Q. In the summer I became engaged to a sweet young thing. We did not wish to announce our good fortune in the newspapers and have not yet set a date for our wedding. As Christmas draws nearer we are wondering to what extent we should combine our cards. Many of my friends are scattered around the world and may not meet my fiancée in the foreseeable future (although most of them — and those of my fiancée — know of my good fortune) and we wonder if it might be appropriate to send cards signed by us both, presumably with an explanation for those unlikely to be in the know. What do you think, Mary?
Name withheld, London
A. It is tempting to fall into the trap of Payloaditis when sending out Christmas cards, but the cards should not serve as Trojan horses to signal the presence in your life of someone whom the recipients have not met and whose good wishes they do not expect to receive.
Q. As the principal of a school, I occasionally have to travel abroad. During a visit to a school in south China I was generously entertained and called upon to eat some awful stuff by my kind hosts. Remembering my grandmother’s advice, I did all of this without complaint and was cheerfully grateful even when confronted with chicken feet and jellyfish. Imagine my concern when the Chinese returned the visit recently and sent instructions before they dined with me in my own home that they wanted nothing but lightly steamed vegetables and rice. I decided to ignore this commission and served our standard ‘foreign visitors’ dinner. Was this sufficient punishment for trying to boss me about in my own home?
P.B., Cairns, Australia
A. You rightly congratulate yourself on your own admirable behaviour in choking down this alien fayre without complaint, but you have misunderstood the motives of your Chinese guests on their return visit. It was not that they wished to duck their dose of the same sort of medicine, but that they were trying to be considerate and not put you to any trouble. For this reason they suggested this bland and trouble-free banquet.
Q. Further to your correspondence over the bachelor office colleague with personal hygiene problems, I have a bachelor friend who, I know, lies in a bath twice a day yet still stinks. The problem is clearly his clothes. His suits and trousers have become impregnated with the smells of cooking, washing-up steam and so on. It gives a misleading impression to those who do not know his habits. How should I tactfully tip him off, Mary?
A.C., London W8
A. Present your friend with a proper chef’s apron. This will partly protect his clothes but, more to the point, will give you the opportunity to say, ‘Well, it should mean you don’t have to cook in your underclothes any more.’ When he queries this strange concept, explain that you were under the illusion that most men cooked in the nude to avoid their clothes becoming impregnated with cooking smells. ‘Don’t you find yours do if you cook in them?’ you can say, rushing forward to sniff them. ‘Oh my goodness — they do a bit!’
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