Q. Rory Sutherland recently wrote about high-end takeaways (Wiki Man, 19 February). In the last London lockdown, I was fortunate to use the Supper app to try a number of gourmet takeaways from places such as Nobu, Coya Mayfair and Park Chinois, spending up to £100 per head. What surprised me, given that someone had
Q. Recently I started hanging out with a new friend. We are both in our twenties, single, and usually go to gatherings and talks downtown. I’m working part-time and studying, she has graduated and is working full-time. We both live in the suburbs, not too close to each other. I drive, she doesn’t, and she
Q. Three weeks ago I banged my head on the lower branch of our near neighbours’ tree, which I couldn’t see from under my peaked cap. I delivered a polite and non-threatening letter explaining that I wasn’t badly hurt and that the branch of their tree overhanging the pavement was a danger they should kindly
Q. As if it wasn’t bad enough to overhear one side of a conversation as it’s bellowed into a mobile telephone, there is now a worse menace on trains and in restaurants. Those using the speaker function for calls are creating intolerable noise pollution because others nearby are forced to overhear both the tinny caller
Q. My partner’s work involves him seeing and talking to people all day, every day. I booked us on to a slightly naff though luxurious 12-night cruise in the Med, thinking this would be the perfect antidote since most of the other passengers will be elderly Americans and we would be bound to know no
Q. My husband and I have made friends with two distinguished, although fairly eccentric, writers whose company we thoroughly enjoy. However when we go to stay with them in their large London house they give us rather too many jobs to do. Of course we don’t mind helping out with food preparation, dishwashers, laying tables
Q. I treat myself to a manicure every ten days. It’s a 30-minute appointment and the girl I use is always fully booked. I turned up — punctual as always — for my appointment this week to be told that the client before me had been stuck in traffic and so my manicurist was ‘running
Q. A long-standing artist friend, whose work now commands high prices, has sent me out of the blue a present of one of her paintings. She clearly didn’t realise after all these years that, although I have always been immensely fond of her, I have never been a fan of her work. I am grateful
Q. My cleaner is industrious and trustworthy but she doesn’t have many people to talk to and evidently looks forward to her shifts as social occasions. She loves having a captive audience (my brother and I are currently WFH) and her conversation consists mainly of complaints, so it’s never a fun chat. It’s generally a
Q. I live alone, happily and remotely, but many miles from my immediate family. My son’s wife has very kindly taken it on herself to telephone every day to check on my wellbeing. Apparently she feels that, by so doing, she is giving me the chance to have ‘a chat’. I am grateful, of course,
From Lady Antonia Fraser Q. I enjoy getting readers’ letters, but there is one category I am at a loss how to deal with. These are from readers who inform me that in another life, another incarnation, they were one of my historical characters, their present lives being generally very different. Most striking was the
Q. My mother-in-law has remarried and now lives in South America. She has a large family with nieces, grandchildren, godchildren, etc. So what she has done is ordered all these different Christmas presents for them to be sent via Amazon to my house for me to individually gift wrap and take to the post office.
Q. We have moved into a terraced house in a seaside town. Our joy is confined, however, by the fact that our next-door neighbour has bought a new car but left his old derelict vehicle on his driveway as well. Although he takes great care never to walk on our garden, often his visitors do
Q. I belong to a fairly intimate private club which is the one reliable oasis of calm and civility that I know of outside my own home. Now an old schoolfriend is pressuring me to propose him for membership (he needs the endorsement of a club member and I am the only one he knows).
Q. We have recently installed security cameras in our remote holiday house in the south of France and I was surprised to be alerted to an intruder in the garden who was easily identifiable as our young female neighbour who owns a farm across the road. She was, armed with a plastic bag, helping herself
Q. My husband has fallen in love with ‘the country’ and retired to Exmoor while I maintain a presence in our Notting Hill residence for work. The problem is he has left his London study, carved from half our ground-floor sitting room, in its traditional disordered condition as if he has only popped out to
Q. I will shortly be attending a major social gathering in London at which I can look forward to seeing some dear old friends and speaking to them in person for the first time in many months. Therein lies the problem. I will probably not be able to speak to these key people. I can
Q. Our two daughters often bring friends down for the weekend. These friends are more than welcome; we enjoy their company and most have perfect manners — except they never leave a tip. Our daughters claim that no one of their age group (early twenties) carries cash and that even if they remind their guests
Q. During lockdown I made good friends with a neighbour who I would never have met otherwise. This man lives so close that he now regularly comes to informal dinners at our house. Unfortunately he has a habit of ‘double dipping’ his used fork into jars of redcurrant jelly, mustard, whatever — even though I
Q. On a train journey the other day I sat opposite someone I found immensely attractive. We struck up a conversation and talked for 40 minutes until he left the train, a few stops before my own destination. I am 90 per cent sure he returned my feelings, but he was rather a shy man
