YOUR PROBLEMS SOLVED
I always get my 'Speckles' late, so your col- umn mentioning me (10 September) only came to my attention the other day as I was entertaining the fine people of Kuwait, "here I am adored even more than ex-Pres- ident Bush and General Schwartzkopf. Actually, when I first innocently asked my mother what I should call the naughty front part of me (I was in the bath at the time) she usually said, 'Your father and I will give you a book one day explaining it all.' Then she added impatiently, 'Now, Edna, wash your front and back botties, get dried and hop into your jim-jams.' It's funny, isn't it, how the things we learn from our mothers linger fragrantly in our memories? My par- ents never did give me the book they promised and just as well, because it prob- ably contained a certain amount of uncalled-for twaddle, as most books do, come to think of it. I just thought I should let you know that it's 'front botty' not 'front bottom'. The former is more tasteful. It's funny, isn't it, that I can write fearlessly on a subject like this to a newspaper reporter like you? We have come a long way, haven't we? A joyous heart always. Dame Edna Everage, 2nd Floor, 20 Young Street, Neutral Bay, Australia 1. Thank you for your courteous correc- tion. It is bound to provoke a fierce
Dear Mary.. .
debate over usage in top circles where 'bottom', in my experience, has pre- viously been preferred. I expect, however, that most thinkers will now switch to 'botty' in the wake of your pronounce- ment.
Q. I know you have had the problem of for- getting people's names before — but I did not think your solution was entirely practi- cal (carry a petition and ask people to sign it). I beg you urgently to come up with another one, as I work in the arts world and am continually offending touchy and over- sensitive egotists — some of whom I have had lunch with two weeks before — by sim- ply having no idea who they are.
Name and address withheld A. Why not take a tip from haut Bohemian gallery-owner Michael Parkin? Last week, in a Chelsea Club, the bon vivant tottered, in response to their greetings, towards a table of five people whom he had known all his life. He looked momentarily bewildered but quickly withdrew from his suit pocket a pair of spectacles snapped in two at the bridge. Displaying these in the palm of his hand, he said, 'You'll have to tell me who you are. I've just broken these and I can't see a thing.'
Q. We employ an ancient-looking grounds- man who slaves away in the parkland around the house. However, rather than thanking him for his hard work I avoid him so I don't have to endure his little jokes about rubbing Vick on my chest (in the winter) or suntan oil (in the summer). I have tried stony silence and glares, but they have not worked. What should I do? I can't bring myself to tell him off or to pretend that my husband will shoot him in a fit of jealousy. Please don't suggest that I call his bluff and make a pass.
L.L., Warwickshire A. Next time tell the codger, 'I know you're only trying to be light-hearted . . . the trou- ble is I have a dear friend who is critically ill with chest disease, and so I really can't laugh at any jokes about chests as they always make me think of him.'
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