The Lady Guide to Modern Manners: 12 July
Dear Thomas,
There are certain people, who shall be nameless, who only ever get in touch when they want something. ‘Come to lunch,’ they say. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages.’ Then it turns out that what they really want is the phone number of my upholsterer.
Gina Sandover, Cullompton
Dear Gina,
Perhaps there’s more than one way to look at this. I hesitate to drag up that dreary cliché about the glass that is either half full or half empty, but could we contemplate the wretched thing for a moment?
If the glass is half full, your friend was first of all anxious to find an upholsterer (her shabby loose covers have been plaguing her for years), and remembered that you spoke well of yours. Then she thought how much she’d like to see you again after a long interval, so invited you to lunch, the whole thing a glorious serendipity, sparked off by loose covers.
In the hurlyburly of life, friends get neglected, the diary fills up according to who happens to have rung up, emailed, etc. As I’ve said before, there are only so many dinners, lunches and teas you can give, or go to for that matter, in the course of a month or even a year. If you’ve got 10 things on over three weeks, that’s probably as much as you can manage.
Seize life as it hurtles by. Don’t silt up with grudges and resentment. We dream of undying friendship for its own sake, but real life is random. We see more of people who live nearby than those far away. Peripheral interests, a mutual desire to visit an exhibition of hatpins, or Virginia Woolf’s knickers, for example, bring us together.
But if you incline only to depth of love and friendship, you might be more selective as to whom you see and how often. You might choose to exclude your larger circle of acquaintances – sensitive people know not to ring up out of the blue.
On the other hand, some people are users, but it’s not always easy to tell. There’s a hardness in the voice and no warmth in the invitation to meet up once they’ve screwed what they want out of you. You sense thorough selfishness. A good test is to reverse the process. Users don’t like being used themselves. Call them up to get a recommendation for a koicarp supplier. If they bristle, then you’ll know where you stand.
Even so, embarrassment and guilt can make people come across as something they’re not. Try to be forbearing. Ideally, the one vulnerable to accusations of exploitation should grasp the nettle by the stalk. ‘I’m sure you’ll think I just want something o you…’ You’ll know at once if they’re sincere, if their warmth and lively interest in you is genuine.
Please send your questions to Thomas.blaikie@lady.co.uk or write to him at The Lady, 39-40 Bedford Street, London WC2E 9ER
As for the end of civilisation as we know it, what was so civilised about those 1950s family mealtimes, even at a table, with a Bakelite cruet, rissoles and soggy cabbage, and the cutlery clattering into a deathly silence? I was brought up at a dining table and was abominably behaved; my lavishness with the orange squash was a scandal.
Come to think of it, that was in the daytime. In the evenings we were in the sitting room, around the TV. That was in the 1970s – the 1960s even.
There are certain people, who shall be nameless, who only ever get in touch when they want something. ‘Come to lunch,’ they say. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages.’ Then it turns out that what they really want is the phone number of my upholsterer.
Gina Sandover, Cullompton
Dear Gina,
Perhaps there’s more than one way to look at this. I hesitate to drag up that dreary cliché about the glass that is either half full or half empty, but could we contemplate the wretched thing for a moment?
If the glass is half full, your friend was first of all anxious to find an upholsterer (her shabby loose covers have been plaguing her for years), and remembered that you spoke well of yours. Then she thought how much she’d like to see you again after a long interval, so invited you to lunch, the whole thing a glorious serendipity, sparked off by loose covers.
In the hurlyburly of life, friends get neglected, the diary fills up according to who happens to have rung up, emailed, etc. As I’ve said before, there are only so many dinners, lunches and teas you can give, or go to for that matter, in the course of a month or even a year. If you’ve got 10 things on over three weeks, that’s probably as much as you can manage.
Seize life as it hurtles by. Don’t silt up with grudges and resentment. We dream of undying friendship for its own sake, but real life is random. We see more of people who live nearby than those far away. Peripheral interests, a mutual desire to visit an exhibition of hatpins, or Virginia Woolf’s knickers, for example, bring us together.
But if you incline only to depth of love and friendship, you might be more selective as to whom you see and how often. You might choose to exclude your larger circle of acquaintances – sensitive people know not to ring up out of the blue.
On the other hand, some people are users, but it’s not always easy to tell. There’s a hardness in the voice and no warmth in the invitation to meet up once they’ve screwed what they want out of you. You sense thorough selfishness. A good test is to reverse the process. Users don’t like being used themselves. Call them up to get a recommendation for a koicarp supplier. If they bristle, then you’ll know where you stand.
Even so, embarrassment and guilt can make people come across as something they’re not. Try to be forbearing. Ideally, the one vulnerable to accusations of exploitation should grasp the nettle by the stalk. ‘I’m sure you’ll think I just want something o you…’ You’ll know at once if they’re sincere, if their warmth and lively interest in you is genuine.
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… IF YOU DON’T HAVE A TABLE
Buy one on eBay? Not quite the point. You may have heard about a survey by www.netvouchervodes.co.uk that revealed the death of the dining table. Three per cent of the UK population does not own one, not even a kitchen table; no table at all. Presumably, like flamingos, these table-less types stand on one leg eating pizza or fold up in front of the TV. Of those with tables, only a tiny proportion uses them regularly. I’m thinking: that’s fewer dinner parties I’m missing out on. I’ve always suspected people don’t have half the social life they claim to.As for the end of civilisation as we know it, what was so civilised about those 1950s family mealtimes, even at a table, with a Bakelite cruet, rissoles and soggy cabbage, and the cutlery clattering into a deathly silence? I was brought up at a dining table and was abominably behaved; my lavishness with the orange squash was a scandal.
Come to think of it, that was in the daytime. In the evenings we were in the sitting room, around the TV. That was in the 1970s – the 1960s even.