Q. My husband, aged 56, mutters constantly that he is not well. He has a variety of symptoms and I suspect hypochondria, yet he will not put his mind (or mine) at rest by making an appointment with a doctor. How can I make this happen?
— A.O.T., London SW11
A. The way to make men go to the doctor is with a white lie, told for their own good. Tell them the surgery has rung, asking them to make an appointment for a check-up. This jolts them into action. By the time they have arrived in the consulting room, they are less concerned with whether their wife has tricked them into being there, and more interested in remembering what their symptoms are. Wives can help with a well-timed reminder by text. With any luck he will return with prostate, thyroid, diabetes, blood pressure and liver function all having been tested.
Q. I have a strong aversion to guests at dinner parties at my home insisting on scraping and stacking plates, as I prefer to carry them away unobtrusively one or two at a time. It happens even though I tell the stackers — well-meaning friends — that I do not need their help. How can I tactfully prevent this noisy disruption to the meal? Or has stacking become socially acceptable in the absence of servants?
— M.J., London SW6
A. Stacking will never be acceptable. Plates must be taken away two at a time, one in each hand and with no dog’s-dinner mounding of leftovers together. However, in the absence of servants, guests naturally feel uncomfortable if their host is skivvying around them while they sit back. You are missing a trick by not employing children to help out at your dinner parties. With minimal training, they can clear tables and load dishwashers at the same time as adding charm to the proceedings. There must be plenty of children in the SW6 area whose parents would rather station them safely in your house for the evening than pay a babysitter £10 an hour, plus taxi fare home. When it gets late the children can rest in sleeping bags till they are collected.
Q. At a performance of King Lear at the Almeida recently, I was seated on a bench next to a young man suffering from halitosis: unpleasant and also distracting. I usually carry a small mint-flavoured spray, which I should have been happy to offer.— K.H., by email
A. You can disarm the offender by cowering apologetically, with hand over your mouth, as you whisper, ‘I am so sorry, I ate a lot of garlic at lunch’ before spraying your own mouth and handing the spray on to him, murmuring ‘Mint spray. Have some. It’s delicious!’ Most halitosis sufferers are unused to friendly gestures and so they are delighted to accept.
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