Q. I attend a small weekly prayer group in my tiny local church. Some mildly personal (not intimate) matters are made topics of prayer. Before the last meeting, being a moderately vain male, I happened to have my hair styled and lightly tinted (my natural colour). Immediately on my leaving the church, the remaining three
Q. For over 23 years I have rented a beat on a South Ayrshire river. For the last six years the proprietor’s wife has cooked for my party, and her food is delicious. Since the beginning of this arrangement I have paid her a fixed sum without an invoice. This year, to my surprise, at
Q. Several weeks ago I was asked to keep clear a date in November for a surprise 60th birthday party. In anticipation I purchased a carefully chosen and expensive gift which, being particular for the host, is of no use to me and cannot be given elsewhere or returned to the shop. The formal invitation
Q. I knew that legal aid lawyers like myself were facing a difficult future, but I was caught somewhat off guard when a barrister colleague told me that she had just turned 40 and wondered if she were too old to ‘go on the game’ as an alternative career option. As she is a frequent
Q. I am 24 and have just thrown my first drinks party — 120 people came and, although everyone enjoyed themselves, I am conscious that I failed as a host in one important way. I did not introduce people to each other. I found it too difficult to do this as, each time I tried
Q. I have received an email from a long-term dear acquaintance who lacks certain social graces because of long hours spent alone in his studio — he is a glass sculptor. It is an invitation to his birthday and he has provided two dates for a celebratory dinner, but unfortunately it has been phrased in
Q. I am now working from home and am therefore in situ when my Korean cleaners arrive each week. What is the correct way to behave in this situation? Although their English is limited, they are clearly intelligent; both their children have won scholarships to excellent schools. I fear that my current mode — making
Q. A few weeks ago we had a 25th wedding anniversary dance. Old and new friends came from far and wide. A clutch of beautiful presents was left for us in the hall, which we did not expect. One had an unsigned card (from a Dover Street Art Gallery). The present is the most stunning
Q. One of my neighbours displays the most extraordinary behaviour when I go to dinner. When the guests arrive they are not offered a drink, even a soft one, for at least 15 minutes. He then pours one bottle of wine into tiny glasses. He later replenishes his own glass at the expense of his
Q. On holiday in Greece this summer there was an area of unexpected tension in our house party. As we lay by the pool it seemed that everyone was reading either Wicked! by Jilly Cooper, or A Much Married Man by Nicholas Coleridge, or Title Deeds by Liza Campbell, or The Guynd by Belinda Rathbone.
Q. I am in the process of planning a party for my husband’s 60th birthday. We have excellent caterers in place but my problem concerns the place à table. We will have ten long tables in the marquee, each one seating 30 guests, but how can I possibly decide who should go beside whom? It
Q. Sharing my name with a well-known property tycoon and philanthropist, I frequently receive invitations for dinners and other fund-raising events from organisations expecting a substantial contribution to their cause. I am not tight-fisted, Mary, but a minimum donation of £100,000 is something I can ill afford. The problem is that such amounts are rarely
Q. I have recently started going out with a new girlfriend. She is articulate, well-spoken, elegant, witty and polite — in short, a real catch. There is only one thing that puts me off: she holds her knife like a pen. You will accuse me of being an inveterate snob, which I hope I am
Q. I was recently invited to stay with some well-heeled friends who were renting a house in Tuscany. Having cleared up any possible confusion about payment (I wouldn’t have to contribute to the rent), I accepted their invitation. Early one evening I was strolling on to the balcony of my bedroom, reading Juliet Nicolson’s A
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