The Lady Guide to Modern Manners: 11 January
Dear Thomas,
Angela lives next door and doesn’t drive. Being a good neighbour, I started offering her lifts and now it’s got into a bit of a routine. But she’s an awful back-seat driver and, what’s more, always knows a better route. If there’s snow and ice this winter, I’m worried she’ll be a liability in the car. I’ll be so furious and frustrated, I’ll crash. What can I do?
Melinda Bellamy, Aston Clinton
Dear Melinda,
What an intriguing situation. I wonder why Angela doesn’t drive? Maybe that’s the starting point. Is she too nervous? Or does she prefer generally to instruct others from the vantage point of an armchair or passenger seat?
We’re all familiar with the car companion who sits rigid as you command your vehicle and draws breath operatically at the merest hint of another car, let alone a real hazard such as a corner. I have to confess I’m such a passenger myself. I don’t like sitting on the passenger side – it’s too near the edge. Strange, because behind the wheel I’m a menace, perilously fearless.
One ploy could be to put Angela in the back seat behind you, the driver. You could make the front seat and the nearside back seat permanently unavailable, for instance by placing a large delivery of pet food there. Tucked away in a corner, away from the edge, Angela might feel more cosy. You keep an eye on her in your driving mirror in case she tries to sabotage your upholstery.
But if Angela is beyond nervous, yet really rather interfering, the challenge might be greater. The danger, as you suggest, is of an explosion, that one day you’ll bite Angela’s head off so severely there’ll be no hope of putting it back on again. To avoid that fearful outcome, I would try dropping hints quite ferociously. This could also be a way of dominating the in-car conversation so Angela has no chance to direct your driving and choice of route.
‘Did you see that story in the local paper?’ You could begin chirpily. ‘Someone drove through Tesco’s shopfront. He’s blaming his wife, accusing her of being a back-seat driver… I don’t know…’ So it could go on.
The other possibility is humour tending very slightly to sarcasm, but this is a strain. ‘Now, Angela, as far as I know, that wall has no history of suddenly leaping out at passing cars.’
The third alternative is a brutal, Duke of Edinburgh-type bashing of the whole thing on the head in one go. ‘I’ll put you out right here if you don’t stop tutting,’ he said to the Queen as they hurtled dangerously in his sports car through Windsor Great Park.
Please send your questions to Thomas.blaikie@lady.co.uk or write to him at The Lady, 39-40 Bedford Street, London WC2E 9ER
Despite the early hour, mental powers are called for at the breakfast buffet. Which spoon goes where? Which dish is for what? What, indeed, are all these various grains, jams, breads? Try not to mess up the display.
Is it better to heap the plate and risk dropping something or to make possibly controversial multiple visits to the selection? Rise above it. Don’t care what others think. Or, more likely, they’ll be too comatose to notice.
The breakfast atmosphere is usually funereal, with conversation a gloomy murmur, but always audible. Guests are more exposed than they realise. The full daytime social brightness has not yet risen; a certain grumpiness still lingers. Couples might bicker a little too loudly... ‘No, it’s in French,’ I heard a wife bark at her husband over the kippers. What was in French? Maybe she did not know herself. ‘I like your top,’ the poor man tried to meliorate.
What you overhear may intrigue, but don’t get caught conspicuously listening in.
Angela lives next door and doesn’t drive. Being a good neighbour, I started offering her lifts and now it’s got into a bit of a routine. But she’s an awful back-seat driver and, what’s more, always knows a better route. If there’s snow and ice this winter, I’m worried she’ll be a liability in the car. I’ll be so furious and frustrated, I’ll crash. What can I do?
Melinda Bellamy, Aston Clinton
Dear Melinda,
What an intriguing situation. I wonder why Angela doesn’t drive? Maybe that’s the starting point. Is she too nervous? Or does she prefer generally to instruct others from the vantage point of an armchair or passenger seat?
We’re all familiar with the car companion who sits rigid as you command your vehicle and draws breath operatically at the merest hint of another car, let alone a real hazard such as a corner. I have to confess I’m such a passenger myself. I don’t like sitting on the passenger side – it’s too near the edge. Strange, because behind the wheel I’m a menace, perilously fearless.
One ploy could be to put Angela in the back seat behind you, the driver. You could make the front seat and the nearside back seat permanently unavailable, for instance by placing a large delivery of pet food there. Tucked away in a corner, away from the edge, Angela might feel more cosy. You keep an eye on her in your driving mirror in case she tries to sabotage your upholstery.
But if Angela is beyond nervous, yet really rather interfering, the challenge might be greater. The danger, as you suggest, is of an explosion, that one day you’ll bite Angela’s head off so severely there’ll be no hope of putting it back on again. To avoid that fearful outcome, I would try dropping hints quite ferociously. This could also be a way of dominating the in-car conversation so Angela has no chance to direct your driving and choice of route.
‘Did you see that story in the local paper?’ You could begin chirpily. ‘Someone drove through Tesco’s shopfront. He’s blaming his wife, accusing her of being a back-seat driver… I don’t know…’ So it could go on.
The other possibility is humour tending very slightly to sarcasm, but this is a strain. ‘Now, Angela, as far as I know, that wall has no history of suddenly leaping out at passing cars.’
The third alternative is a brutal, Duke of Edinburgh-type bashing of the whole thing on the head in one go. ‘I’ll put you out right here if you don’t stop tutting,’ he said to the Queen as they hurtled dangerously in his sports car through Windsor Great Park.
Please send your questions to Thomas.blaikie@lady.co.uk or write to him at The Lady, 39-40 Bedford Street, London WC2E 9ER
WHAT TO DO ABOUT… The hotel breakfast
For a start, do not wear strong perfume, nor indeed any perfume. It’s too unsettling to the fragile earlymorning sensibility.Despite the early hour, mental powers are called for at the breakfast buffet. Which spoon goes where? Which dish is for what? What, indeed, are all these various grains, jams, breads? Try not to mess up the display.
Is it better to heap the plate and risk dropping something or to make possibly controversial multiple visits to the selection? Rise above it. Don’t care what others think. Or, more likely, they’ll be too comatose to notice.
The breakfast atmosphere is usually funereal, with conversation a gloomy murmur, but always audible. Guests are more exposed than they realise. The full daytime social brightness has not yet risen; a certain grumpiness still lingers. Couples might bicker a little too loudly... ‘No, it’s in French,’ I heard a wife bark at her husband over the kippers. What was in French? Maybe she did not know herself. ‘I like your top,’ the poor man tried to meliorate.
What you overhear may intrigue, but don’t get caught conspicuously listening in.