YOUR PROBLEMS SOLVED
Dear Mary.. .
Q. A contemporary of mine, who has always been rather bumptious and insensi- tive, has, in the last couple of years, been making rather too much of what she calls `funny money' in the City. She will be a double millionaire before she is 40. She is soon coming to stay with us and, as I study the guest-list, I see that at least two other members of the house-party have suffered from quite severe reversals of fmancial for- tune in recent months. How can I redress the balance of this house-party so that resentment does not fester?
A.W, Inverness A. Take the wind out of your first guest's sails by the simple expedient of installing a three- sided mirror on a table in her bedroom. Angle the triptych so that anyone even glanc- ing at the mirror is faced with twin-sided views of their own head. Most people in their late thirties have no idea that they have developed pouching around the mouth, dou- ble chins, quilting around the side of the eyes, et cetera, until they chance upon such a three-sided mirror. The woman you mention should be so devastated by the experience that she will be appropriately subdued for the rest of her stay. Meanwhile, keep the other guests well away from the mirror.
Q. Please help. I have learnt that my son's girlfriend has bought a personalised num- ber-plate for me at auction and intends to present it to me on my forthcoming birth- day. What should I do, Mary? I do not wish to hurt her feelings.
Name and address withheld A. First impressions are lasting impressions, so rehearse appearing to be thrilled as you open the package. Laugh warmly, announce that you are chuffed, or tickled pink. Then have the number-plate installed on a moped or quad-bike. Confuse her by chuckling, `This way it's much more impressive.'
Q. May I pass on a useful tip to readers? The other week I was driving alone through the night to Holyhead to catch a ferry to Dun Laoghaire, when it suddenly occurred to me that I might need a passport to get into the Republic of Ireland. I had left mine at home. Should I turn back for it? The telephones at the various terminals in Holyhead and Dublin were unmanned, it was three in the morning and I was on the A5, so there was no one to ask. I was in a panic. Who would know? Suddenly, I had a brainwave. I dialled 100 and asked the operator. The operator had the answer! That is to say, she asked around the exchange, then put me on to another oper- ator who was able to assure me convincing- ly that an Englishman does not need a pass- port to gain entry to Eire. He had gone over himself the week before. May I sug- gest that readers use the operator as their first port of call if faced with similar dilem- mas in the middle of the night?
T. W., London W2 A. Thank you for your tip. The operator is one of the few human beings one can access through the telephone these days. She is nor- mally sitting in a roomful of other human beings whose general knowledge she can draw on. I myself have used her for advice on recipes and, in New York, a friend found out how to turn on an American gas-ring on an oven. Operators are normally only too happy to have quasi-social intercourse of this type. It relieves the predictability of their routine dealings with the public.
If you have a problem, please write to Dear Mary, do The Spectator, 56 Doughty Street, London WC1N 2LL.
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