Is it bad manners to fill in someone else’s crossword grid? Our daughter brought her new boyfriend for the weekend and when we sat down to do the jumbo in the evening we discovered to our horror that he had started it — filling it in with the concise clues. We always do the cryptic one, and send it in for the prize draw. He didn’t even finish it. My husband could hardly speak to him for the rest of the weekend, but our daughter is obviously keen on him. What can I do to smooth things over?
Name and address withheld
To fill in somebody else’s crossword is as outrageously bad manners as to use somebody else’s toothbrush or to pee in the basin. To pollute another’s cryptic jumbo with answers to concise clues adds insult to injury. Good grief. And yet, presumably daughter’s boy is a young man who has not learnt crossword manners. It is the duty of elders of the tribe to teach the young crossword and other manners, gently and generously. He does not realise the enormity of his offence. You should have explained to him (kindly) your weekend engagement with the jumbo, and sent him out to buy another copy of the Saturday Times. You should have then helped him to polish off the concise crossword in five minutes. And you should explain to your husband that The Times Saturday jumbo is an English peculiar. Other races have difficult crosswords. But they are general knowledge, not cryptic. And that it is only a game. Only! A Game! Pshaw and Poppycock.
At the opera, a women sitting next to me blew her nose noisily during the overture. I glared at her and she then dabbed away more discreetly. But I couldn’t help observing that she both blew and dabbed in an undeniably elegant manner, holding her handkerchief between both hands with the fingers held straight. It had never before occurred to me to use two hands for something for which one clearly suffices — but which do you advocate, one hand or two? Practicality or elegance?
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Valerie Colin-Russ,
London
As somebody whose nose has developed an alarming propensity to run at inconvenient moments, I have some sympathy with your neighbour at the opera. Better to blow during the overture than when the diva is soaring to the summit of her highest note. And whether indignant glaring helps the nasally afflicted to shut up depends on their temperaments. I think that a reproachful glare might merely provoke me to more sneezing in embarrassment. For nose-blowing, either the two-handed double overlapping grip (as practised by continental experts) or the single handed “Empire” trumpet, with red-spotted handkerchief stored up sleeve are both acceptable. Our endeavour should be to achieve both elegance and practicality, and to perform the operation as quickly and quietly as possible. We should also not take chronic sneezes and nose-blowing to the opera, or any such public performance at which they can spoil the enjoyment of others.
I have been invited to a dinner at which beluga caviar will be on the menu. A friend told me that it is presented and consumed in a special way and, for those who imbibe, followed by a special spirit. He then pleaded ignorance. Can you please help?
Reg Pierce,
Wrexham
Well, lucky you, Reg. Expect thinnest (Melba) toast and vodka. There may also be a toast with every swig. Squeezing a little lemon on is deemed OK. Nowadays chopped hard-boiled egg and chopped onion garnish is considered not echt, though I used to like it when they served it in first class on Pan Am — happy days. You should be ready with witty toasts, just in case. And eat yoghurt before you go, in case you are in for a heavy drinking session. To make Melba toast, toast a slice of bread as lightly as possible and slice in half longitudinally. Put thin halves in oven, where they will turn brown and curl slightly up. Or roll the slice as flat as a pancake with a rolling-pin before toasting.
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I had a flirtation with a guy at a party in Dublin when I was there over the new year. Now he has come to London and is obviously hoping to take things further but, to put it frankly, he doesn’t fit in with my life and friends here. I’ve tried not returning his calls but he is being very persistent. How can I explain that it wasn’t the start of something big?
Name and address withheld
By being straightforward. Flirtation is about pretence. Life is for real. If your Dublin flirt refuses to take your hints, you have to lay it on the line. It is far kinder to explain your feelings and situation now than to keep him dangling. This is one of the scally jobs that women rather than men have to do. You may have to take him for a drink: with another friend, if he is that importunate. And tell him kindly but firmly that a flirtation is only a game.
Some friends from Yorkshire are coming to stay in our London home for a few days while their daughter settles in to her new flat. When we stayed with them they entertained us constantly with outings and dinner parties. Do you think they will expect the same? We are a bit anxious as we both go out to work and usually assume our guests will find plenty to do in London for themselves. How can we make them feel welcome without turning ourselves into tour guides?
Name and address withheld
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There is more to do in London even than in Yorkshire. In my experience, visitors to London do not want full-time guides. They enjoy exploring the great playground for themselves. Buy The Times with The Knowledge on Saturday, or any of the other almost-as-excellent guides to what’s on. Have a guide to streets, buses and the Underground available, the largest scale that you can afford. You will want to take them out on one evening to a special local treat, if you can find something that is not available in Yorkshire.
My wife and I are often invited to join some friends at a local restaurant. However, these groups are often made up of people with larger appetites and bank balances than us. We often find that the group’s consensus is that the bill is to be divided up equally based on the number of persons rather than what they consumed. This results in our modest meal becoming a much more expensive event. Should we speak up for ourselves or let politeness prevail and accept our designated share of the bill?
Stuart Bayley-Dainton,
Bromley, Kent
The latter, I think. Unless you are monstrously outmatched in appetite and purse by your friends (which I do not believe), we are not talking about a vast sum.
If you really are dining out with Flaming Ferraris at Pétrus, I should change my dining companions and restaurant. What you need is a sensible Chancellor of the Exchequer to divide the bill at the end of the meal. If s/he is any good, and sober, and sensible, she will say: “Forty quid will cover you two, Stuart: You didn’t have aperitifs or brandy, did you?” But the calculation should be left to the Chancellor. To start arguing about your share of the bill after dinner looks petty.
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Philip Howard answers your etiquette questions online at noon on Monday