted to doltish malice. Drivers cut in on bends or pursue us, hugging our rear bumper, flashing headlights, gesticulating. Clearly I, the dedicated driver, have by this purchase moved out of my league and become an affront to the average motorist. I am no better than I should be and they want to teach me a lesson. I even heard one speak of me as ‘Lady Muck in her f****** Mercedes’. I have a nervous disposition and I drive with great care, courtesy and cowardice. Oh dear Mary, how may we ever regain our innocent and unaccustomed pleasure in a car that is glamorous, comfortable and working? Legal, too.
A. Why not change envy to self-interest by pasting a postcard in the passenger window declaring ‘For Sale £100’? Give a mobile number with one of the digits rained on.
From Jack Whitehall
Q. As a comedian, I have no problem opening up to a roomful of drunks above a rundown pub in Wigan or Stockton. My problem arises when I’m offstage in social situations and have to reveal my profession. I’m usually faced with one of two things; either people will demand that I tell them a joke, which I’m reluctant to do, in the same way that a gynaecologist wouldn’t readily examine a dinner-party guest if asked. Alternatively, the person will tell me a joke, usually one I’ve heard before, and will stumble painfully towards the punchline before revealing they’ve forgotten it and I have to come to their rescue. Do you have any helpful suggestions?
A. As a young comedian, it is very important that you are perceived to be as entertaining offstage as on, but the secret is not to make jokes yourself. Instead you must encourage the witticisms of others and learn to laugh with immense enthusiasm. In this way you will spread happiness while building up your fan-base and allure.
From Matthew Fort
Q. I cooked a serious dinner — four courses, lots of fancy gear — and asked six people round to share it. Four turned up at 8 p.m. as requested (I had intended to start eating at 8.30). The third couple rang up to say they were running late and that we should start without them. Should I have been outraged that they couldn’t be bothered to turn up on time and sat down without them? Or should I have waited for them to arrive and carried on as if nothing had happened?
A. It is one thing cooking to schedule on your television show, Market Kitchen, but a different matter in today’s real life where perceived personal dramas — or real traffic ones — mean a percentage of guests will always be late unless they have been given a false deadline. This small deceit is forgivable where sumptuous fayre of the type you conjure up is involved. As they had failed to give one, you should have relieved the latecomers of their stress by going ahead without them, so that at least those palates present, correct and primed to receive the perfectly timed offerings could be gratified by them.
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