Q. A good friend of my husband’s always addresses me as ‘Gorgeous’ or ‘my sweetie’, as he does many of his other female friends. After two years it is starting to grate and I would like him to start calling me by my given name. How can I get the message across without hurting his
Q. I am worried. I have to attend the banquet of a livery company so senior that white tie is the order of the day. I am now over 70 years old. My son-in-law, slenderer by far than me, has inherited my tailcoat. My hunt coat appears regularly at hunt balls, but is now worn,
Q. I wonder what is the correct etiquette when one notices that a friend has something unattractive and highly visible in their nostril? I have a bit of a phobia about this. Obviously, one can be straightforward if it is a close friend, but I am shortly taking a house in Trebetherick for the John
Q. I have a small problem with vanity. I have made a successful application to join a specialist library where I can work in peace almost every day of the week and have access to an unrivalled set of references on my subject. I am aware that this is a privilege. However, because of the
Q. I read your ‘In the Chair’ Q&As in the online edition of The Spectator with interest. In this session you mentioned a dilemma of your own. You told of how your own good manners had once been compromised by your reluctance to dilute a conversation with the great Auberon Waugh by having to introduce
Q. Your correspondent (1 July), who was asked to pay towards a dinner to which he had been invited as a guest, has the opposite problem to my own. Whenever I have lunch with a much-loved friend, he pays for it. He is not wealthy and I would like to reciprocate his hospitality but he
Q. Parents of one of our son’s best friends at school are famous for their tightness. The father makes ‘funny money’ in the City, but they often invite people to their house in Devon, then suggest the guests take them out to restaurants as the mother ‘can’t face’ cooking. They are people my wife and
Q. One of my husband’s best friends is married to someone who, we know from past experience, is too demanding and controlling to be good company at a house party. The couple often go their separate ways on holiday and might well not object if he were to come without her to our house in
Q. I recently celebrated my CP (civil partnership), having been with my boyfriend for almost 21 years. I had planned it for months and arranged a flamenco evening at a smart venue in St James’s in London. We were restricted by the number of people we could ask, so I expected that all those who
Q. Recently visiting the city where a niece of whom I am very fond is in her final year as an undergraduate, I asked if she would like to meet for lunch or a coffee. I was taken aback and a little hurt to be told that, as she would have been celebrating handing in
Q. A colleague and friend and I have been particularly close since she ‘saved my life’ ten years ago, having arranged help for me during a medical emergency. But since my retirement a year and a half ago, my attempts to meet for lunch have been fruitless, the last time particularly upsetting when she slept
Q. Returning from a trade fair held at a neighbouring stately home I was reminded of the apophthegm ‘a fool and his money are soon parted’. Before my visit I thought a trade fair was full of dusty men with brawny arms selling exotic tools such as adzes, bradawls and drill braces. This, however, was
Q. We have lived in a very nice, civilised square in south London for nearly 20 years. It’s surprisingly private and everyone gets on well. One of our neighbours is an eminent Liberal Democrat peer of the realm. Unfortunately his wife and he persist in aggressively canvassing and leafleting our neighbours and us, even though
Q. At a sumptuously catered private view, a well-known London art gallery director bounced up with very expressive congratulations about my latest book. My initial delight soon turned to numb shock when I realised she had confused me with Peter York, an older man. Of course I said nothing, but took the earliest opportunity to
Q. While staying at a house party in Norfolk I lost a much loved and very expensive Georgina von Etzdorf scarf. And I’m afraid that when I couldn’t find it I suspected one of the other guests â” who’d admired it and who was in the bedroom next to mine â” of taking it. My
Q. I think I can offer you a solution to a problem which may plague others who spend intimate time with oenophiles and are driven to distraction by slurping. My brother is a mad wine-lover. He slurps his wine noisily. He is a physicist, and seems to be keen to prove that he can defy
Q. I work in a City office, staffed mainly by young, trendy middle-class males, most of whom like to sport the silly fashion of trousers almost dropping off, exposing vast expanses of undergarments, in some cases almost bare buttocks! We girls don’t have a problem with this, but are disgusted by one young man who
Q. Please help me urgently. I have made a terrible social faux pas. Two very good friends asked me to be godfather to their children. One child is Oscar, the other Tom. I accepted enthusiastically because, for all my other faults, I am a very good godfather. Last week I discovered the christenings of both
Q. We have friends who regularly invite us to dinner. Because I know that they have little appreciation of fine wine, we generally and generously like to bring a bottle of quality wine as a gift, to complement both the meal and the company. However, it is rarely opened and I and indeed others who
Q. I look after 60 little girls at a boarding prep school. We have an ongoing struggle with headlice and nits. Combing these pestilential creatures out of long hair with nit combs and conditioner is almost a full-time job. (The parents do not want us to use organophosphates.) What can I do, Mary? Even if